The Florence estate was in an uproar from the first light of morning.
“What exactly have you done right, that you’re raising your voice at me?”
“What? Are you saying this is all my fault?”
“If it’s not your fault, then whose is it? When a man handles affairs outside the house, a woman is supposed to manage things within it properly. You’re blaming me for that now?”
The quarrel had started from almost nothing.
The Count, who still couldn’t stomach Duke Hardeion, and the Countess, who found Duke Hardeion entirely to her liking — it had started there. And as always with old resentments, it pulled older things in its wake.
“I’ve had enough!”
Jane threw down the embroidery she had been holding and sent it to the floor.
Perhaps it was her age, or perhaps it was just the season — but lately she had spent most of her days in a gray, low fog. And her husband, rather than improving with the years, had grown only more relentlessly critical.
The frustration that had been simmering for so long finally boiled over.
“What? Affairs outside the house? Did you just say affairs ‘outside the house’?”
“Y-yes! What of it? It’s the truth!”
“Ha!”
Jane gave a short, contemptuous laugh and crossed her arms. She looked up at him with cool, level eyes.
“I wonder if gallivanting about with that woman of yours also counts as affairs outside the house?”
“Wh-what—”
“What? A nobleman’s honor? A lady’s virtue?”
“…W-what are you talking about?”
“You, who care so deeply about appearances — keeping a mistress? Selective honor, is it?”
A flush blazed up Damian’s face. His ears went scarlet.
“H-how far back are you going to dredge things up?!”
“Was it once or twice? Was it?! I can count three women myself — three!”
“Y-you—!”
With nothing to say, Damian could only bluster. Jane gave no ground.
“You, who lived however you pleased, spent weeks lecturing your grown daughter about her love life? My ears are bleeding. When it finally ruptures, you’ll answer for it.”
Jacqueline, who had been reading on the receiving room sofa, quietly set down his book. He rose, and made a careful, silent progress toward the door.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“I apologize. I’ll be in my room.”
The Count rounded on Jacqueline for no reason at all. Jacqueline apologized immediately. Once a fight like this started, pushing back only made things worse for himself.
“Don’t bring the children into this! Go on, say what you were going to say. What exactly is so wrong with Duke Hardeion?!”
“It’s just — his manner is a bit — you know.”
“His manner?! His ‘maaanner’?! Was Edwin’s manner so impressive that you chose him for our daughter? That wretch?!”
“Now, look — let’s just calm down for a moment—”
It was at that point that Damian finally understood how serious this had become.
Jane was not herself. Not remotely herself. She had never come at him like this, with such clear and deliberate intent.
They had quarreled before — but each time, it had ended Damian’s way. He had come to expect that.
“Calm down? You think I can calm down right now? I’m not a parrot! I’m not going to just sit here day after day listening to you go on and on — lecturing an adult daughter about her love life? What business is it of yours?!”
“It’s just that — he makes me feel like someone’s come to steal my daughter away—”
“And you were fine with Edwin for that, were you? Well?!”
In truth, Damian’s feelings were more complicated than he could say.
With Edwin, Ivelina’s own feelings had never been visible. She had always seemed indifferent, unstirred. Perhaps that was why it had felt safe.
But Ivelina — who had never shown a flicker of interest in any man her whole life — when she was with Duke Hardeion.
She had threatened to die on the spot if he didn’t let the marriage proceed.
And she had taken the Duke’s hand, and the look on her face—
‘If I say this, Jane will only be angrier.’
Even Damian could hear how absurd it was.
He said nothing.
But that was his mistake.
Jane, reading his silence as contempt, delivered her verdict.
“That’s it. I want a divorce.”
“What?”
“I can’t live with you anymore.”
“W-wait. Jane!”
Jane picked up only her outer coat and left the estate without a backward glance.
* * *
“Life really is a hollow thing, isn’t it.”
Forty-one years old.
Born the second daughter of a modestly comfortable barony, she had been a girl full of dreams and ambitions. At one point, she had wanted to become a painter of some renown within the empire. But that dream had been broken against the wall of reality.
‘You will be married. The eldest son of a count’s family — two years older than you. The title will of course pass to Viscount Damian.’
‘I refuse! I want to live my whole life without ever marrying!’
The moment she turned twenty, she became a countess.
She had wed a man she had been assigned, and produced the required heir without incident. Once her two children were born, they became the whole meaning of her days. There was nothing else she knew how to do. Nothing else she was permitted to do.
Her principled husband conducted his affairs outside the house — meeting many women, doing much business. A life entirely different from her own, shut inside four walls with only her children.
She had learned that following the word of a husband who had more experience, more knowledge, and more money than herself was simply the way to survive.
That was twenty-one years ago.
Now.
“What do I have left?”
To be thrown out of one’s own home with nowhere to go — how wretched. How utterly pathetic.
The estate, of course, and everything in it, was in her husband’s name. The only things she could call her own were a few pieces of jewelry scattered here and there — and she had left those behind too.
Her parents were not an option. In this world, a daughter who had sought divorce was less than nothing.
Jane walked.
She walked without direction.
Where would this road end?
Then — at her side, a large black carriage came to a slow stop.
It was evening. The street was quiet.
Jane drew herself up warily and stepped back.
The carriage door opened.
“Countess Florence?”
“…Who are you, if I may ask?”
She kept her guard up. She did not recognize the man. And the darkness made it impossible to see the carriage crest.
“I am Hugo Etton — aide to His Grace Duke Hardeion.”
Hugo leaned out and tapped the crest on the door so she could confirm it. He introduced himself before anything else, to avoid startling her.
“Oh my.”
“You appear to be in a difficult situation, if I may say so.”
“I suppose I am, but…”
“Might I ask what has happened?”
Jane gave a general outline. There was no point sharing the full reason for a marital quarrel — that was simply domestic disgrace.
“I’ve left home, but I have nowhere to go.”
“In fact, that is precisely why I’ve come.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“His Grace instructed me to come and find you.”
“Oh my.”
Hugo smiled — warm, open, and wholly reassuring. The simple sincerity of it dismantled the last of Jane’s wariness.
“If you would be willing, my lady — would you consider staying at the Hardeion estate for the time being?”
