Chapter 171: Granddaughter-in-Law
On her way to meet Grand Duchess Keystone, Aracila carried a small gift of tea leaves, knowing the grand duchess had once mentioned her fondness for them. Unlike their first meeting, Aracila had little to offer in terms of leverage this time. She was coming as a supplicant, seeking aid, and it was crucial to make a good impression. Dressed simply to evoke sympathy, she arrived at the grand duchess’s residence.
“Your Grace, Lady Vandemir has arrived,” the butler announced, opening the door to the drawing room before stepping back.
Aracila exhaled a silent, nervous breath, clutching the gift box of tea leaves as she stepped through the doorway. The grand duchess, seated with impeccable posture, acknowledged her with a slight nod.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you for inviting me,” Aracila replied, her voice steady but respectful. “I’ve brought a small gift.”
“Oh, my. Now I feel a bit guilty for not preparing anything myself,” the grand duchess said, inspecting the tea leaves with a faint, ambiguous smile. The subtle hint of unease in her expression only heightened Aracila’s tension. The more burdened the grand duchess felt, the less likely she was to grant Aracila’s request.
“You must have much on your mind these days,” the grand duchess continued. “I appreciate you taking the time to think of me.”
“It’s nothing, Your Grace,” Aracila said humbly.
“I imagine you’re going through an extraordinarily difficult time. Are you holding up alright?” the grand duchess asked, her tone gentle.
Aracila shook her head slowly. The grand duchess, as if expecting this, cast her a sympathetic look. Aracila’s pale, gaunt appearance—already slight by nature—spoke volumes about the emotional toll she’d endured.
The grand duchess clicked her tongue softly, taking a sip of her tea. Aracila, watching her intently, gathered her resolve and spoke with determination. “Your Grace, as I wrote in my letter, we desperately need your help. If you aid us, I swear we’ll never forget your kindness and will repay it in full.”
“Lady Vandemir…” the grand duchess began, her voice measured.
“Please, if there’s anything you desire, don’t hesitate to name it. I’ll give you anything I can. Just help Damian, I beg you,” Aracila pleaded, her body leaning forward, mirroring the urgency in her heart.
With House Vandemir, backed by Prince Frederick, vehemently demanding Damian’s execution, Aracila had no choice but to counter with her own imperial allies. A petition from the Hugo estate alone wouldn’t suffice. As the emperor’s cherished sister, Grand Duchess Keystone held sway; if she made an earnest appeal, the emperor might hesitate to sentence Damian to death.
“Do you love your husband so much, even after he’s committed murder?” the grand duchess asked, her tone tinged with incredulity.
Unlike her own marriage, bound by complex interests despite her husband’s notorious philandering, Aracila had options. With her future as the next Master of the Magic Tower secure, a clean divorce and a fresh start seemed the wiser path. Yet here she was, humbling herself to protect Damian. To the grand duchess, it seemed almost foolish.
“It’s not about excusing his sins,” Aracila said firmly. “I do love Damian, but I have no intention of condoning any crime.”
“Then why…?” the grand duchess pressed, her brow furrowing.
“Your Grace, I believe Damian has been framed. My husband didn’t kill Lord Oscar,” Aracila said, her voice calm but resolute.
The grand duchess’s eyes widened in surprise. In a world where everyone assumed Damian’s guilt, Aracila’s unwavering belief in his innocence was startling, far beyond mere loyalty. Her expression grew grave. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I wouldn’t dare come to you with lies to plead for help,” Aracila replied earnestly.
“Well…” The grand duchess let out a soft, troubled sigh.
“Please, Your Grace, help ensure an innocent man doesn’t lose his life unjustly,” Aracila urged.
Regardless of the truth, Aracila’s conviction explained her relentless efforts to save her husband. It also complicated the grand duchess’s stance on the matter. She sighed again, struggling to respond, as Aracila clasped her hands, her blue eyes brimming with desperation.
“Please, I beg you…”
Unable to meet the pleading gaze that seemed on the verge of tears, the grand duchess looked away. After a long moment of deliberation, she spoke with a resolute expression. “It would be difficult for me to intervene directly in this matter. It’s a family affair, and stepping in could stir accusations of overstepping my authority.”
“Oh…” Aracila’s face fell, disappointment washing over her. Her hands slackened, the strength draining from them.
But then the grand duchess gripped Aracila’s hands firmly, continuing, “However, I understand Sir Damian’s maternal family has ties to the imperial house.”
“The Londe earldom?” Aracila asked, realization dawning.
“Yes. Didn’t they produce an empress several generations back?”
Aracila nodded faintly. The current emperor’s grandmother had been an empress from the Londe family. Though the earldom now kept a low profile, there had been a time when their status as the empress’s kin had granted them significant influence.
“If the Londe family steps forward to advocate for your husband, I could lend my support under the pretext of aiding a distant relative,” the grand duchess said.
This approach would deflect accusations of meddling in another family’s affairs while bolstering the forces rallying for Damian’s release, increasing his chances of being spared.
The question is whether the Londe family will cooperate willingly… Aracila thought, recalling the previous earl’s cold demeanor at the New Year’s Eve party, where he’d turned away from Damian with clear disdain. The memory of that aloof figure made her doubt he’d readily help.
No, I’ll make it happen, no matter what it takes, she resolved, clenching her fists. The grand duchess’s willingness to assist was too valuable an opportunity to let slip. Determination burned in her chest—if it meant saving Damian, she’d do anything.
“Thank you so much, Your Grace,” Aracila said, rising to bow deeply in gratitude.
The grand duchess smiled faintly, waving off the gesture. “No need for that. Once I consider someone one of my own, I don’t let go unless they truly disappoint me.”
Though their acquaintance was brief, Aracila’s sincerity and trustworthiness stood out. The grand duchess saw no harm in fostering a longer connection. Moreover, Aracila’s fierce dedication to saving Damian reminded her of her own past struggles to support her son, making it impossible to turn away.
“I won’t let you down, Your Grace,” Aracila vowed. “If there’s ever anything you need, just name it. I’ll give you everything I can.”
“Don’t feel too indebted,” the grand duchess said kindly. “If you must repay me, give me your best, whatever that may be.”
She patted Aracila’s shoulder warmly, her touch like a ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds.
Monica’s jewelry box sat quietly on one side of the vanity. Upon returning home, Aracila sought it out immediately, breathing a sigh of relief. Fortunately, the imperial knights hadn’t touched much on her vanity during their raid. Checking its contents, she confirmed everything was intact.
Turning to Audrey, who was organizing her cloak and bag, Aracila said, “Audrey, I’m heading out early tomorrow morning. Could you prepare things for me?”
“Of course, milady. Where are you going?” Audrey asked.
“I have somewhere to be,” Aracila replied, her face taking on a resolute expression. She placed the jewelry box in a case and cast a locking spell on it, ensuring it couldn’t be opened without her permission.
The next morning, Aracila rose early and dressed meticulously for her outing. She donned a deep green high-neck dress, draped a black cloak over her shoulders, and neatly braided her hair into a single plait. Tucking a jewelry box securely into her bag, she left the house. Her destination, at this early hour, was the estate of Count Lond.
“Excuse me, who might you be?”
A knight guarding the estate’s gate approached the unexpected carriage with a puzzled expression. Aracila opened the window and answered directly. “Aracila Vandemir. I’m here to see Count Lond, so open the gate.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Caught off guard by her commanding presence, the knight instinctively complied. The estate’s butler was equally flustered by the unannounced visitor.
“Lady Vandemir, if I may—did you make an appointment?”
“No, but could you inform Count Lond that his granddaughter-in-law has come to see him?”
Aracila flashed a bright smile. The butler, still bewildered, asked her to wait a moment before hurrying off.
Soon, he returned, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, and led her to the drawing room. There sat a familiar elderly man, his golden eyes identical to Damian’s.
As their gazes met, Aracila bowed respectfully. “Good day, Count Lond. I’m Aracila Vandemir. Have you been well?”
“…To show up unannounced like this—quite discourteous,” Howard grumbled.
“Forgive me. I figured if I’d sent word, you wouldn’t have agreed to see me so easily.”
Howard didn’t refute her. It was true—he would’ve ignored any letter from her. Crossing his arms with a displeased expression, he furrowed his brow and asked, “So, why are you here?”
“You know why. You’re aware of the situation your grandson is in.”
“That’s none of my concern. That boy isn’t my grandson. I’ve never thought of him as such.”
Aracila’s eyebrow twitched at his stubborn reply. Setting the jewelry box on her lap, she gave a faint smile. “Are you saying you never considered Lady Monica Vandemir your daughter?”
“Watch your tongue! How dare you speak of Monica so carelessly!”
Howard slammed the table, his voice booming with anger. Unfazed, Aracila replied calmly, “If you regarded Lady Monica as your daughter, then surely you’d see her son, Damian, as your grandson. I must have misunderstood when you said otherwise.”
“You…! Did you come here to raise my blood pressure?”
“No, I came to ask you to help Damian.”
Wiping the smile from her face, Aracila met Howard’s gaze with earnest intensity. He flinched momentarily, one eyebrow arching.
He knew well that Damian was imprisoned for allegedly killing his half-brother. Having attended the New Year’s festival, how could he not?
A heavy silence settled between them.
Howard turned his head, avoiding her eyes, and stared at the dry branches outside the window. His parched lips parted, letting out a groan-like murmur. “I can’t help. Go back.”
“Why not? Damian is your only grandson. Why can’t you help him?”
“I told you—I’ve never considered him my grandson. After Monica died… I turned my back on the Vandemir family entirely. I wanted nothing more to do with them.”
Howard bit his lower lip gently. Thinking of his youngest daughter made his breath catch and his chest ache with a dull pang.
If he’d known he’d lose her so senselessly, he would’ve done anything to bring her back, even if it meant forcing a divorce.
Monica, out of fear of losing her son, never sought help from anyone, suffering alone until her death.
Yet the grandson she cherished so dearly bore an uncanny resemblance to her despicable husband, making it impossible for Howard to feel any affection for him.
All because of that boy, she drove a stake through her parents’ hearts and left us.
If it weren’t for him, Monica would have returned to my arms.
The tender love he held for his daughter didn’t extend to her son. Instead, his resentment and anger toward his son-in-law morphed into disdain for Damian.
Years had passed in this way.
“Let the Vandemir family sort out their own mess,” Howard said coldly. “I can’t stand the thought of sharing the same sky as them.”
Standing abruptly, he clasped his hands behind his back and moved to the window. The falling snow reminded him of Monica, who loved winter so dearly.
He could still see her, vibrant and gleeful, building snowmen in the garden.
Now, gazing at the empty garden, Howard’s expression darkened. Watching his lonely silhouette, Aracila spoke softly. “Count Lond, Damian has been forsaken by the Vandemir family. His own father, the duke, wants him executed.”
“He committed the foolish act of killing his brother. It’s only natural, isn’t it?”
“Damian didn’t do it. He’s been wrongfully framed, and I can prove it.”
“Then prove it and save him yourself. I have no interest in that family’s affairs—not even a speck.”
At his callous response, Aracila fell silent, her jaw tightening. Anger simmered within her.
Isn’t this too much?
She understood Howard’s grief over losing his cherished daughter, but to despise his grandson so fiercely?
To know that Monica’s only living legacy might face death and still turn a blind eye—it was unbearable.
Aracila had hoped to negotiate diplomatically, but her patience snapped.
I’ll say what needs to be said.
Her eyes blazing, she hurled a sharp question at Howard. “Aren’t you ashamed to act this way?”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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