Chapter 19
Masterpiece of Enchantment
It was a masterpiece of enchantment, showcasing Madame Loren’s talent to the fullest.
That was Edgar’s impression of Olivia as she stood before him.
Considering the short time they had to prepare, the result was even more remarkable. The necklace around her slender neck was a dramatic choice.
There was no mistaking it—anyone could tell she was Olivia Blanchet.
This was the only thing Edgar had asked Madame Loren to do. And it had been delivered flawlessly.
He chose to overlook the rather blatant intentions Loren had woven into the design. After all, the woman was captivating.
“Why are you here?”
“You saw me just now.”
The woman replied with a composed smile. Her eyes, glittering blue, seemed like the surface of a tranquil lake—as if she was recalling a moment from the past.
A romantic tune floated in from afar, slipping into the silence that had awkwardly settled between them.
“I love this piece,” Edgar said with a soft smile.
“Shall we dance?”
“As you can see, my feet…” Olivia gestured.
Edgar looked down at her bare, delicate feet and let out a chuckle.
“How do you play tennis with those tiny feet?”
“How do you lose with those giant ones?”
Edgar couldn’t hold back his laughter. The upbeat rhythm of the music matched the warmth of his low chuckle.
“How about entering the Dumblin Tournament?”
Of course, he knew what her answer would be.
“No.”
Edgar nodded, a little disappointed.
“Pity. But if Miss Blanchet isn’t interested, there’s no helping it. Ah!”
“What is it?”
Olivia’s face turned pale as Edgar clutched his chest dramatically and bent over.
Her dress fluttered in the spring breeze, revealing pale legs under the moonlight.
Edgar tilted his head slightly and looked at her with a smile. He liked how concerned she looked.
“My heart hurts from the rejection.”
“Really now. That scared me!”
She frowned and playfully hit his arm with her fist. Edgar instinctively grabbed her wrist.
His expression changed suddenly.
“It was just a joke. But I guess tennis players pack a punch.”
“I’m sorry.”
Laughter and noise occasionally spilled in from the festive ballroom under the dazzling lights. Then, a gust of wind blew past.
Carrying the scent of roses, it was overwhelmingly sweet. Edgar shut his eyes tightly. His hand, which had dropped from Olivia’s wrist, brushed against his temple, and his expression twisted in pain.
“Don’t joke around like that.”
“This time, I’m serious… Will you take a look?”
Blinking a few times, Edgar lowered his head toward Olivia.
She instinctively stepped back, hesitating. Then she tilted her head slightly and leaned in. A faint crease formed between her brows—she couldn’t see well.
“I can’t see anything.”
Her breath touched his cheek as the distance closed. Edgar gently curved his lips and bent down further.
Still not enough, Olivia rose onto her toes. He could feel her warmth. Edgar held his breath.
Clear, blue seas. Those unfathomably deep eyes were fixed solely on him.
“Grand Bleu.”
As if breaking a dam, he exhaled the words. At that moment, Olivia lost her balance and wobbled on her tiptoes.
Edgar caught her by the waist. She placed both hands on his shoulders for support.
Then, Edgar tilted his face and covered hers.
Startled, Olivia tried to push him away. Just then, he whispered by her ear.
“Shall we go together tomorrow?”
With that secretive whisper—bang! A flash of light exploded nearby.
Olivia turned her startled face in that direction. Another flash—bang! And then boom, boom! A series of loud explosions erupted above their heads.
Roses were blooming in the spring night sky.
***
Margaret, Johann’s grandmother, crushed the tabloid paper in her hands.
It was, without a doubt, an illicit rendezvous. Even Johann Leopold couldn’t deny it.
Marchioness Dowager Margaret Wellington’s birthday party was famous for its grandeur.
Every year, she summoned everyone in high society to show off her vigor as she aged.
But on this momentous 70th birthday, someone else stole the spotlight.
“Edgar’s Rose: A Fiery Tryst with the Former Duchess of Leopold”
“How disgraceful…”
The headline was scandalous. The accompanying photo was just as attention-grabbing.
A woman kissing a man passionately while on tiptoe—her face hidden by Edgar’s, but that only added intrigue. Still, no one wondered who she was.
Anne Gilbert.
Everyone who attended the ball knew who the woman wearing that famous necklace was.
The newspapers had rushed to publish statements from witnesses, adding their own tawdry imagination. Within half a day, their third-rate romance story had been plastered across Rondos Gossip Weekly.
Slam! A sharp hand folded the paper and smacked it onto the table.
“This is why I opposed it from the beginning. I told you—background matters. What a disgrace. I’ve lived too long.”
Johann listened in silence.
“It hasn’t even been that long since the divorce. And she pulls something like this. Shameless woman.”
“It’s the era of free love, Grandmother. What’s wrong with dating after a divorce? At least she’s better than my mother. Don’t you agree, brother?”
Johann didn’t answer. Instead, he flicked his wrist and glanced at the elegant watch with its gold trim.
“That’s another problem. People think dating freely is fine. Young girls give their hearts too easily—without knowing how shallow the other person’s intentions are.”
The dowager clicked her tongue.
“The times may change, but values don’t. Even if free love is in fashion, when a relationship doesn’t end in marriage, it’s the woman who gets hurt. Just look at Elena.”
Elena Blanchet—Olivia’s mother.
Johann had planned to make a quick appearance at the party and leave after showing his face to the elders, but his ex-wife’s scandal had ruined everything.
“Unmarried girls walk around without maids, attend lectures alone with men, and dance vulgar dances—”
“It’s called tango, Grandmother,” Florine interjected with a smile.
Johann stared at his brandy glass. The ice had already melted.
“Whatever it’s called doesn’t matter. When I was a maiden, even waltzes were only allowed in front of our parents. A woman must carry herself properly. Look at Josephine. I’ve never seen her dance anything but the quadrille. Such modesty. It’s remarkable to see a lady like her these days. I picked her as Johann’s match long ago. And now the opportunity has come.”
The dowager stared solemnly at Johann. Her nagging, quiet for three years, had now begun. He felt the absence of a wife most keenly in such moments.
“It must be fate, Grandma,” Florine said, siding with her friend Josephine.
“I vouch for Miss Josephine. She’s perfect for a duchess. Her piano skills are likely the best among the ladies in Rondos. My ears don’t lie. And she never slacks off on her practice. She sings, she paints—there’s nothing she can’t do. Johann—”
“She’s even good at embroidery. I heard she’s attending the party tonight—”
Johann rose from his seat. The sisters stopped mid-sentence and all glared at him.
“Johann!”
“Let’s save the rest for your next birthday. Stay healthy, Grandmother.”
He walked over, kissed Margaret lightly on the cheek, and bowed politely to the noblewomen. Their nagging voices followed as he left.
“Twenty-eight and still no children. Unbelievable, Johann!”
“Young people think spring lasts forever—but they always regret it. Spring is gone in a blink!”
Tsk tsk tsk. The sound of their tongues clicking faded as the lounge door closed.
Johann strode through the hallway with long, steady steps. The faint smile he had shown earlier was long gone. Though his face looked indifferent, his clenched fist had turned white.
Olivia Blanchet.
The name of the woman who had once been his wife stirred a rage in him that he thought he had buried. He’d never felt this way even when they had shared a bed. Was it because the other man was Edgar?
Just as Johann passed the terrace, unwelcome company surrounded him like a pack of vultures. He stopped walking.
If only they had some sense.
There were too many fools, like distant cousins, itching to drag him down now that he had become the new Duke of Leopold—even though he was just the third son of the Duke of Edinburgh.
Lack of sense and shame was their trademark.
“Your ex-wife’s quite popular in Britta, huh?”
Annoying attention clung to him like gnats. He had almost forgotten how convenient marriage had been.
“Not sure if she’ll end up the Duchess of Lancelot, but how are you feeling? The photo was… compelling.”
Johann’s face turned icy as he looked at the smirking cousin.
“So… when did it start between them?”
“Surely not while she was still sharing a bed with you, right?”
Johann slowly closed his eyes, then opened them to glare sharply at his cousin.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself.”
“Loosen up, Johann. It’s a lovely day. At least you got divorced before getting stabbed in the back. Could’ve been worse—Grandmother might’ve ended up cuddling a cuckoo chick, thinking it was her great-grandchild—ugh!”
Johann punched him.
