Chapter 118

Opportunity. The moment he heard that single word, Henry Twyford’s greed stirred. It was almost instinctive, like a long-starved man encountering freshly baked bread.

His household was already being eaten away by debts caused by excessive social expenses and reckless investments. And now, at such a precarious time, an opportunity had arrived. Carried by Isabelle’s clear voice, it slowly settled into Henry’s mind.

Count Twyford, who had once dreamed of sudden wealth, now barely maintained the shell of nobility. The large sum Edmund Libert had given him when he took Blair away had long since vanished without a trace, and in its place, debts that had grown like a snowball filled the void.

‘Wealth and honor… the things I need most right now.’

Edmund had compensated for the losses from breaking off the engagement with the Dorman family and had even paid the enormous dowry expected from the bride’s side. To Henry, it remained a source of envy and disbelief.

That cunning man must have increased his fortune even more since then. While Henry had sold every valuable painting he owned, the young man had surely prospered further. The thought filled him with bone-deep jealousy.

Henry frowned suddenly.

His only daughter was pregnant. The heir to inherit the Libert family. And he was the child’s maternal grandfather. Only after putting all the pieces together did he begin to understand what Isabelle was implying.

“…But, madam, I am not in a position where I can interfere with my daughter in any way.”

“What do you mean?”

“According to the contract that bastard… no, Duke Libert drafted at the time, all authority over Blair was transferred entirely to him.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes as if questioning his words, and Henry hurried to explain himself.

“After all, she became part of another family. So I had no choice….”

In truth, Count Twyford had no power whatsoever over Blair’s person, residence, or future. The clauses in that contract were like locks that completely barred him from interfering in her life. That was why, despite his bankruptcy, he couldn’t approach Blair, his last remaining ‘resource.’

At the time, desperate for money, he’d signed without hesitation. But looking back, everything had unfolded exactly as Edmund had planned. The realization humiliated him and crushed his pride.

Isabelle, who had remained expressionless until now, let a cold smile touch her pale face.

“A clause preventing you from interfering with your daughter… how fitting of a duke. He must have specified every condition carefully to ensure he would suffer no loss in the transaction.”

She lowered her gaze briefly, as if thinking, then looked back at Henry.

“Did that contract include any mention of the status or rights of the child to be born?”

“The child…?”

“I wonder whether the duke prepared just as thoroughly for the heir who will carry both Libert and Twyford blood.”

Henry Twyford searched his hazy memory. It had been so long since he’d read the contract, but thinking carefully, he didn’t recall any clause concerning their future child.

Why was that? Had it not been necessary to specify something that didn’t yet exist? That meticulous man? Now that he thought about it, it was strange. And thanks to that, Henry had found a gap he could exploit.

“Hm… I’ll need to review it properly first.”

Still, to think he had a grandchild. Such important news hadn’t even been told to him. As his thoughts spiraled further, sudden resentment toward Blair rose within him.

“However, I’ve heard nothing about my daughter’s pregnancy.”

“Perhaps you were deliberately excluded.”

Count Twyford froze at Isabelle’s blunt remark.

“The matter of a duke’s heir always carries political consequences. They must have decided it was better to inform only those closest to them.”

Henry’s face twisted in frustration, unable to respond. Isabelle, with a faint smile, picked up her handbag as if preparing to leave.

“I’ve said what I came to say, so I’ll be leaving now.”

“But… why are you telling me all this?”

Isabelle stood from the sofa and looked down at Henry. He couldn’t read the emotion in her blue eyes.

“Because it’s something you need to know.”

Then she turned and crossed the drawing room. Mrs. Norris hurriedly opened the door with tea and biscuits, but Isabelle passed her without stopping and left gracefully.

Count Twyford sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the place she had left. Soon, clarity returned to his eyes.

He was certain. This was undoubtedly the perfect opportunity to reclaim his wealth and honor, and even restore his shattered pride.

***

As Isabelle walked out of the townhouse, her mind felt strangely calm.

Her soul, shattered by Rufus’s death, felt crudely stitched back together. As reality, once blurred, returned to her grasp, Isabelle could finally breathe.

Blair’s father, Count Twyford, had behaved exactly as expected. A greedy man consumed by vanity, he’d taken the bait without hesitation. That would be enough to move him as she wished.

From the beginning, Isabelle had never believed Edmund’s declaration of marriage. Even the way he spoke of love while bringing back a woman whose engagement had been broken seemed calculated. It was to conceal his true purpose of securing his position.

The men of Libert had always used women as tools to achieve their goals. William had been no different. He took her as his wife to preserve appearances, then brought in a lowborn woman under the excuse of her infertility, ruining multiple lives.

What would be different about Edmund, who carried the same blood? Born of a mistress, he’d simply lacked the will to produce an heir due to deep self-hatred, but he was not a man who would hesitate to use a woman as a tool.

Blair’s pregnancy had certainly been unexpected. But it only reinforced Isabelle’s conclusion.

Since he’d never planned for a child, the prenuptial contract with the count had included no related clause. For such a meticulous man to leave a gap meant he’d never considered pregnancy as a variable.

Therefore, Blair’s pregnancy was not planned but a mistake, nothing more and nothing less. And that mistake would become the most certain weakness to shake Edmund.

“…A child.”

A child of that bastard, no less. The more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. Of course, it was something that could happen easily enough. The woman must have been completely blinded by the illusion of love. Just as she had been with William.

Just then, Isabelle arrived at the great mansion of Eldenvale and stepped inside the main building. The servants, who had seen her recent unstable state, exchanged glances before bowing all at once. Ignoring them, Isabelle started toward her bedroom, then changed her mind and approached the old butler standing in the entrance hall.

“Butler.”

“Yes, madam. You called for me?”

“Inform the church. Tell them Rufus’s funeral will proceed without any further delay.”

Albert did not respond immediately, perhaps surprised by the unexpected order, but like the seasoned butler he was, he soon bowed his head.

“It will be done.”

It was time to let go of her inability to reach an agreement with the church over Rufus’s funeral. Refusing to lay her son to rest had been nothing more than her futile greed. Above all, it was something that had to be settled to draw Edmund out of hiding, now that he’d disappeared with his pregnant wife.

There was no more time to wail, no reason to collapse. The son she loved was dead. What remained alive was another monster, one who resembled both herself and William.