Chapter 81

The sound of two pairs of footsteps echoed heavily through the solemn corridor. Edmund and Blair passed the servants one by one, all of them keeping their heads bowed in silence. They had just entered the corridor where the Duke of Libert’s bedroom was located.

Bang!

The sound of a door being kicked open rang out from afar.

“Rufus, my child!”

“Don’t follow me!”

“Your father didn’t mean it that way…!”

As they rounded the corner, Rufus came stomping toward them. When his eyes met Edmund’s, Rufus faltered for a brief moment, his face twisting sharply, before he resumed walking. Edmund kept moving toward the duke’s bedroom, guiding the startled Blair along.

It was the moment their shoulders brushed past each other.

“Filthy bastard,” Rufus muttered, as if chewing the words out.

Blair knew she should ignore it, but her heart dropped heavily, and before she realized it, she looked up at Rufus. Her widened eyes then shifted to Edmund.

The man who had heard the chilling insult looked utterly indifferent. As if it hadn’t affected him at all. Or as if he was simply far too skilled at wearing such a mask.

Edmund passed Rufus as though he were nothing more than air drifting by, and soon arrived at the bedroom door. Isabelle, who had been pressing her fingers to her forehead, snapped her head up and glared at him. Furious rage burned across the face of the duchess, who looked exactly like Rufus.

“I’m going in.”

When Edmund stepped to the side to pass her, Isabelle thrust out her arm to block his way.

“What do you think you can do just because he’s still conscious?”

“He asked to see me, so I came to pay my respects.”

“The blood running through your body is no better than muddy filth. No matter how clean you pretend it is, it’s bound to stink in the end. When you think about where that blood came from… there’s no way it could be clean.”

“….”

“So don’t delude yourself into thinking you can dare covet Rufus’s place.”

“That’s for my father to decide.”

The corner of Edmund’s mouth twisted.

“Mother, perhaps you should hold out a little hope.”

“…What?”

“They say neutered males grow docile, but seeing Rufus only get more vicious by the day, it doesn’t seem entirely impossible.”

Isabelle’s face twisted into something like a demon’s. The duchess let out a strange cry and lunged at Edmund. The woman who had maintained her dignity in front of Blair completely lost her reason, faced with the duke’s impending death and final will.

“M-madam…!”

Blair clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. Isabelle, however, collapsed onto the spot without ever reaching Edmund. Her fury had surged too high, and she lost consciousness.

Blair hurriedly supported Isabelle’s neck and held her. Judging by how often this must have happened, Edmund only let out a sigh as he knelt on one knee in front of Isabelle and checked her complexion.

Blair, who had been about to call for a servant, hesitated. Then she whispered quietly to Edmund, “Edmund, I’ll take the duchess back to her bedroom with the servants. You should meet the duke alone.”

“….”

“I’m your wife right now. What I do reflects on you. You should go and take your place first, as the duke’s heir.”

He needed to see the duke, who was on his deathbed, but it was also difficult to leave the unconscious duchess here like this. Blair hoped that, even if only in name, Edmund would accept her help and keep his priorities straight.

Edmund looked at Blair for a moment, then nodded. “Then I’ll leave it to you, Blair.”

He gave a slight bow and stood up. Unlike his polite words, there was no pity or cynicism on his composed face. Without hesitation, Edmund turned his back and flung open the door to the duke’s bedroom.

Blair steadied her breathing at Isabelle’s side and looked up at his retreating figure. The man reflected in her eyes felt farther away than before.

***

Thud. The moment the door closed, the pungent smell of medicinal herbs surrounded Edmund. A dark stillness hung in the bedroom where not a single ray of sunlight reached, and from the bed with its white curtains came the thin, uneven sound of breathing. It was a sound he’d grown almost used to, the breath of someone nearing death.

Inside the bedroom were the attending physician, Benjamin, and two servants assigned to minimal attendance. They withdrew through the archway into the adjoining sitting room so Edmund and the duke could be alone.

Edmund walked steadily to the bed and sat down on a chair, looking down at the duke in silence. The duke, who had been repeating precarious breaths through dry lips, slowly pushed his eyelids open. His eyes, clouded as if wrapped in thick fog, fixed on Edmund.

“Edmund.”

“Yes.”

“So you finally came.”

It was a reproachful tone, as if he’d been clinging to life just to greet his son. Edmund let out a quiet scoff, like a breeze scattering away.

“I was told your end was near, so I hurried.”

William Libert didn’t answer. He slowly closed his wrinkled eyelids once, then opened them again.

“What’s going on… outside?”

So your hearing is still sharp. He must have heard the commotion with Isabelle earlier. Edmund lowered his gaze briefly before speaking.

“It’s nothing.”

“Rufus, no… Isabelle?”

“….”

“It must be Isabelle. She’s the only one… who would do such a thing.”

The Duke of Libert drew in an unsteady breath and stared up at him. Edmund met his gaze with a strange feeling as his own face filled those eyes, now deeply shadowed by illness.

“Edmund.”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“You resemble me. You’re the spitting image of me in my youth. You can’t even hide it. Even Isabelle couldn’t deny you were the child born between Lorraine and me. It was too obvious.”

The duke, speaking as if recalling the past, added, “I’ve been thinking about it. That’s why I’m troubled. Rufus… I fear he might have left everything to you.”

“I went back over it all. That’s why he grew resentful. Rufus… he was afraid I would leave everything to you.”

“Did you?”

When Edmund asked quietly, the duke answered with a sound as if something were caught deep in his throat. Only after a short pause did Edmund realize it was a bitter laugh.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

As the duke said, the will would soon be revealed to the world. There was no need to be impatient. It was already out of Edmund’s hands. His thoughts, having turned elsewhere, settled on a different place.

‘Lorraine….’

It was a name he hadn’t heard in a very long time. A woman deemed unworthy, denied burial in the Libert family grounds. Back then, Edmund, still a child, had been forced to watch helplessly as her remains burned. It was on Isabelle’s rigid orders.

But in hindsight, he wondered whether cremation had truly been necessary simply because she was a mistress. Perhaps Isabelle wanted to avoid even a formal autopsy.

“Do you regret it?” he asked in a low voice. For a moment, even he didn’t know exactly what he was asking.

“Do you mean whether I regret taking Lorraine in?”

“No.”

Edmund laughed softly, his throat vibrating.

“You didn’t protect my mother. You never intended to in the first place, but you were someone who could have kept her within your reach and cared for her.”

The Duke of Libert did not answer right away. It wasn’t hesitation. It was pride that had grown too old and hardened like stone, holding firm at the tip of his tongue.

After a long while, the duke’s dry lips finally moved.

“I… have never once in my life regretted a decision I made.”

“….”

“Edmund, you’re the same, aren’t you?”

“…Ha.”

A hollow laugh slipped out.

Watching his son, William Libert continued in a dry voice, “You resemble me. You’re the perfect image of me when I was young….”

Edmund’s brow creased slightly.

“It’s a fact you can’t even hide. Even Isabelle couldn’t deny you were the child born between Lorraine and me….”

It was almost word for word the same as what he’d said earlier. Like an old man who had lost his memory, repeating the same line without context.

“What I can’t stand, what I would never forgive even if the sky were to fall….”

As if recalling something, the duke’s teeth ground against each other. Edmund caught a glimpse of something feral in the face of the man who once wielded absolute authority. Strangely, it felt like looking into a mirror.

“To dare lay a hand on my authority.”

“….”

“And Isabelle clearly crossed the line.”