Duchess Mecklen’s Elegant Revolt - Chapter 7 Part 6

“……”

His outstretched hand was left awkwardly hanging in the air, and a tense silence fell over the onlookers who had been watching the exchange with bated breath.

Bringing his hand back, Evan asked, “May I ask why you’re refusing me?”

“I’m simply not in the mood to dance.”

Evan was momentarily speechless, surprised by her bluntness. There was something different about her now. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her.

“That’s a shame. I was only trying to help you enjoy the evening,” he said, his voice smooth but with a slight edge.

In debutante etiquette, it was customary for unmarried men to offer a dance to debutantes who lacked a partner. Evan’s request was, on the surface, a kind gesture to ensure that the newly debuted Duchess didn’t feel isolated due to the scandal. It was a way of offering her support, or so it seemed.

Behind the refined music of the string instruments, whispers among the nobles grew louder.

“She turned him down? How ungrateful.”

“Her words were far too harsh.”

“She’s really pushing her luck, isn’t she?”

Despite the growing hostility, Eleanor stood her ground. She flicked open the ornate fan she had received as a gift from the Empress Dowager.

“I apologize if my refusal came across too harshly. I’m new to this, so I may have been a bit clumsy.”

“Clumsy?” Evan’s smile stiffened, sensing that he was being mocked.

Eleanor’s next words silenced the murmurs in the room. “Can you handle the rumors that come with being associated with me, Lord Evan?”

The crowd fell silent as if someone had poured cold water over them.

“As you know, my reputation isn’t the best right now,” she continued, her eyes scanning the room and meeting the gaze of several nobles, who quickly looked away.

“I refused you out of consideration for your own well-being. I didn’t want you to suffer any repercussions by associating with me. Please, don’t take it the wrong way.”

Though her words were apologetic, her expression was anything but. She wielded her fan with an air of confidence, unbothered by the tension in the room. The nobles, who had been quick to side with Evan, now hesitated. None of them wanted to risk becoming the target of the very rumors Eleanor had alluded to.

Evan’s smile faltered, and his eyes lost their previous warmth. “You could have stayed out of the spotlight. There was no need for you to come here.”

It was an ambiguous statement, but Eleanor caught the underlying meaning. Evan was speaking as if he knew more about the scandal than he should.

“I only wanted to help you,” Evan said, leaning closer, his voice laced with a subtle threat. “But your coldness wounds me deeply.”

Eleanor, still holding her fan, simply smiled behind it, clearly not believing a word of it. Evan, growing frustrated by her nonchalance, stepped forward to close the distance between them.

Smack.

“……!”

Evan’s advance was halted as he found something sharp pressed against his forehead. The firm end of Eleanor’s fan was aimed directly at him, stopping him in his tracks as if he had come face-to-face with a blade.

The onlookers gasped in surprise as Eleanor calmly spoke, her voice steady and unyielding. “I told you, Lord Evan, that I’m doing this for your own good.”

“W-What…”

“If you cross this line, even I won’t be able to take responsibility for what happens next.”

Eleanor’s declaration hung in the air, rendering the entire room silent as if frozen in time. 

“Do you think you can handle it? Becoming a rival to the Duke of Mecklen is no easy feat.”

“A… rival?” Evan flinched. He knew about the discord between the Duke and Duchess of Mecklen, but this… this had to be bluster.

But the next words Eleanor spoke made his expression darken considerably.

“Perhaps that’s why Lord Childe fled—afraid to face the wrath of the Duke of Mecklen, the Empire’s greatest swordsman. Lord Childe has a real talent for getting involved with remarkable people. Oh, and isn’t it true that you were once involved in a rather interesting love triangle with him?”

“……!”

The focus of the room shifted swiftly from the Duchess to Evan. As the gossip started to fly about the alleged love triangle between Childe and Evan, Evan’s eyes began to tremble noticeably. He raised his head to meet Eleanor’s gaze.

She stood there, regal and composed, her smile unbroken.

“…I shall take my leave for now.” Unable to endure any longer, Evan hurriedly fled the scene.

As the atmosphere at the party was heating up due to the appearance of the Duchess of Mecklen, a new carriage came to a halt in front of the mansion. The guard moved to intercept the latecomers, but upon recognizing them, he quickly stepped aside and saluted.

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

The man who stepped out of the carriage was none other than the Duke of Mecklen, Ernst. His tightly pressed lips betrayed his current mood. The aide who followed him cautiously observed his superior’s demeanor.

“Your Grace…”

Ignoring the words directed at him, Ernst marched into the hall. The aide hesitated at the entrance for a moment, uncertain of what might happen next.

After returning from his meeting with the Emperor, Ernst had spent the entire time in his office, ignoring his work and merely sipping tea in brooding silence—a behavior that unsettled his aide far more than any outburst of anger would have.

“There’s no stopping this, is there…?”

The Emperor had yet to decide on the punishment for the Duchess, and Ernst, who had been waiting for the Emperor’s deliberation, had rushed to the Duke of Nestor’s residence as soon as he heard of Eleanor’s debutante.

While the aide was deep in thought, Ernst entered the hall where the debutante was taking place.

“Oh my, Your Grace.”

“Ernst?”

Nobles who recognized Ernst discreetly nudged each other and stepped aside. As he walked forward, the crowd parted, creating a scene reminiscent of the Red Sea’s miracle.

“Has he come to meet the Duchess?”

“To meet both the Duke and Duchess of Mecklen here is quite something.”

“Shh, he’ll hear you.”

“Doesn’t he look angry?”

“I’d be angry too if I were him.”

Ernst ignored the murmurs and kept his eyes fixed ahead as he walked. The path that had opened up before him led straight to one point—Eleanor.

“……”

“……”

Ernst and Eleanor’s gazes met in the air. His confident stride faltered for a moment, but he quickly resumed his pace. His intention was clear: to drag the Duchess out of the party in front of everyone. There was no need to report this to anyone above him. Today would mark the end of her tenure as a lady-in-waiting.

As Ernst’s angry steps brought him closer, a clear voice reached his ears.

“The dress I’m wearing now is the very one Childe von Ezester allegedly took as a token of affection.”

A brief silence followed.

The atmosphere at the party instantly froze, and everyone turned to gauge the Duke of Mecklen’s reaction. Ernst, astonished by Eleanor’s audacity even in his presence, could only stare in disbelief.

“What did you just say…?”

“But I never met him while wearing this dress.”

“That’s nonsense. There’s clear evidence, and you expect us to believe otherwise?”

“That’s precisely why I attended this debutante.”

“……?”

“Lord Childe claimed that we had a secret meeting on the first day of the Harvest Festival. But the truth is, I wore this turquoise dress at the masquerade ball.”

A wave of murmurs erupted.

“Surely, some among you must have attended the masquerade.”

This debutante, hosted by the Nestor family, one of the Empire’s three great ducal houses, had been promoted as the largest debut in history. It was safe to say that nearly all the notable nobles in the capital were present.

Eleanor closed the fan she had opened. “I need someone to verify that I was wearing this dress at the masquerade.”

Norah had quietly approached her and handed over a mask. It was a unique butterfly mask adorned with diamonds and various other gemstones. As Eleanor put it on, a faint gasp was heard from somewhere in the crowd.

“That mask… I’ve seen it somewhere before…”

Even if not everyone here had attended the masquerade, surely someone would have some connection to it. As expected, one of the young ladies who had linked arms with Eleanor and danced with her that night began to recall the memory. A woman wearing a butterfly mask, dancing with a very tall man in the center of the stage.

“Yes, I remember! She was with me that night.”

A significant stir arose among the crowd. Ernst, who was about to forcibly drag Eleanor out, suddenly halted in his tracks. Seizing the moment, the Duchess made her declaration to the audience.

“Childe von Ezester manipulated evidence to slander me and tarnish the honor of the Mecklen family. His fabricated love story spread through idle gossip, causing me unbearable humiliation as a woman.”

Therefore.

“I intend to request a formal trial regarding this matter.”

“A trial…!”

This was the Duchess of Mecklen’s declaration of war—against the House of Ezester. The swelling tension in the air was palpable, fueling the excitement of the gathering.

Ernst shouted, “I can’t stand this any longer. Come out this instant—”

“A trial, you say? That sounds interesting.”

In the midst of the commotion, a voice cut through. The crowd’s attention turned to a man wearing a black mask. His neatly dressed appearance, in a plain white shirt without any embellishments, made it difficult to ascertain his identity, adding to the intrigue.

Among the bewildered crowd, only one person reacted—Eleanor herself.

‘How did he…’

He appeared exactly as he had at the masquerade, perhaps intentionally so. The man’s lips curved into a crooked smile beneath the mask.

“I’ll testify as a witness.”

“Who is he?”

“Is he a nobleman who was invited?”

As the man pushed through the crowd and approached Eleanor, Ernst stepped forward to block him but hesitated, sensing something was off. Eleanor looked up at the man who was now standing close beside her. In front of everyone, he slowly removed his mask.

“Your Majesty…!”

Someone shouted in a voice filled with shock, and everyone immediately dropped to their knees. The Emperor’s emerald eyes, gleaming under his silver hair, curved into a crescent moon shape as he smiled.

“The person who danced with her while she wore this dress was none other than me.”

A silent storm swept through the hall.

***

There was a secluded villa, where its owner, after a late night of drinking, had come in at dawn and collapsed carelessly onto the sofa in the reception room. The elderly servant of the house had gone to bed early. The fact that the servant had gone to sleep before the master returned was utterly insolent, but considering he was only temporarily hired and hadn’t yet been fully trained, the owner decided to overlook it.

“Ha, this is true happiness,” Childe muttered, his voice thick with intoxication.

It had been three days since he hid in the villa. For someone who was supposed to be on the run, his life was surprisingly leisurely. There were no creditors banging at his door, he had plenty of gold coins, and he could do whatever he wanted. The liquor tasted particularly exquisite without his father’s restrictions.

“How nice it would have been if I could have lived like this from the start,” Childe mused, his gaze turning bleary as he stared at the ceiling.

It was so comfortable to give up on the troublesome title. He had always been tormented by the pressure to follow in his father’s footsteps, and he had longed for freedom. He never felt guilty about driving his father to frustration with his endless misdeeds.

‘After all, I’m just a scoundrel,’ Childe thought bitterly as he closed his eyes.

His father was a highly respected and beloved Duke in public, but to him, he was a strict and frightening figure. Childe hated his father more than anything for constantly blaming his lack of talent on his supposed lack of effort. He knew that this incident might damage the Ezester family, but Childe didn’t care. The family meant nothing to him. His father would never pass down the estate to him anyway, so it didn’t matter what happened. All he wanted was to live a life of indulgence, free to play, eat, and enjoy himself.

Suddenly, Childe reached for a copy of Eros that he had left carelessly on the table.

“It’s a shame,” he said. “That Duchess was pretty decent.”

As he skimmed through the article, a sly grin spread across Childe’s face. He had heard countless rumors about Princess Hartmann; they were impossible to avoid with everyone around him gossiping endlessly. But when he finally met the princess, she turned out to be quite different from what he had imagined. If they met again, he felt he could handle things better this time.

“Will she get divorced…?” he wondered aloud as he unconsciously reached into his pocket. There, he found a piece of the dress—just a strip long enough to wrap around his wrist—that he had kept out of reluctance to throw it away. He toyed with the string, swinging it around absentmindedly.

“It’s exhausting to have so many enemies,” he sighed.

This was why people should live quietly and unobtrusively. Whoever it was, they must have despised her enough to use him to stir up such a mess. Not that it mattered to him; he had nothing to lose. As long as he got money and a comfortable life out of it, that was enough. He felt a brief pang of guilt but it quickly faded.

He tossed the “Eros” aside and was just about to close his eyes and drift off to sleep when—

Bang, bang—!

The sound of someone forcefully kicking the wooden door echoed through the villa. The fog in Childe’s mind instantly cleared, and he shot up from his seat, peering outside.

“What the hell?”

This villa was deep in the mountains, so there was no reason for anyone to visit. And it wasn’t as if he was being pursued—he would have noticed long before if he had been tracked from the tavern.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that crept up on him.

Bang, bang—!

“…Damn it.”

Now fully sober, Childe sprang up and rushed out of the room. Could they have already discovered his location?

“The Duke of Ezester will never find you here.”

The masked man who had brought him to this place had assured him. Childe had been impressed by the villa, hidden away in the folds of the mountain, thinking it was unlikely anyone would come here.

“Master, what’s going on?”

The elderly servant, now awake, stepped out to see what was happening.

“Go check it out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Quickly!” Childe barked the order, and the servant, intimidated by his authority, reluctantly shuffled towards the door.

‘I need to escape.’

While the servant dealt with the visitor, he planned to slip away through the back. Acting on his decision, he dashed toward the kitchen.

“Damn it.”

Of all times, the kitchen door was locked.

“The old fool, locking it at a time like this,” Childe cursed, frantically searching for the key. His hands slipped several times while trying to unlock the door, but as soon as it gave way, he bolted outside.

“Lord Childe.”

“……!”

The moment his feet touched the ground in the clearing behind the villa, he was confronted by Imperial knights. Seeing that the knights had the villa surrounded with no escape routes, Childe was left in utter despair.

One of the knights, accompanied by Empress Dowager’s lady-in-waiting, Berenice, approached the trembling Childe.

“You will have to come with us to the palace.”

There was nowhere to run.

‘Just when life was finally getting good…’

Realizing his fate, Childe lowered his head in resignation.