“You’re here?”

Natalia sat gracefully on the sofa, sipping her tea. As the head maid had said, she had clearly been waiting for some time: the teacup in front of her was almost empty, and even the plate of biscuits, which she would never usually touch, was missing one.

“Yes.”

Ines sank wearily into the seat opposite and felt cold sweat breaking out on her skin. The heavy scent of what had just happened clung to her, while Natalia openly showed her distaste.

“Go on, drink this.”

Although she tried to sound calm, the contempt in her voice was impossible to hide. Had she ever even tried to hide it?

As if she had been waiting for this moment, Ines took the small vial of post-coital contraception and swallowed it whole. She could never get used to its viscous texture or the bitterness, which was sharp enough to make her nose prickle.

“Forgive me, but I’ll excuse myself now.”

“Ah, Ines.”

“…Yes, Your Ladyship?”

“Next time, bring a scarf with you. Are you leaving your neck like that because you want everyone to know what you’ve been doing?”

“…”

Ines bit her lip. It wasn’t the season for scarf, and she’d never imagined Lucien would punish her so harshly. Yet anything she said now would be nothing more than an excuse. Unlike him—who remembered none of it—she remembered every single detail.

Therefore, it was her responsibility to prepare for it.

“I’ll do so from now on.”

“Good. There’s no point in it being known.”

For the first time, Ines found herself agreeing with Natalia. Now more than ever, she did not want Lucien to find out.

“Your words are right, Your Ladyship. I’ll be more careful.”

At Ines’s obedient reply, Natalia finally allowed herself a smile.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re a sensible girl.”

Ines laughed bitterly to herself at Natalia’s words. She couldn’t believe how elegantly she had dressed up a command to know one’s place. It seemed that being a duchess was not something that just anyone could manage.

“Then, I’ll take my leave.”

“Don’t forget to take your pouch with you.”

“…Yes.”

Ines took the blue pouch of gold coins and stepped out, albeit with some difficulty. The head maid, who had been waiting, followed her all the way to the carriage. Only after seeing her climb aboard did she turn on her heel and hurry away.

Inside the carriage, Ines slumped against the seat as the wheels began to turn. It wasn’t the relationship with him that had worn her down the most, but everything that had happened since it had ended.

Lately, the thought of how much longer she would have to endure it had been weighing heavily on her.

Three years was already a long time, yet the idea of deceiving Lucien any further filled her with unease. The clink of coins inside the pouch in her hand scraped sharply at her eardrums.

“…I don’t want him to find out now.”

And yet, she despised herself for her inability to confess and for accepting the scorn of others. With a self-mocking smile, she pulled three coins from the pouch and slipped them into her own pocket.

Despite her exhaustion, she hated herself for taking her share.

When she arrived home, she forced herself to stay upright as she stepped inside. All she wanted was to bathe and lie down, but her mother approached her with a bright smile and she had to stop.

“My eldest, you’re finally back.”

“…Yes, Mother.”

“Give the pouch to me and go rest.”

Snatching the pouch from her hand, Samantha’s smile stretched wide.

The marks on Ines’s neck were still clearly visible. In the duke’s house, she had encountered nothing but contempt; in her own home, she was met with indifference. Having achieved her goal, her mother disappeared from view.

Standing there in a daze, Inés trudged back to her room. It looked far too shabby to belong to a noble household, but for some reason, this brought her relief.

After a quick wash, she was overcome by hunger, but chose to lie down first. She reached for the handkerchief she had left on the nightstand earlier.

Although it had been a gift from him a long time ago — too long for it to still carry his scent — she could still detect a faint trace of it when she held it to her nose.

A memory surfaced—him as a boy, flustered and awkward, trying to comfort her through her tears. The handkerchief he’d given her back then was worn to threads now, yet it remained her most cherished possession.

Perhaps because she had just spent four days in his presence, the day she returned home from sharing the rut cycle with him always felt unbearably lonely.

Whether it was love that made her feel this way, or the strain of constantly deceiving him, she couldn’t say for certain—only that she missed him, achingly so.

No—she didn’t need a reason.

Once her restless heart finally quieted, Ines pressed the handkerchief to her nose, breathed in, and drifted into sleep with it still in her grasp.

⬤ ⬤ ⬤ ⬤ ⬤ ⬤

When she had rested enough and returned to her duties at the Reinhardt ducal household, Ines was immediately struck by how much livelier the atmosphere seemed than usual.

Still, after being away for several days, there was plenty of work waiting for her, and she pushed her curiosity aside for the moment.

While she was in the storeroom checking the supplies, the sound of passing servants’ voices drifted in from just outside.

“Did you see her?”

“I was the one who escorted her to the drawing room.”

“Really? How was she?”

“Utterly beautiful. I thought to myself, Ah, so this is what a young lady of the nobility—like a single, perfect rose—looks like.“

“I wish I could have seen her!”

Pausing in her work, Ines tilted her head. If there had been a tea party, she surely would have heard of it. And if the duchess had entertained a guest, it was far more likely to be a lady of mature years than a young maiden.

Just as her curiosity sharpened, one of the servants continued.

“She and the master looked so good together! Now I understand what they mean when they say ‘a match made in heaven.’”

“Ah, I’m so jealous.”

“You should try to see her later when she leaves.”

“Do you think that’s alright?”

“You’ll have to greet her anyway, won’t you?”

Their chatter faded as they walked away—or perhaps she could no longer hear them, too stunned to register anything else. The bundle of papers in her hand slipped to the floor with a dull thud.

“…”

Breathing had become difficult, as if an unexpected farewell had descended all at once. She had always known this day would come.

Given how quickly he had assumed the title of duke, he should have started looking for a wife a long time ago — truth be told, he was long overdue.

And yet, selfish as it was, she had wished he might postpone marriage just a little longer. Long enough for her to go on loving him quietly, from afar.

But things would change once he had a wife. No matter how unrequited her feelings, she could not go on loving a man who belonged to another.

All Ines could do was pray that the servants were wrong—pray it again and again. But before the clock even struck three, the words of a visiting maid shattered what little hope she had left.

“You’ve heard already, haven’t you? The master asked me to tell you there won’t be tea time today!”

The maid who usually delivered this message seemed to be in a particularly good mood. Although Ines found this distasteful, she had no intention of rising to such childish provocation. Keeping her tone calm, she continued arranging the supplies.

“I’ve been busy working, so I haven’t heard a thing. Did something happen?”

The maid nearly scoffed at her reply. She knew full well that the others had deliberately gossiped in front of the storeroom. Even if the door had been shut, the windows were open — how could Inés possibly claim not to have heard?

Failing to hide the sly curl of her lips, the maid answered brightly.

“Today, the young lady who will soon be the master’s fiancée—the daughter of Count Mayer—came to visit. She’s having tea with him right now.”

“…Thank you for letting me know.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Seeing no real reaction from Ines, the maid tossed back a curt reply and left the storeroom. Only when the door shut did Ines sink to the floor, drained.

Her heart pounded so fiercely it felt as if it might burst, cold sweat slicking her skin. The reality she had feared for so long had finally arrived, and her eyes burned with heat.

Rubbing her face with both hands, as though to wipe away the tears, she whispered the words like an incantation.

When her hands fell away, her face was devoid of all expression.

“You knew this already.”

It wasn’t as though she had discovered anything she hadn’t known deep down—no reason, really, to be so shaken. That was what she kept telling herself, over and over, for the rest of the afternoon.