Today she wore a deep green velvet dress that Madame Floss had rushed to complete. The white lace ruffle on the chest and the black silk waistband beautifully emphasized her figure. After several days of good food and rest, her complexion had definitely improved from when they first met. If only she would smile more, she would easily pass the Whitman interview.

He decided to be even more generous and try to erase the shadow on her face.

“Are you worried about not receiving the success fee if you fail? Would more advance payment motivate you?”

She fidgeted with her teacup.

“You’ve already paid more than enough in advance.”

“Then, shall I help you find another job in case you fail?”

An indecipherable light appeared in her olive eyes, which had deepened like water-soaked gems thanks to the dress.

“That won’t be necessary.”

At last, irritation seeped into his words.

“Then focus.”

When he had offered this well-paying job to a woman who seemed desperately in need of help, Jeremy believed he had relieved her greatest worry. Three months might be long or short, but during that time she could cover her room and board with his money, which was a golden opportunity for someone capable of supporting herself.

And who knew? If she did well, he might arrange suitable work for her here at Crimsworth. Even now, he could have Emil search for nanny or governess positions in the area.

Nevertheless, Bronwynner Howard didn’t seem particularly happy.

To be fair, it wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for this opportunity. Since signing the employment contract, she had been consistently respectful and willingly accepted everything he provided for her admission to the bride training school. Though she couldn’t completely hide her aversion to playing the role of a pretty fool, she at least pretended to try.

But apart from her job performance and attitude, the woman seemed to have worries that couldn’t be resolved even with the money he was offering.

Jeremy found this troubling.

‘Someone with other things on their mind can’t possibly focus on the job.’

That was his principle.

Bronwynner put down her teacup and folded her hands neatly on her lap.

“I’m listening carefully, Lord Crimsworth.”

The late winter sunlight settled over them. Countess Windell still looked into the sunroom, but with decreasing frequency.

Jeremy had always found it curious how society’s custom allowed a chaperone to merely observe a man and woman alone together without necessarily hearing their conversation. If people knew what lewd things gentlemen said to ladies while exploiting this harmful custom, it would immediately disappear.

Of course, this custom allowed him and Bronwynner to converse privately.

“Your job is to continuously monitor Lady Celestine. As closely as possible.”

She asked.

“Why must I go that far?”

“Her Majesty the Queen is extremely worried that the future crown princess might be touched by another man.”

“But the Whitman School……”

Her voice trailed off. The Whitman School provides room and board to its students and controls their outings. Students are allowed to visit their homes on weekends.

That didn’t mean the young ladies there were safe from the dangers of corruption and indulgence.

“Society is far more insidious and filthy than you imagine. Scandals always follow noble young ladies, especially. Whittingham is full of men who would consume Lady Celestine as a one-night trophy before the crown prince does.”

Jeremy locked eyes with her and slowly enunciated each word. Since Bronwynner would soon set foot in that filthy world, it wouldn’t hurt to warn her.

Whether she understood his intention or not, Bronwynner focused solely on the job.

“Then, should I report to Your Grace whenever Lady Celestine meets someone?”

He truly liked the word “report.” Of course she should report regularly. By letter and verbally.

“Not just who she meets. You also need to confirm that the young lady doesn’t behave in an unladylike manner.”

“By unladylike manner, you mean……”

“Like taking a train alone at night.”

“……”

“Or melodramatically wandering the streets at night in the rain.”

She lowered her gaze.

In Lennox, where the social order was firmly established, “lady” wasn’t just a term for an adult woman. Only women from aristocratic or equivalently high-status wealthy families were called ladies and had the qualification and duty to behave accordingly.

By that standard, Bronwynner Howard clearly wasn’t of the class to be called a lady.

If she wasn’t a lady and didn’t need to follow those behavioral norms, it wouldn’t be right for Jeremy to demand this of her. However, he was Bronwynner Howard’s employer. Now her name was Bronwynner Pemberton.

‘Whatever happened to her in the past.’

When their three-month contract ended, he would give her money, and she would take it and leave. The contract conditions didn’t include a ladylike, innocent past.

So……

So Bronwynner had the right not to reveal her past to him.

Jeremy was a fair and generous employer to the hundreds of people employed by the ducal family, and he couldn’t find any reason to make an exception for Bronwynner Howard alone.

……No matter how much he thought about it.

“I understand what you mean.”

She murmured.

In fact, Bronwynner’s job wasn’t just that.

Her real job was to confirm whether Celestine Harrows had a unique star-shaped birthmark resembling the Big Dipper around the plump part of her thighs where they met—a place that even a lady’s maid would rarely see.

However, Jeremy wasn’t reckless enough to reveal the true purpose of this job to a woman he had known for barely two weeks.

This was also related to why he had chosen to hire her instead of a noble young lady. Bronwynner would leave society forever after completing the job, but a noble young lady wouldn’t. The former and latter also differed completely in terms of influence. If a commoner woman spread rumors about the Duke of Harrows’ only daughter, she could be charged with defaming nobility.

That fact was scheduled to be very useful for silencing her later.

In other words, Bronwynner Howard was merely a tool to be used once and discarded.

“If you understand, be more careful with your behavior from now on.”

At this, she showed her indignation.

“Since coming to Crimsworth, I haven’t once gone outside the walls.”

There was no reason for the duke’s ward to refrain from going out. However, he had never given her permission to leave the house, and she hadn’t asked for it either. He couldn’t let her go out alone when the bastard who had beaten her until she lost consciousness might pounce on her again anywhere, anytime.

In Crimsworth, where the security level was the highest in the kingdom, she would be safe going out accompanied by Seth, but……

‘No, not Seth.’

He recalled the strong, insolent footman who had been holding Bronwynner in his arms, claiming to be teaching her to waltz the other day.

“That’s very commendable. Also, don’t create situations like this where you’re alone with a man.”

He glanced sideways at the glass door. Beyond it, Countess Windell had put down her embroidery frame and was now dozing off.

“This situation wasn’t created by me, but by Your Grace……”

“Don’t you want to find a good husband?”

Jeremy happily observed how the ruffle covering her chest fluttered almost visibly when she inhaled. Her slender knuckles turned white as she gripped the hem of her dress.

She answered through gritted teeth.

“I do want to. Right now.”

* * *

The Whitman family was an ancient house that had guarded Charlston, the land of white gold covered in cotton fields in southern Lennox, for generations. They took great pride in having royal blood mixed in their lineage, with ancestors including collateral relatives of the Lester family.

And because of that fact, Francine Whitman pretended not to mind at all that the Whitman rose, Lady Devon, hadn’t even made it onto the list of crown princess candidates.

Even before Princess Berenice was born with a congenital disability that prevented her from using her legs, Queen Christabel had taken an obsessive stance against consanguineous marriages. Her eldest brother Lionel, who should have originally taken Christabel’s throne, had a limp in one leg. The second brother, Austin, didn’t have any visible disabilities but had been weak since childhood and often fainted. This was the result of royal intermarriages that had been prevalent across the continent for several generations.

Thirty years ago, those princes and their cousin Fabian all lost their lives in the war against Rosvalt. While Fabian, who had been healthy, could be considered unlucky, the sad and futile assumption that the two princes wouldn’t have died in battle if they hadn’t had physical problems haunted Christabel.

Since Christabel was the only remaining bloodline of the Lester family, she exceptionally ascended to the throne despite being a woman. After that, the queen became obsessed with “pure and flawless blood.” After Princess Berenice’s birth, a custom arose that for a noble marriage to receive royal blessing, both families’ genealogies had to be submitted to Her Majesty.

Her Majesty the Queen tried to somewhat console Francine Whitman’s disappointment by matching Lady Devon with the Duke of Crimsworth.

‘But that duke shows absolutely no interest in marriage.’

Francine clicked her tongue.

Jeremy Lovedale was twenty-four. Devon was nineteen. Neither too early nor too late an age for marriage. Moreover, the young duke definitely needed a wife. The Lovedale dukedom had inherited both Crimsworth, the most fertile territory in the central region, and the privilege of a lifetime position on the Privy Council for generations. However, that position could only be assumed if the duke was married.

‘Perhaps he has a woman hidden away somewhere?’

For a noble man to keep a mistress was not even considered a scandal in Whittingham society. Even after marriage, maintaining such a relationship wasn’t considered a flaw as long as it didn’t seriously threaten the family or household.

Of course, that was just what the law and customs dictated, emotions were a separate matter. Noble young ladies and ladies didn’t welcome the possibility of their men having mistresses. This was also why Francine’s adorable granddaughter Devon had been upset recently.

“Grandmother.”

As if on cue, Devon appeared in the morning room.

Francine looked at her granddaughter with eyes full of affection.

Even objectively speaking, Devon was extremely beautiful. Her platinum blonde hair, intricately braided and secured with a small crystal tiara, was both splendid and elegant, while her light blue eyes framed by long lashes were utterly mysterious. The pink dress that enhanced her radiance fluttered lightly with each step she took.