Chapter 9

Alberto truly didn’t care.

He already knew that Rabiana had been living under the care of her old friend Lawrence. He’d also heard the rumors about a scandal between them, but they were clearly nonsense.

If their relationship had truly been something scandalous, why would Lawrence personally arrange her marriage? Unless he were some kind of depraved psychopath, that wouldn’t make sense.

Still, rejecting her outright left a lingering feeling. He had heard from the steward that she cried after he stormed out of the dining room that morning. The bandages wrapped around her hands still lingered in his mind. And now she stood trembling, asking for help—it wasn’t easy to ignore. It wouldn’t have been, even if it wasn’t Rabiana.

With a sigh of annoyance, Alberto ran a hand through his hair and mentally checked his schedule.

“No.”

“…..”

“Either wait until I have time, or not at all.”

At that, Rabiana gave up. She hadn’t expected much to begin with, so she wasn’t particularly disappointed.

She could live without writing the letter. She was curious about how Lawrence was doing, but maybe if she kept suppressing her feelings, she’d eventually forget.

This was enough to count as her petty revenge for the wounds he’d inflicted. Just seeing Alberto mildly troubled was enough.

Not wanting to hurt him further, Rabiana stepped past him.

“I’ll go. Enjoy your walk.”

Alberto didn’t stop her. He didn’t move at all. Rabiana only realized she’d left the walking path after her hand brushed against a signpost.

But… which way was the mansion?

She could see nothing—everything was a blurry haze, like fog. She could barely make out shapes even when they were right in front of her.

“This way.”

Alberto took her wrist.

The cautious touch left her a little dazed. Rabiana naturally followed as Alberto began to walk.

He said nothing. No sighs, no scolding. He simply guided her in silence.

As if he had always meant to be her guide, Alberto led her back to the mansion.

“I can go on my own from here.”

Feeling guilty for troubling him, Rabiana gently pushed Alberto’s arm away the moment they entered the mansion. His hand dropped from her wrist. As she climbed the stairs, she touched the spot where his warmth lingered.

As she slowly ascended, holding the handrail, she sensed someone nearby. Though no words were exchanged, Rabiana could tell from the familiar scent and atmosphere—it was Alberto.

To get to his office or the library, he’d have to pass this stairwell. Trying not to think too much of it, Rabiana focused on climbing.

When they reached the floor with the bedrooms, both she and Alberto were there.

She found it strange that he had stopped but pretended not to notice, feeling along the wall to head toward her room.

But the sound of footsteps continued behind her.

‘Why is he following me? There shouldn’t be any reason for him to come to the bedroom.’

Alberto didn’t seem like the kind of brute who’d barge in regardless of time just for physical desire. And it wasn’t like he was that frequently aroused by her anyway. So it was truly confusing.

When she opened the bedroom door and entered, sure enough, Alberto followed behind. She could no longer ignore it. Flustered, Rabiana turned around to face him.

“Wh-why…?”

Without answering, Alberto walked past her. Hearing the drawer of the bedside table open, Rabiana realized she had misunderstood. Her cheeks flushed as she awkwardly rubbed her face to hide it.

Alberto pulled out paper and a pen and set them on the table with a distinct sound.

“What are you doing? Didn’t you ask me to write a letter?”

“Huh?”

“I said I’d make time I don’t have to write it.”

“Really?”

It was a truly shocking statement. Rabiana couldn’t remember the last time she had been this surprised.

Why had he, after flatly refusing, suddenly agreed? The question filled her mind—but so did a strange buoyancy. Whatever the feeling was, it wasn’t bad.

As she hurriedly approached, she bumped into the table with her knee.

“Ow—!”

With a sigh, Alberto pulled her into the chair himself. For a moment, he looked at her face.

It was the first time her usually somber expression looked genuinely bright.

“So you can make that kind of face too.”

“Huh?”

“What should I write?”

Alberto shifted the subject. Rabiana touched her face awkwardly and cleared her throat. Now that the moment had come, she wasn’t sure what to say.

“To my dear friend, Lawrence.”

Alberto silently began writing her words.

The scratch of the fountain pen against the paper was oddly soothing. A gentle breeze drifted in through the slightly open window, tickling Rabiana’s forehead. The sunlight probably poured in nicely too.

It was a bit regretful that she couldn’t see it, but even so, Rabiana felt fine. She revised her earlier thoughts—Alberto wasn’t as cruel as she’d thought.

She felt strangely light. Curling her toes under the table, she thought it would be nice if they could at least maintain this kind of distance.

But just a few days later—

“There’s a couples’ gathering you’re expected to attend with your husband.”

A new trial descended on Rabiana. The time had come for her to step into public as the Duchess.

***

Rabiana had finished preparing for the gathering early in the morning.

Even if it was just a formality, she needed to present herself as a proper duchess—for now, at least.

Alberto wanted it that way, and she also hoped that one day her child could remember her as a decent mother. Even if it was all meaningless, surely she was allowed at least one small hope?

Her hair was neatly tied back, and the stray wisps were pinned in place. Though she couldn’t see, she still had to be appropriately adorned—so she wore a modest necklace and earrings.

Of course, it was all done by Julia’s hands, so Rabiana could only trust her taste.

The green dress buttoned up to the neck fit her perfectly.

Standing without shrinking back, she carried herself gracefully, and the ring she’d received on her wedding day sat on the hand that held her cane.

She carefully made her way down to the first floor and sat upright on the sofa, waiting for Alberto.

But no matter how long she waited, there was no sign of him coming downstairs. Could they really be leaving this late?

The steward had clearly mentioned they would be departing early.

Just as Rabiana was about to get up to go look for him, she heard someone coming down the stairs.

Half-risen, she sat back down. She was sure it was Alberto.

“My Lady?”

But the voice that greeted her was one she had never heard before. It was a man’s voice—young-sounding.

Rabiana opened her mouth, hiding her confusion.

“Who…”

“Ah. I’m Pell, the Duke’s aide. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, yes. Nice to meet you.”

‘So he’s one of Alberto’s people…’

It felt strange that someone she didn’t know already knew her.

Having nothing more to say, Rabiana gave a faint, awkward smile. Still… when was Alberto coming down?

Pell had come alone, judging by the sound of only one pair of footsteps. Tired of waiting in silence, Rabiana finally asked.

“Do you know when the Duke is coming down?”

“Pardon? What do you mean?”

His confused response startled Rabiana. A wave of anxiety hit her—had she gotten the schedule wrong?

“Isn’t today the gathering at the Robinson estate?”

“…”

“I heard we were leaving early, but he hasn’t come down…”

This time, it was Pell who looked flustered. He stared at the fully dressed Rabiana and let out a tense breath.

There were many things he disliked about his job—but never had he felt this much reluctance.

Pell was the kind of man who hated hurting others.

After a long hesitation, he finally forced himself to say what needed to be said. His tone was deliberately dry—not out of care, but simply because it was his nature.

“The Duke has already left.”

“Oh… I must have been late.”

Rabiana laughed awkwardly and rubbed her neck. Pell watched her with a growing sense of discomfort. No matter how carefully he phrased it, the truth would still hurt her.

For the first time, he found himself disliking the boss who paid his wages.

“The Duke said… he would be going alone.”

“…You mean…”

“It means… you’re not expected to attend the Robinson gathering.”