Without realizing it, Logan had fallen asleep at Isabella’s bedside. He stirred from his shallow sleep at the sound of a knock.

“The Dowager Countess Everett has arrived.”

At the guard’s words from outside the hospital room, irritation briefly crossed Logan’s still-drowsy face.

How long had it been since she sent word requesting a visit to the manor?

Ordinarily, when a meeting place was changed, people allowed at least a day or two before appearing. The fact that she had not even waited a single day suggested her urgency ran deep.

“Have her wait outside.”

“She has also requested to see Miss Isabella.”

Logan’s brows furrowed at the guard’s next words. The very person who had introduced a degenerate like Jack Hunter now dared to ask to see Isabella?

“Bring her in.”

Though her visit was unwelcome, Logan allowed it after a brief deliberation. Isabella had lived for years under that household’s roof. He would at least hear what the former mistress had to say.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

After the guard descended the stairs, the sound of a cane echoed down the corridor, which had been cleared of all others. The sharp rhythm carried down the empty floor until it stopped before the door.

The hospital room door opened.

From beyond it entered an elderly woman—her back bent with age, yet her noble bearing entirely unbroken.

“It has been some time, Lady Everett.”

Logan greeted her first. He faintly remembered seeing her several times during the lifetime of the previous count.

“You have grown tall—just as much as Vincent.”

The Dowager Countess regarded him steadily. The boy whose baby fat had not yet faded was now a man in full stature.

“Please, sit.”

Logan guided her to the sofa placed inside the hospital room. Isabella remained unconscious; there was, in truth, no visit to be made. Yet he could not leave an elderly woman standing after such a journey.

The Dowager Countess lowered herself onto the soft sofa and surveyed the room. Though it bore signs of careful arrangement meant to provide comfort, the distinct scent of hospital disinfectants lingered heavily in the air. She wrinkled her nose faintly, clearly displeased by it.

“I hear… much has happened.”

“Yes. I have scarcely had time to sleep.”

“My son and his wife have committed unforgivable wrongs against the Fraser family, I am told.”

The Dowager Countess’s wrinkled hand tightened around her cane.

William had not only killed Logan’s father—he had committed arson to conceal the crime. And yet, without the slightest trace of remorse, he had proclaimed Amelia his savior and secured her place as Logan’s fiancée.

Faced with the enormity of William’s lies, she could hardly bring herself to look Logan Fraser in the eye.

“William will face his punishment. I will see to it that he does not escape.”

Though she acknowledged her son’s guilt, the sentence of death weighed heavily upon her heart. He was still her child. And yet she had not come to beg for leniency. Whatever verdict was delivered, she was prepared to accept it.

“But Vincent… that child has done nothing wrong.”

She knew all too well that if the charge of murdering a noble were upheld, not only the offender but the entire family could face execution.

She herself was on that list.

The Dowager Countess had already accepted her fate. At her age, when even steadying her own body was difficult, she had little attachment to life.

But Vincent was different.

Her poor grandson knew nothing of what his father had done—nothing of how far his family had fallen.

“…Vincent said this to me. That ignorance is also a sin.”

The moment she arrived in the capital, she had gone straight to him.

He had shut himself inside his room, drinking alone. The furnishings lay shattered across the floor, and the air was thick and stale, as though the windows had not been opened in days.

Crushed by guilt over not knowing the atrocities his family had committed, he could do nothing. Unlike his father, who continued to appeal the verdict in refusal to accept it, Vincent had locked himself away, waiting only for the final judgment to fall.

“Vincent wasn’t even at the ducal estate that day.”

He had remained in Rosedale, bedridden with influenza. There had been no way for him to know the truth.

And yet he sought to bear responsibility for not having known.

The Vincent she saw wore the face of a man who had already accepted death.

He did not defend himself. He did not plead injustice. He made no attempt to argue for his survival.

That hurt her all the more.

“I know it is shameless of me to make such a request…”

Her voice trailed off as she bowed her head.

She, who had lived long enough, could accept death at any moment.

But Vincent—whose future still stretched before him—could not.

She had come here for one reason alone.

To save her grandson.

Silence settled over the hospital room.

Logan, who had listened without interruption, slowly straightened.

“I am well aware that Vincent has done nothing wrong.”

It had been Vincent who, when Logan first harbored suspicions, went to the Everett estate himself to secure evidence against the Count. Vincent who tracked down former servants and obtained their testimony.

Had he learned the truth before Logan did, he would have confessed everything even before the trial began.

He might have seemed carefree, even reckless at times—

but he was sincere.

And just.

Vincent was that kind of man.

“I am drafting a petition regarding that matter.”

If Count Everett’s charge of murdering a noble was upheld, Vincent would also be subject to execution. To protect him, Logan was gathering evidence and testimony proving that Vincent had actively cooperated with the investigation in order to uncover the truth. He was preparing the petition himself.

To save his life.

“Did Your Grace believe I would simply stand by and watch my friend die?”

At Logan’s words, the Dowager Countess fell silent.

Until coming to the hospital, she had harbored resentment toward him—thinking he had abandoned Vincent until the boy fell into such ruin. It seemed that unspoken suspicion had been laid bare.

All her life, she had never thought well of the Fraser heir. Yet now it was Logan Fraser who was, in truth, holding Vincent’s lifeline in his hands.

As though to rebuke her for ever disapproving of their friendship.

“He was a good child.”

At last, the Dowager Countess turned her gaze toward the hospital bed.

The maid who had once read to her in a steady, proper voice now lay there, unmoving.

Her name was Isabella.

She had heard it from Vincent.

A child who had lived with her parents while they served the Fraser household—sent far away after witnessing William’s crime.

Should one be grateful that she survived, even at the cost of her memories?

The Dowager Countess felt a heavy ache at the thought of Isabella’s life.

When she learned what had happened to Isabella’s parents, she was struck deeply by the realization that her son and daughter-in-law had not merely wronged the Fraser ducal house—but had utterly destroyed a single child’s life.

For a woman who had lived by moral conviction, it was an unbearable disgrace.

If only she could offer an apology.

But after all that Isabella had endured—even being entangled in Jack Hunter’s affair—only remorse remained.

“I hear you share a connection with that child.”

“Yes.”

The Dowager Countess had asked after hearing the rumors spreading through the capital. Because of the engagement to Amelia, their bond had been labeled an affair by society.

But she had not asked to condemn or reproach him.

She knew that relationship had begun with falsehoods—bound by the lie that Amelia was his savior.

“You understand what kind of life awaits a maid who marries a noble.”

“I do.”

The scrutiny would not be gentle. Though the world had grown more equal than in her generation, the gaze cast upon a commoner who married into nobility remained far from kind.

For a long time, the Dowager Countess had pondered how she might begin to right William’s wrongs.

What could she possibly do for the two who had suffered wounds that no apology could heal?

After much thought, she had arrived at a single proposal.

She lifted her head, as though having finally resolved herself.

“I have something to propose to the Duke.”