Winter was milder than the previous year and was slowly giving way to spring.

Although the season had not yet reached its peak, when blooming flowers would bring aristocratic society to life, the newspapers and gazettes were already filled with social speculation.

At the center of every rumor was Logan Fraser, the Duke of Fraser, who had returned to the marriage market after his former fiancée’s crimes were exposed.

As his previous engagement had lasted many years, and he was well past the ideal age for marriage, many noble families assumed he would move quickly to find a new bride. Preparations to present their daughters had begun in earnest.

After reading an article that concluded with the line, [A breeze is stirring through high society because of the Duke of Fraser], Isabella quietly folded the newspaper in half.

The article devoted so much space to Logan Fraser’s standing in society that it read less like a newspaper column and more like a carefully composed autobiography.

Logan Fraser was admired by both the nobility and the Empire’s citizens.

Through his enterprises, he created countless jobs. He rewarded talent regardless of birth. Some even whispered that he rivalled, if not surpassed, the imperial family in merit.

Whenever Isabella read such praise about the man who behaved like a lovestruck fool beside her, she acutely felt the distance between them.

And it unsettled her.

It was not the pride of having such a capable man by her side that troubled her, but the quiet fear that she could never bridge the gap between them.

Being with Duke Logan Fraser meant enduring constant scrutiny from others who were always judging whether she was worthy of him.

‘Marriage will not be easy, either.’

By suggesting they start dating, Isabella had bought herself time, but now she wondered how long she could prolong this period.

Whenever she remembered reporters rushing at her with flashing cameras and demanding interviews, her hands still trembled.

Following Jack’s attack, Logan had managed to control the press so effectively that her name hadn’t appeared anywhere. Yet the anxiety remained, lodged in her chest.

‘Can I truly endure at his side?’

She found herself thinking of Amelia, who had been raised from childhood with the sole purpose of marrying into the Fraser family.

Despite her noble birth and early training in refinement, Amelia often criticized herself, claiming that she could not compare to the aristocrats of the capital.

If Amelia, who had been carefully trained and polished as a noblewoman, felt inadequate, how could Isabella, a commoner by birth, ever hope to measure up?

Since moving into the mansion, Isabella had been studying dining etiquette and other accomplishments under a private tutor hired by Logan.

Yet she was painfully aware of how far she fell short of her tutor’s expectations.

Being able to read and write was not enough.

Among commoners, where access to education was limited, that might have seemed exceptional.

In noble society, however, it was simply the bare minimum. The more she allowed herself to dwell on it, the darker her expression became.

Most days, she managed to steady herself. But whenever she read articles praising Logan or was corrected during her lessons, her spirits would quietly sink.

Smack.

Suddenly, Isabella lightly struck both of her cheeks with her hands.

“I shouldn’t let myself get depressed.”

The Duke was doing everything he could for her. There was no reason to dwell on a future that had yet to arrive. No one openly criticized her anymore.

Nevertheless, determined to shake off the heaviness clinging to her, Isabella left her bedroom and headed for the study. If she was going to brood, she might as well finish one of her tutor’s assignments.

“Milady.”

“Seri, I told you not to call me that. My name is more than—”

“You have a visitor.”

Isabella was about to correct Seri for addressing her as ‘Milady’ again, since she was not yet a duchess. However, she stopped mid-sentence when she noticed the man standing behind her maid.

“Good afternoon. My name is Roster Gibson. I will be taking over as legal counsel for Fraser Enterprises, succeeding Sir Vincent.”

Having introduced himself as Vincent’s replacement, the man removed his hat and bowed politely.

***

Roster took a thick stack of documents out of his briefcase and placed them carefully on the table.

In accordance with the late Dowager Lady’s wishes, her will had not been revealed immediately after her death, but was instead to be disclosed just before the start of the social season.

“From this moment forward, in accordance with Abigail Laurentia’s will, I will proceed with the inheritance process in Isabella’s name.”

Having formally explained that everything he was about to declare held full legal authority, and that he was merely a messenger and witness to the Dowager Lady’s intentions, Roster began to read aloud.

“…Accordingly, Isabella Wins shall be formally registered as my adopted daughter, and to my heir, Isabella Wins, I bequeath the name Laurentia and all my worldly possessions. That is all.”

His voice, which had been reciting the terms of inheritance, fell silent.

A heavy stillness settled over the room.

“Inheritance…? And adopted daughter?”

Isabella repeated the words softly, still unable to fully comprehend what she had just heard.

When she learned of the Dowager Lady’s death, along with that of the Everett family, it shook her for a long time. She had served the Dowager Lady for years. At one time, she had even thought of her as a mother figure.

However, their relationship had never extended beyond that of mistress and maid. She had never concerned herself with the Dowager’s estate. She had never once imagined that she might inherit it.

And now, despite not sharing a drop of blood with the Dowager, she was being named her heir?

To be formally adopted?

It wasn’t that she failed to understand Roster’s explanation.

It was the Dowager Lady’s choice that left her stunned.

Under Imperial law, a commoner could not take on a noble surname through marriage alone. Even purchasing the name of a fallen noble house would never grant true acceptance in high society.

Isabella knew that this was precisely the obstacle Logan had been struggling with.

An adopted daughter.

Roster extended a letter towards her as she remained frozen in shock. The seal bore the familiar crest that the Dowager Lady had often used in her correspondence.

“This is a letter the late Lady left for her heir during her lifetime.”

With trembling fingers, Isabella accepted the letter and carefully broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper bearing the unmistakable handwriting of an elderly woman she had often seen in Netherwell.

Isabella began to read slowly.

—

[You were so young and fragile when they sent you away from Rosedale for not fitting in. At an age when you should have been protected by your parents, you arrived as a maid and never opened your heart to anyone. You were on my mind more than you realize.]

The letter began with a recollection of their first meeting.

She was a young maid who had arrived in Netherwell — a place little more than an exile for Rosedale’s servants — with only a single bag to her name.

It went on to acknowledge the many years of suffering that Isabella must have endured. It apologized for the atrocities committed by Count Everett and for introducing her to Jack Hunter.

[I once told you that I would take care of your marriage one day. Compared to everything you have endured, this may seem insufficient, but please accept it as my final gift to you.

Given your temperament, I can already picture you turning down Logan Fraser, no matter how earnestly he pursues you. I can’t say that I like him very much. Nevertheless, he clearly has strong feelings for you. That is why I am entrusting you to him.

I would never dare ask you to forgive William for what he has done. However, I hope that this gift will offer some comfort to the child you once were.

Therefore, you must not even consider refusing it.

Just accept it.]

—

The letter ended with a short postscript firmly instructing her not to refuse this final gift.

It was as sharp and commanding as the Dowager Lady herself. Yet beneath those stern words, there was an unmistakable affection.

The Dowager Lady understood Isabella’s heart completely — as if she had foreseen every doubt that had plagued her since she woke up.

Tears gathered in Isabella’s eyes.

She was deeply grateful that the Dowager Lady had thought of her until the very end.

At the same time, she felt guilty for not being there in her final moments.

Carefully folding the letter and slipping it back into its envelope, Isabella wiped away her tears.

The greatest obstacle to her decision had just been removed.

Now, at last, she knew exactly what her heart desired.

“I will accept the inheritance.”

Her voice was steady.

For the first time in days, her wavering heart no longer trembled.