At Anna’s recommendation, Veronica dressed in a flowing, pale blue gown and readied herself.

Anna looked pleased as she loosely braided Veronica’s long hair and adorned it with a ribbon.

“You must have been looking forward to today, my lady, even if you pretended otherwise. You’ve brought out all the clothes you were saving for an important occasion.”

“Today is important.”

The first time around, Veronica had felt no particular desire to dress up, so she had simply chosen her most recently purchased gown.

She vividly remembered readily agreeing to wear it because Mary had chosen it for her, even though its drab color could not have suited her less.

“Of course it is! The count said he was introducing you to someone he chose with the utmost care. I’m sure he must be a fine gentleman.”

Anna tried her best to reassure Veronica, who seemed uneasy for some reason, but Veronica found it difficult to agree.

Whoever her father had chosen, he had undoubtedly picked someone who would benefit the family.

Age and appearance would have meant nothing to him.

No, perhaps he had gone out of his way to find someone who seemed perfectly respectable but was rotten underneath, just to plunge her into misery.

Who her prospective husband was no longer mattered.

All she cared about was whether she really would meet Carter by chance on the way.

If she met him, she could be certain she had traveled back in time. If she did not, it would all have been nothing more than a filthy nightmare.

Either possibility was painful, but she would rather meet him.

Only if those agonizing memories, still so vivid, were real could she dream of revenge.

If it had all been a nightmare, she would have to carry those horrific memories alone for the rest of her life.

So she would rather meet Carter Felton.

“There, you’re all ready. Shall I have the carriage prepared?”

“Yes, please.”

Pleased with how beautifully Veronica was dressed, Anna kept her eyes on her until she left the room.

Veronica could feel the affection even in her gaze.

A smile came unbidden.

In the nightmare, Veronica had begun distancing herself from Anna after meeting Carter and returning home to confront her father.

When she had rushed back to her room, still giddy from standing up to him, Anna had been waiting.

She had thought Anna would support her as she staked everything on love and embarked on a difficult journey.

Instead, Anna had rebuked her, saying it was wrong to have kept her prospective husband waiting and then failed to meet him at all.

Angered, Veronica had stopped speaking to Anna afterward.

She had felt that even Anna, the only person she trusted, did not believe in her love.

Yet Anna had surely said it only because she cared for her more than anyone and feared the damage it would do to her reputation.

“My lady, the carriage is ready.”

“All right. I’m coming.”

Another maid had delivered the message, perhaps because Anna was busy seeing to the carriage.

Veronica smoothed her dress, straightened her crooked bonnet, and left the mansion with a small handbag.

Spotting the carriage waiting at the entrance, she hurried toward it.

She was wearing shoes she had once loved, yet somehow they felt unfamiliar.

At the Felton estate, she had always had to insist on low heels to please him and win the approval of the dowager Viscountess Felton.

Not that anything she did would ever have satisfied him.

“Veronica!”

She stopped short on her way to the carriage at the call from behind her.

That was right. Mary had come to see her before she left in the carriage.

What had she called out to her before she went?

The bright voice, seemingly without a shadow of malice, mingled with the sharp voice that had spoken of death at her bedside as she lay dying, making her head spin.

“Veronica! Thank goodness I’m not too late.”

When Veronica did not turn around, Mary hurried over and stepped in front of her.

She looked even more radiant and beautiful than she had when she had rushed to visit Veronica just before her collapse, concern written all over her face.

Mary Bilter.

Everything seemed to have begun on that day when Veronica was nine, the day her mother died.

The day Mary had entered House Medlin holding her father’s hand, looking frightened.

That day, her father had told her:

“From today on, Mary is part of the Medlin family. She is a year older than you, so you are to call her your older sister.”

Young and foolish, Veronica had simply been delighted to have an older sister.

How could she have pushed away someone who treated her so kindly when she was lost and grieving for her mother?

Back then, although Mary had become her older sister, Veronica had not understood why her surname had to remain Bilter.

“But she’s my older sister. Why can’t she be called Medlin?”

Only years later, after entering society, had she come to understand.

An illegitimate child could never inherit the family name.

When those around her whispered that she should keep her distance from such a disgrace, Veronica had even angrily defended Mary.

“Don’t talk about my sister like that!”

That was how naive she had been.

She had not truly understood what being illegitimate meant in aristocratic society.

Unaware of any of it, she had simply been happy to have an older sister and had shared so much with her.

She had called Mary her sister, followed her lead, and taken her everywhere.

Without realizing she was damaging her own reputation in the process.

So whenever Mary approached her with that worried face, Veronica had been glad to see her.

She had loved Mary, believing her to be the family her mother had sent her in place of the father who refused to acknowledge her. Mary had been her only refuge.

The wet, filthy whisper that suited her radiant smile so poorly lingered in Veronica’s ears.

“Ah, Carter.”

The voice in her memory, its inflections, even the sound of her breathing—all belonged to the Mary Veronica had loved.

But was it really Mary?

Had she truly…

“Veronica?”

The concern in Mary’s question pulled Veronica from her thoughts.

She still lacked enough evidence to determine whether all these memories were real or merely a nightmare.

But those vivid memories had shattered her feelings for Mary into such a tangled mess that she could not answer at once.

She could hardly bring herself to affectionately call the devil hidden behind that sweet, lovely face her sister as she once had.

“…Mary.”

In the end, she called her by name instead.

Mary’s radiant smile twisted slightly at being addressed by name rather than as the older sister Veronica had always called her.

The old Veronica would have been flustered by that change in expression and rushed to apologize.

She pressed her lips together against the apology that rose out of habit and asked:

“Why did you call me?”

Mary looked all the more surprised when Veronica made no attempt to apologize for calling her by name.

She looked ready to demand an explanation.

But perhaps she had something more important to do than question her. She quickly composed her expression and held out a handkerchief.

“Oh! I wanted to give you this.”

It was a white handkerchief beautifully embroidered with vivid red tulips.

“I embroidered it for you.”

The embroidery was truly beautiful.

At the sight of those lovely tulips, Veronica’s spirits plummeted.

It was exactly the same.

In that horrific nightmare, Mary had also come to give her a handkerchief just as she was leaving for the marriage meeting.

The same handkerchief, the same words, even the same expression.

The memory of smiling beside the picture-perfect Mary rose vividly in her mind.

That handkerchief had certainly been in Carter’s study.

She had given him the handkerchief Mary had made at their first meeting… and so she had simply assumed he had kept it because he treasured it.

“Did you make this handkerchief yourself?”

“My sister… My sister made it for me.”

“What a wonderful sister you have.”

She had thought his smile then was meant for her. She had thought he had kept it to remember their first meeting. Now, as the memories fell into place, she felt she understood.

Mary had not begun deceiving her after the marriage.

Even now—or perhaps much earlier.

Her plan to take everything Veronica had began before the wedding.

That meant Carter and Mary had not begun an affair after he married Veronica. They had already been lovers, using her.

It was utterly outrageous.

“Do you… not like it?”

Then a question suddenly occurred to her.

How long had those two been lovers?