“Liz may seem soft, but she has a sharp edge to her.”

“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”

“You saw it, didn’t you? The way she glared and completely shut down Viscount Tayligo—honestly, it felt so satisfying.”

Mrs. Margaret dusted the display shelves as she suddenly brought up the commotion from last week.

“But how did Liz even know that the Viscount’s gold mine business was failing?”

Tilting her head in puzzlement, she voiced her curiosity.

Gus Margaret, who had been organizing newly arrived goods, paused for a moment as if thinking.

After a brief silence, he resumed his task.

“Maybe she read it in the newspaper.”

“It wasn’t even in the papers.”

“Then maybe she overheard someone talking.”

“Oh my!”

At first, Mrs Margaret nodded absently. Then, she suddenly gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, having realized something.

Gus looked at her, puzzled, but she had already turned pale.

The duster slipped from her hand and rolled across the floor.

“You know how Baroness Begin sometimes shops here? I got acquainted with one of her maids… and somehow, that topic came up.”

It was a quiet afternoon.

With no customers in the store, her voice rang clearly through the stillness.

Gus studied her expression carefully.

“That scandal surrounding Viscount Tayligo… I mentioned it once before. But then—of all times—”

“What did you say this time?”

“I didn’t think Liz would hear it! She just appeared so suddenly, acting like it was nothing—oh, what should I do?”

“What exactly did you tell that maid?”

Gus’s voice hardened, pressing her.

Clutching her apron tightly, Mrs. Margaret squeezed her eyes shut.

“I said it was such a waste—Paul giving up his long-held dream and letting his talent rot away in this countryside… all because of a woman!”

“…What?”

“You remember the letter from the National Art Institute? You should have seen how happy Paul was that day.”

“Why would you even say that to a maid?”

“She said she was interested in Paul! I told her not to even think about it, and somehow the conversation ended up there—what was I supposed to do?”

Mrs. Margaret shouted in frustration, her face flushed red as she began pacing.

The sharp clicking of her heels echoed through the shop, while Gus’s expression twisted with discomfort.

“When Liz comes back, go apologize immediately.”

With a deep sigh, Gus followed after his wife.

“I was already planning to! Don’t worry!”

“You, honestly…”

“Oh, just stop already! My head is pounding. I feel awful enough as it is!”

The story that Liz was the daughter of a distant relative with whom contact had been lost for a long time was a complete fabrication.

Anyone who knew Marsili Burnett suspected as much.

They simply believed that there must be a reason — something too difficult to put into words.

And so, the people of the marketplace chose to remain silent.

If Old Man Marsili said it, then that was enough.

Paul had grown up surrounded by their affection.

To them, he was precious — almost like a son.

Now, however, he seemed to love a woman who had appeared out of nowhere and was hiding her past.

It was only natural for their hearts to waver.

They wanted Paul to be happy, but they could not easily support a path that seemed destined to end in pain.

At last, Mrs Margaret stopped walking.

Her legs gave way, causing her to sink to the ground with her head bowed low.

Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her forehead.

“Auntie!”

At that moment, a bright, cheerful voice called out from somewhere nearby.

Mrs Margaret lifted her despairing eyes and saw Ainer running towards her.

She should have realized then, when Liz suddenly decided to go to the capital.

A crushing wave of guilt pressed heavily down on her shoulders.

***

“Even amidst your busy schedules, we sincerely thank all our distinguished guests for attending the grand opening reception of the Versailles Hotel.”

The founder stepped onto the stage and took hold of the microphone.

The elaborate centerpiece on each round table shimmered softly beneath the glow of the overhead crystal chandeliers.

A tedious speech followed.

Meanwhile, servers moved quietly among the tables, refilling champagne glasses.

Andrew raised a hand towards the attendant approaching him, wordlessly declining.

The rumors were true.

He never touched alcohol.

Instead, a fresh glass of water was placed in front of him.

“They keep going on about him being some brutal butcher from all those wars… but he’s actually ridiculously handsome, isn’t he?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean the Duke of Blackwood. Look at the people around him—they can’t even straighten their backs.”

“Miss Atlen, perhaps you should mind your decorum.”

The women stealing glances at him covered their mouths, stifling their laughter.

Murdry Atlen, having been called out, pouted slightly before taking a sip of champagne.

“It’s been quite a while since his wife passed away. Why hasn’t he remarried that mistress of his?”

“If the Duke of Blackwood had any sense at all, would he truly take in a woman like Bricklin—who abandoned her pride to become a mistress—as his wife?”

“It was such a disgrace. A noble lady lowering herself to that position…”

“Come to think of it, didn’t she suddenly disappear right when talks of their engagement were underway? I’ve always wondered why. And yet, why does the Duke still keep her by his side?”

Their hushed whispers cut through the quiet atmosphere.

From the stage, Rachel glanced down at the cluster of women exchanging such meaningless chatter, her gaze laced with quiet disdain.

“That concludes my remarks.”

When Rachel had finished her speech, the hall erupted in applause.

A satisfied smile curved her lips and, at that very moment, her gaze fell upon the Duke of Blackwood.

The man, who had been sitting looking rather bored, stood up.

Without saying a word, he turned and walked out of the banquet hall.

It was impossible to look away from him.

He stood out effortlessly.

Although she was the host of the evening and the person who had successfully established the Versailles Hotel, the Duke of Blackwood drew far more attention, as if he were the true centerpiece of the event.

He had not appeared at an official function in Burddale for five years.

Even she could not help but feel curious about him.

After all, his sudden decision to join the Allied war effort had been bewildering.

A crowd of eager socialites rushed after him, desperate for a chance to speak to him.

Rachel let out a long sigh, her shoulders sinking.

Why couldn’t they understand?

It would all be for nothing.

She saw him again later in the guest lobby.

He was holding the telephone receiver and seemed indifferent at first, yet there was a quiet weight to his expression.

From a distance, Rachel watched him in silence.

“—We invited journalist Dave Brodge, but I declined politely and sent him away.”

“I see.”

“—There has been no meeting between the two of them yet. I will continue to monitor the situation.”

“You’ve done well. Ah… and—”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“…No. I’ll call again.”

The call ended shortly.

Handing the receiver back to the lobby attendant, Andrew gave a small nod, offering his usual gentle, courteous smile.

‘It feels as though a dead woman is still alive.’

Andrew couldn’t fathom how he could be so certain about something so absurd.

The ghost of his wife tugged at him persistently.

It was as if the whole world had conspired to lead him here.

With a bitter sense of self-ridicule, Andrew took his cigarette case out of his jacket pocket.

‘Even if she were alive, what would really change?’

He slipped a cigarette between his lips and then his gaze stopped.

Rachel Leitly had suddenly stepped into his path.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry, but smoking is not permitted in the hotel lobby. Would you mind using the designated smoking area?”

Her smiling eyes curved gently.

Andrew stared down at the kindness within them, then narrowed his brows.

“Rachel.”

“Hello, Duke of the Phoenix.”

“…What is that supposed to mean?”

“I heard that’s how the Allied newspapers described you. A tribute to a commander who risked everything on the front lines, perhaps?”

Though her tone carried a hint of teasing, there was warmth in her voice.

“How have you been? I’ve been wondering.”

“What’s there to ask? The newspapers say enough.”

“I mean not what others say—I want to hear how you’ve really been.”

Still holding the unlit cigarette, Andrew slipped it back into the case and tilted his head slightly.

“The same as always.”

Rachel had known Andrew since before he joined the military academy — they had been at the same private school.

She was outgoing and easy-going and always had a lot of friends.

Yet she had remained by Andrew’s side persistently, even when he refused to let anyone get close.

It was her unwavering persistence that enabled her to become his friend.

“I know it’s late to say this, but… I’m truly sorry about your wife, Andrew.”

His steps halted.

Perhaps the thing he longed for most was not closure, but the impossible hope that his wife might still be alive.