“I feel sorry for the mistress.”

At the trembling voice of one maid, the others began to gather, as if by unspoken agreement, murmuring among themselves.

“I can understand why she chose to divorce.”

“The master is so cold-hearted.”

“But still… how could she meet such a miserable end?”

In the corner of the servants’ quarters, Sophia, who had been sitting with her knees drawn in and staring blankly into space, slowly lifted her head at the sound of their voices.

“This is all because of that sly Bricklin lady.”

As one maid shook her head in disgust, more voices rose in agreement.

Sophia didn’t join them. She simply wiped at her reddened eyes with the back of her hand.

“If you think about it, it was the mistress who was in the way. What fault did Lady Bricklin have?”

“What?”

“That’s ridiculous. When Lady Bricklin first came, all of you started avoiding the mistress, acting like you had to watch your steps around her. And now you’re changing your tune?”

At the red-haired maid’s sharp retort, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Sophia, who had been listening quietly, rose to her feet and walked toward her.

“You two were lovers from the start, weren’t you? Now that the obstacle is gone—ahh!”

The red-haired maid barely had time to finish before she screamed.

Sophia had grabbed her by the hair, a bitter laugh slipping from her lips.

“What do you even know to speak like that?”

“Hey! Are you crazy? Let go—ahh!”

“Sophia, calm down!”

The servants’ quarters erupted into chaos as the maids clashed, each taking sides.

Sophia refused to let go, enduring even the pain as the other woman bit into her shoulder.

The Duke of Blackwood did not love the mistress.

That truth echoed endlessly in her mind weighing on her with unbearable guilt.

“What do you all think you’re doing?!”

The door flew open.

Head maid Susan stood at the entrance, her stern presence immediately silencing the room.

The maids quickly straightened, smoothing their clothes and lining up neatly.

But even then, Sophia refused to release her grip. The red-haired maid beneath her was already sobbing uncontrollably.

“Sophia.”

“Head maid, I—”

“Lady Bricklin is looking for you.”

Sophia’s lips snapped shut.

Susan stepped forward and firmly pulled her to her feet.

“Did you put lilies in Lady Bricklin’s room?”

“….”

“Sophia.”

“Yes, Head Maid.”

Susan looked down at her for a moment, then turned sharply.

“Come with me.”

***

Elizabeth Blackwood, the former duchess, strode down the corridor, having long forgotten any pretense of composure.

The attendants and maids following her wore grim expressions.

At last, she stopped before the door to the study and gave a slight nod to the attendant beside her.

A knock echoed softly through the still corridor.

“Andrew.”

When she finally saw her son, Elizabeth faltered, unable to speak for a moment.

“You’ve come.”

“You… what on earth—”

After Andrew brought a mistress into Bloodtail, Elizabeth had withdrawn to the Verna estate under the pretense of recuperation.

Though she had wondered whether her son had survived the war, she never sought to find out.

She simply couldn’t accept his outrageous decision.

Once a member of the imperial family, a woman who had lived her entire life as a high-ranking noble—she could not tolerate even the slightest stain upon her family or her name.

And yet—despite swearing never to return, Elizabeth had come back.

The newspaper she had been clutching in her hand—published by Davbrodge—was thrown down before him without hesitation.

“To learn of a family matter—no, the death of my own daughter-in-law—through a newspaper… what a disgraceful thing this is!”

Even before his mother, pale as death, Andrew remained composed.

If anything, he looked unnervingly calm—so much so that it sent a chill down her spine.

“The Duke of Blackwood does not love his wife.”

The whispers of the servants echoed endlessly in Elizabeth’s mind.

She had acted out of ambition, hoping to suppress the scandal surrounding her son.

Taking a woman from the Grandly family as her daughter-in-law had been, at best, a compromise—but in hindsight, it had been a grave mistake.

A girl from such an insignificant house…

When her son had declared he would take that child as his wife, she had nearly wanted to bite her tongue and die on the spot.

And yet—knowing there was no other choice, she had convinced herself it wasn’t a bad arrangement, so long as they could produce an heir.

If she bore him a son, that would be enough.

After that, stripping her of all authority and sending her away with a modest settlement would still leave her better off than she had ever been in the Grandly household.

Rive Grandly had loved her son.

So much so that even others could see it.

Surely, that alone would be enough to bury any unsightly rumors surrounding the Blackwood family.

“How did this happen? Why was your wife on that train?”

“It was an accident.”

“That’s exactly what I’m asking!”

Frustrated by Andrew’s unchanging silence, Elizabeth swayed, pressing a hand to her forehead.

An attendant hurried forward to steady her.

“In a single moment, everything has fallen apart!”

“….”

“What are you going to do about this? Answer me!”

Though he had known it would eventually come to light, Andrew had chosen to conceal his wife’s death.

In the end, it was no different from carrying a ticking time bomb.

Had there really been any need to hide it?

For a fleeting moment, the memory of that day crossed his mind—but he dismissed it just as quickly.

He did not regret his impulsive choice.

“I had hoped we would finally have an heir this year… how could something like this happen?”

After lamenting endlessly, Elizabeth sank onto the sofa, her voice weakening.

“Oh, God…”

Andrew watched her briefly—hands clasped, head tilted back as she called out to a higher power—before turning away.

***

“I hope it snows on your birthday.”

Andrew’s steps came to a halt in the corridor.

“You like watching the snow fall, don’t you?”

Beyond the window, heavy snow drifted down in thick, silent flakes.

He stared, wordless, at the distant Sergia forest blanketed in white.

“Because of you… I’ve come to like winter too.”

Her voice had been calm—almost indifferent.

And perhaps because of that, those simple words lingered in his mind more than they should have.

As he resumed walking, the falling snow filled his vision.

A woman who had always made him feel like a lesser man.

A woman who flushed red with shame—yet shamelessly begged for his love again and again.

“My lord.”

At the sound of Butler Padleton’s voice, his clouded thoughts cleared.

He turned.

Padleton stood there, already bowing.

“Yes.”

“Her Ladyship has taken her medicine and has fallen asleep.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“And… a message has arrived from the imperial palace.”

At the unwelcome news, Andrew’s brow tightened.

He looked away from Padleton and continued walking.

A month had passed since the capital had been ablaze with celebration over the victory.

And throughout it all—Andrew had never once shown his face.

Now that his wife’s death had been revealed to the world, it was obvious—any message from the palace would be nothing more than hollow words of comfort or shallow sympathy.

“I’ll respond to them separately.”

“And as for Lady Bricklin—”

Andrew’s steps halted once more, cutting off Padleton’s words mid-sentence.

The seasoned butler lowered his head, unable to hide his discomfort.

Since the Duchess of Blackwood had disappeared, a subtle fracture had formed within the estate.

Heather Bricklin had begun to act openly as the lady of the house, stirring unrest among the maids.

Just today, one unfortunate servant had already been dismissed for a ridiculous reason—placing lilies instead of roses in the vase in Heather’s room.

And so, reporting the unsettled state of the household was a duty Padleton could not take lightly.

“There’s no need to report it.”

Andrew’s voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, as he walked away.

Padleton could not bring himself to stop him.

After entrusting all authority over the estate to the duchess, Andrew had never once interfered in its management.

So, in truth, this was nothing unusual.

Watching him leave, Padleton removed his glasses with trembling hands and pressed his tired eyelids shut.

Everything was as it always had been.

The train incident had been officially concluded as a terrorist attack.

The perpetrators were arrested and sentenced to death.

The duchess’s funeral was ultimately omitted.

The House of Blackwood had turned its back on her death.

And yet—where did this sense of unease come from?

Even after the secret they had wished to hide was exposed, the duke had not ordered an investigation into who spread the rumors.

Rive Blackwood—the Duchess of Blackwood—was buried without even a proper body.

An empty coffin, laid to rest in a neglected corner of Blackwood land on the outskirts.

It was a pitiful death.

There was no one who mourned her.

Not even her only remaining family—her brother—had come to see her.

The delayed revelation of her death was almost laughable.

And so, the “ghost of Blackwood” disappeared in the end—without ever receiving a single moment of genuine care.

The rumor spread among the servants like a refrain, passed from mouth to mouth—that the duke had never loved his wife.