BPOTWC Chapter 32

Clarisse was thoroughly frightened.

But she couldn't bring herself to nod at that.

"I—I'm not dirty. I wash every day. I'm clean."

"What?"

"If you're dirty, you get sick. If you get sick, you might break the law, so I'm always clean. I washed today too."

"Ha, unbelievable. You clearly don't understand—the best thing you could do is disappear as soon as possible. Still don't get it? You tax-thief."

Clarisse shook her head.

"If I disappeared quickly, it would be a burden to Sheridan. His Majesty commanded that I live under Sheridan's protection until I turn eighteen, and His Grace accepted that."

"Enough out of you. Just know—the day I'm Duchess, it's the noose for you, straight off."

Clarisse cautiously lifted her head to look at the guest again.

Despite sharing the Duchess's silver hair and blue eyes, the two women didn't resemble each other in the slightest.

Unlike the Duchess, who looked like a fairy, this one looked like a ghost crawled out of some gloomy cave.

It was probably the terrifying expression.

'But they said there's a baby smaller than my palm inside the guest's belly.'

It seemed strange indeed that something so lovely could exist inside such a frightening person.

'There's a tiny, tiny baby in that belly.'

Clarisse found herself gazing repeatedly at Asella's stomach.

'How strange. It's really like magic.'

But the guest seemed uncomfortable under that gaze.

"You... why do you keep looking at my stomach?"

"Huh? Well."

'Because there's a pretty baby in there.'

Clarisse very nearly answered that way, but she quickly shut her mouth. The instincts she'd built up over a lifetime told her, clearly, to stay quiet here.

"Ugh, creepy kid, honestly!"

Asella snatched the sketchbook from Clarisse's arms.

"That Brielle always did have a sloppy streak, even when we were young. To think even a little prisoner like you would figure it out... His Grace really hasn't noticed a thing, has he?"

Grumbling, she flipped through the pages, and upon seeing Clarisse's drawing, let out a short, contemptuous laugh.

"Come to think of it, they suit each other well enough. A guttersnipe who conned her way into the Duchess's chair, for all her low blood—and a prisoner of war. The pair of you can sit cozy in a cell and scribble your pathetic little pictures together."

"The Duchess isn't... a fraud."

"Isn't she."

She snapped the sketchbook shut with a sharp sound.

"His Grace probably doesn't even know that woman's real name. And that's not fraud?"

"He doesn't know her name, but he knows something far more important!"

Clarisse gripped the hem of her dress tightly and, gathering a little courage, took a step forward.

"The two of them like each other!"

"What? You little—!"

Clarisse's words seemed to have struck a nerve.

Asella's eyes went wide, and Clarisse, seized by sudden fear, quickly bowed her head.

'M-maybe I'll... get hit...'

Such things had happened in Grezekaia too, and so Clarisse's body remembered on its own—her arms rose to shield her head, and she curled her whole body in tight.

But the pain she braced for never came.

Cautiously lifting her head, Clarisse found the Duchess beside them, breathing hard. And gripping the woman's arm tightly.

"Hey! Let go of me! Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea who you're grabbing right now?"

Even at that threatening shout, Brielle would not release her hand.

She even delivered a firm warning in a resolute voice.

"Don't you touch this child!"

"Child? Ha, don't make me laugh."

She shook her arm off irritably and flung Clarisse's sketchbook to the floor.

"....."

Brielle finally let go of her then, bent to retrieve the sketchbook herself, and handed it to Clarisse.

"I'm sorry, Clarisse. That must have frightened you terribly. It's alright here now, so go on back to your room."

"....But."

Even with the sketchbook in her arms, Clarisse's feet wouldn't move.

She was afraid that terrible woman would strike or torment the Duchess if she left.

And true enough—

"This is hilarious. Birds of a feather, I suppose—the fraud and the prisoner get along so well. I wonder how His Grace would react if he knew."

The mocking voice came again.

"That's enough."

"Why? Why should it be?! Are you afraid your little fraud will be found out?"

Clarisse looked up at the Duchess with a worried expression.

Brielle gave her a sad smile and stroked Clarisse's pink hair before rising to her feet and turning around.

"That kind of talk isn't good for the child you're carrying, my lady."

"...What?"

"As you've said, I'm little better than a fraud, it's true..."

Brielle straightened her back. Clarisse thought she looked as though she were standing there to shield and protect her.

"But right now, I am the mistress of this house."

"You!"

"So I trust you know that the eyes and ears of a great many servants all lead back to me."

The woman's triumphant expression, so confident until now, began to drain of color.

"You—you knew all along and dared to deceive even me?"

"I only became certain myself this very morning. It was fortunate I had no chance to speak with His Grace yesterday."

The Duchess turned back to Clarisse once more.

"It's alright, go on in. I'll send Rosalie to you shortly."

Clarisse couldn't pretend not to notice that deep concern.

And besides, the Duchess seemed so remarkably trustworthy just now that Clarisse decided, without hesitation, to go back into her room.

After sending Brielle off to Sheridan, Asella had spent her time abroad drinking freely of her own freedom.

With no nagging mother to answer to, her every day had been a string of parties and amusements.

What was more, the marriage to the Duke had brought the Earldom a regular stipend for the maintenance of her position.

The Earl, doting on his daughter, had sent more than half of that money to Asella every month.

With beauty and wealth both in her possession, it was only natural that handsome men flocked to her without number.

Asella hadn't bothered to be particular about her choices, keeping up pleasant, lover-like relationships with anyone who caught her fancy.

That pleasant life had come to an end not long ago.

From the very moment she'd learned she was with child.

She couldn't possibly confess such a thing to her father.

However much he doted on her, if he learned she was carrying some stranger's child, her allowance would be cut off at once—and worse, he'd surely pack her off to some convent.

That would mean bidding farewell to a life of luxury forever.

The only solution left was marriage.

But she couldn't marry a foreigner.

Nobility could not marry a foreign national without royal permission, and if she did, she would forfeit her claim to succeed to the title.

Asella, who had naturally assumed she would one day become Countess herself, had put her foreign affairs in order at once.

She needed to catch herself a Sapheris man and marry before her belly began to show.

But back in her homeland, the name "Asella" already belonged to a Duchess.

Which left her only one choice remaining.

'Now there's nothing for it but to truly marry Duke Maximilian and share his bed for real...'

Sheridan was filthy cold and the manor was so run-down it looked ready to sprout a ghost at any moment, and she genuinely hated it—but there was no other way now.

Better than the convent, at least.

'Been putting up with this unpleasant place for that very reason and—!'

Asella glared sharply at Brielle.

"...A lowborn maid, forgetting every kindness shown her, daring to bite the hand of her own mistress?"

"Kindness... you say."

Brielle laughed hollowly. At how foolish she'd been, even for a moment, to feel pity and worry for Asella's circumstances.

Sir Benson had come back to the corridor and taken in the whole scene—but he hadn't come any closer, because Brielle had already stopped him. To keep Asella's secret from spreading any further here.

It wasn't simply for Asella's sake. It was, at the very least, to do the bare minimum for the sake of the child soon to be born into this world.

"Go back to your family's house, my lady. I'll have a comfortable carriage prepared for you."

"Ha, and who exactly are you to give me orders?"

"It's far too cold here for you, my lady. More than anything, you need to be somewhere safe now."

"Are you insane?! If Father finds out..."

"Doesn't the Count already know the situation?!"

Brielle shouted in surprise.

Frankly, from the moment the servants had first murmured their suspicions about Asella's pregnancy, she had assumed the Count was in on it and had sent her here deliberately.

"What exactly were you thinking? No—to begin with, who is the child's father..."

"Sh-shut up!"

Asella shouted, her face flushing bright red.

At once, she felt eyes turning toward her from further down the corridor.

Though the servants hadn't approached, held back by Brielle's orders, they were watching this exchange from a distance with remarkably sharp eyes.

Asella's shoulders drew in on themselves without her meaning them to.

"...My lady."

Brielle gently took hold of her arm. Her touch was startlingly gentle. As though she were genuinely, sincerely worried for her.

"What are you... to me."

But that gentleness only stoked Asella's fury further.

"A nothing like you, worried about me! How dare you!"

In the end, she couldn't hold it in and shouted again.

Since childhood, Brielle had been lowborn, and Asella had been someone special.

However thoroughly the world might turn upside down, there was no possible way that a mere Brielle could ever be permitted to worry over Asella.

This was as good as—

Brielle standing above her.

"And you think your fake mother's going to keep on breathing after this? I'll have Father send someone to kill that mother of yours on the spot! Understand?"

Asella spun sharply on her heel.

There was only one path left to her now. She would cast Brielle down into hell—permanently.