RAMHM Chapter 7

My Husband's 'Lawful' Mistress

Since returning from my own funeral, I'd been acting like a madwoman all day long. Waking in the morning, rejoicing in this healthy body—then dissolving into tears, drowning in grief. When I dragged myself from bed, I'd stare blankly at newspapers and gossip rags, reading them over and over. The Imperial Daily no longer carried news of me. Beyond that, whenever I had a spare moment, I'd pull out the card written in Novian's handwriting. Reading it again. And again.

'What sort of promise could Noah and Bliea possibly have made?'

No greeting. No closing. Yet the note gnawed at me with peculiar persistence. Novian was a man who observed proper etiquette even with the landless younger sons of the most humble houses. As far as I knew, he had no close friends who warranted informality.

"Friends?"

Bliea Acacia—a woman who couldn't get her name mentioned in a single line of the gossip pages—and him? Friends? Moreover, Novian with his unbending character who was never particularly familiar with women, and Bliea?

"Relatives?"

He was imperial blood. If she were his relative, Bliea would be imperial blood as well. Count Acacia could never have married a young, beautiful woman of imperial lineage.

"Colleagues?"

Judging by how the household flinched every time I picked up a newspaper or book, Bliea hadn't been particularly intellectual. The type Novian—who'd graduated top of his class from the Academy—despised most were those with nothing between their ears. Even Marge's comfortable attitude toward me suggested as much. The head maid wasn't a bad woman, but she wasn't particularly respectful either. Having dealt with cunning maids at the Grand Ducal estate, I wasn't especially bothered—but beneath Marge's treatment of Bliea, handling her as if she were some wayward niece despite the title of Countess, lay subtle contempt.

I approached the mirror slowly, studying my reflection. Bliea was quite beautiful, even to my own eyes. Because she resembled me to a skin-crawling degree. The title of Grand Duchess—the woman the man called the Iron Chancellor had fallen for at first sight—hadn't been given away for nothing. This body wasn't fragile either, brimming with strength appropriate to its age. Not physically defective or strange-looking enough to be dismissed as worthless.

She must have shown herself to be stupid.

But that would change now. I too had briefly attended the Academy, and Novian himself had praised me, saying I was the only woman in all of Ronta with whom he could hold a proper conversation. Indeed, I'd already noticed the household staff viewing me somewhat differently these past few days. I hadn't spent them only acting like a madwoman. I'd ordered the bedroom and drawing room—horrifically saturated with pink—to be made slightly less horrific. When I noticed the butler's workload seemed excessive, I'd redistributed some of his duties. The less pink that vanished from the house, the more Marge rejoiced; as his workload decreased, color began returning to the old butler's face.

Unlike the Grand Ducal estate staff who'd refused to properly exchange even a word with me, here people were gradually approaching with questions—how should we handle this, what about that? They clearly needed someone to properly manage the household. Though I didn't know what the future held, whether I should allow myself to grow attached to these people, I'd begun interacting with them regardless.

I need to find out quickly.

What promise Bliea and Novian had made. Novian had personally invited a vassal's wife, sent this strange note—then never came once. For him to act so out of character, then show no further action afterward, troubled me. He hadn't seemed surprised to see this face at the funeral, so Bliea and he must know each other.

If he saw me up close, would he realize I'm Adrienne?

I was buoyed by the strange expectation that if Novian saw me more closely, he'd surely recognize me. How many years had we spent together? I'd reached my limit. I couldn't wait indefinitely for Novian to contact me first without any promise.

I need to find Noah myself.

But how? Without Count Acacia's seal, any letter I sent would never make it past the Grand Ducal estate's gates. I paced the Count's modest garden, alert for anyone delivering another note or coming to visit. Soon a commotion sounded nearby, and Marge came running into the garden, her face flushed.

"Goodness, where were you this time! I told you to at least say when you're going somewhere!"

"Why?"

"The master has returned! I thought you'd gone out since I couldn't find you in the garden!"

"!"

"The master's returned to the estate after months away—you should go see him right away, shouldn't you?"

"...Did he ask to see me?"

"What are you talking about? Even if he didn't ask, you should go anyway, naturally. That's what married couples do!"

Right, of course. The duties of being someone's wife still felt foreign to me. Count Acacia, who'd been away from the estate, had returned after months. I hesitated briefly, then nodded and followed Marge toward the third-floor study. The sudden appearance of a new husband was bewildering—but perhaps not such a terrible thing. Thinking differently, he might be the person who could provide information about Bliea Acacia.

Knock, knock.

The door was already open enough to make the knocking embarrassing. The study was stark. A barren space without a single painting or vase. A stark contrast to Bliea's bedroom, crammed with every beautiful thing imaginable. I left Marge outside and stepped in cautiously to see Count Acacia standing by the large window beside his desk, gazing outside. This was the first time confronting Count Acacia in Bliea's body, so I felt somewhat tense.

"Count."

"...My lady."

"You've returned."

I bowed lightly toward the Count as he turned his head at my footsteps. The aged Count Acacia inclined his hunched frame slightly toward me. Then, settling naturally onto the sofa, he gestured for me to sit as well. The gesture seemed quite affectionate, and I was about to relax when—

"Did you meet His Grace the Grand Duke?"

Silence descended instantly. My heart pounded rapidly; cold sweat seeped into my palms. I didn't answer. Neither confirming nor denying, I simply stared at the Count. While I was gauging what to say, those amber eyes—like someone watching a disobedient daughter—swept over me. Even though it seemed his wife had gone out without a single maid, even though he was asking if she'd met his liege lord, the vassal's face remained remarkably calm. Oddly so.

"...No."

Rigid with confusion and tension, I barely managed to open my mouth. A voice mixed with a short sigh flowed from across the room.

"The promise you made with His Grace the Grand Duke... do you not intend to keep it?"

My heart felt like it had dropped—thud—to the floor. I stiffened completely, sitting with my spine straight. When I finally managed to meet the Count's face, there was no contempt, no anger. He naturally asked me about Novian, asked if I'd met him. Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! My fallen heart beat even faster. Bliea—possibly a commoner from a humble house. And Count Acacia, speaking respectfully to such a woman. Conversation content that didn't feel like a married couple at all. And if it wasn't my imagination, his face had paled somewhat.

Like someone terrified.

"...What promise?"

What could this promise be? Novian, careful enough not even to write his name on the note—would he have told this vassal about such a promise? The Count's expression showed shock at my words. Then, clutching his heart, he rose slowly and walked toward me. Though the distance was short, even that left him gasping for breath. The old vassal with his frail body soon knelt before me.

"...Count!"

I tried to help him up in surprise, but his mouth opened faster. Gripping his knees tightly with aged hands, the Count spoke desperately.

"Please. Save me, my lady!"

"...!"

"Please, keep the promise. My lady. I don't want to die a dog's death in my final years! Please..."

"Get up, Count!"

"I've delayed as much as I can already. At my age, others spend their time leisurely playing poker while I'm still suffering—going back and forth between His Grace's territory and the capital!"

I fell into confusion again. A man begging his own wife to save him. I'd only asked what the promise was. Wasn't this too strange?

"Don't you know His Grace isn't particularly merciful? Her Grace the Grand Duchess passed away, and His Grace has grown even sharper, pressuring me... Even this old body can feel clearly what he wants."

"I... I'm simply curious what the promise is."

"If I told His Grace that, would my neck remain attached?"

He grasped his neck with trembling hands.

Eyes drowning in fear, as if his head might fall off any moment. Pale lips claiming his neck depended on a single promise. Not some light promise like meeting for tea. I hid my trembling hands while staring at the Count still kneeling. My mouth was so dry that not even thick saliva would go down.

"I no longer want to be entangled in this. I hate being caught between you two like this. Wasn't the whole point of that ridiculous marriage ceremony with me so you could lawfully become His Grace the Grand Duke's mistress?"

"!"

My frozen body released—snap—as if it had never been tense. Simultaneously, I felt as though someone had shoved me off a cliff—push! In that sickening sensation of the ground giving way beneath my feet, the Count's ceaseless muttering didn't reach me. I had no need to seek out Novian to confirm what the promise was. The image of my husband grieving before my corpse flashed past like scenes from a dying person's life. My chest... ached. But, but...

...Yes, of course. I—no, Bliea... this Bliea...

According to his vassal, Count Acacia... this Countess Bliea Acacia was indeed my husband's—Novian Trovika's—mistress.