Meanwhile, Walter stared persistently at the retreating woman’s back. In this magnificent chapel, Grace seemed to shine alone. Perhaps it was due to her silver-white wedding dress, or because she possessed rare blonde hair.
Joseph was too preoccupied watching the chaos in the chapel to think of anything else.
“This is the most fun I’ve had in years! I’ve wandered the Wall of Death until now, fighting to the bone against all manner of demon beasts, not to mention unseen foes, so there hasn’t been a thing to laugh about! That this could be so thrilling!”
“Oh, the Countess has collapsed, clutching her nape! The Duchess too… yes, please don’t go collapsing as if you’ve been waiting for this! Huh! Suddenly the Viscount of Sachsen is trying to swing his fist at the Marquis of Taylor?? Ah, he really can’t throw a punch at all? What was that, a pillow punch?”
At this rare spectacle, unavailable anywhere else, none of the distinguished guests left the chapel.
Walter glanced at Joseph, who was excited, as if pitying him, then straightened his posture from where he had been leaning askew. With just that, his air changed. When Joseph, who had been watching the interior with delight, turned his gaze to Walter for commentary, the man was already descending the chapel stairs.
“Ah… are you leaving already?”
Joseph glanced back as if reluctant to part. However, when he turned his face toward Walter again, he wore a neat expression, as if he had shaken off all lingering attachment.
Walter passed by Rosette, who was jabbing her finger and yelling at the servants, and stepped into the corridor. Even as the Taylor coat of arms engraved with ears of grain flitted through his vision, it remained vivid.
The moment golden hair, elegantly twisted up like a softly curved golden ear of grain, came to mind, a letter disguised as a wedding invitation unfolded in his head.
[To His Excellency the Duke of Richmond.
If you would honor my wedding with your precious presence, Your Excellency shall obtain the sharpest blade to guard your secret. That very blade shall surely prove most useful in the hunt Your Excellency has prepared until now.
—From Grace Taylor.]
The sharpest blade to guard his secret.
That single sentence had led his steps here. The black pupils nestled within sharp eyes flashed like a fierce beast before its prey.
‘My secret, you say.’
The sharpest blade. It undoubtedly referred to Grace Taylor herself. Then, what “secret” of his did she know?
* * *
When Rosette, who had been venting her anger at the servants, turned around huffing, the Duke and Duchess of Taylor were exiting the chapel with flushed faces.
“Father, Mother!!”
Rosette ran, fluttering her skirt hems, and cried out in an excited voice.
“Grace—you must catch that insolent wretch right now!”
The Duke, his face flushed with rage, lowered his voice and commanded the butler standing beside him.
“Arrest that wench immediately, throw her into her room, and make sure she cannot take a single step out. No, no. I’ll go myself right now.”
He had to settle this mess that wretch had caused, even if he had to beat her. Rosette nodded beside him and chimed in.
“Do you know what that chit said? She told me to marry the Viscount of Sachsen in her stead!”
“What?!”
While the Duchess raised her voice, trembling all over, the Countess of Sachsen, who followed them out of the chapel, cried out as if to ensure she was heard.
“Dear!! The debt we agreed to forgive the House of Taylor—by original terms, we should have received it last month, correct?!”
“Indeed!”
“Let us just collect it today and go home!!”
At this thunderbolt of a statement, the Duke and Duchess—who had been burning with rage toward Grace—turned in shock simultaneously.
Today?! How were they supposed to prepare that much money immediately?
As if reading the Duke and Duchess’s minds, the Countess added with pursed lips.
“If you lack cash, you shall pay in goods! Jewelry, dresses, porcelain! If you cannot repay today, I shall beg Her Majesty the Empress to turn the ducal lands into a wasteland if that is what it takes to collect!”
The Duke of Taylor’s mind went blank at the Countess’s threat. Marquis William watched the scene from afar before disappearing as if fleeing.
“Butler……”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then how much must we pay today? Ah, no… do we have any cash reserves in the vault?”
His voice cracked. The butler pressed close to the Duke’s back and whispered quietly.
“I apologize, but we are far short. As the Countess said, we would barely manage even if we include goods……”
At that moment, what happened to catch the Duke’s eye was Rosette. At the sight of his daughter laden with extravagant jewels that clearly were no ordinary pieces, the Duke’s brows furrowed deeply.
“Rosette, what jewels did you buy so many of?!”
“What do you mean, so many……?”
“What do you mean, so many?! Take off everything you’re wearing right now and bring it here!”
“Ah, Father!!”
“Silence!”
As the Duke, who had been flying into a rage, held his head, the butler supported him as if he had been waiting to do so.
“Your Grace, let us go to the office for now. There are too many watching eyes.”
“What are you saying? We must catch Grace first and teach her a lesson!”
“We must put out the urgent fire first. We will have the servants capture the Young Lady.”
“Father, make Grace kneel before the Count of Sachsen and finish this marriage. Then we won’t have to repay the debt!”
Rosette shouted, crying, but the Duke, already dazed and devastated, leaned on the butler and staggered away.
Being a duke was no easy task. There was too much to ponder. When affairs flooded in like this, nothing was more desperately craved than a drink. How wonderful it would be if everything were resolved when he awoke after a glass and sleep.
“Dear!”
“Noisy. You too, take off the jewels you’re wearing.”
“Really!! No, where has Mrs. Cornwall gone at a time like this?!”
As the Duchess and Rosette followed the Duke with ashen faces, the butler discreetly glanced somewhere.
* * *
Contrary to the Duke of Taylor’s command, Grace was moving secretly through the ducal castle’s secret passage.
An underground so dark no light entered. The musty, damp smell seemed to paralyze her nose, but Grace paid it no mind. Even as she relied on a faint lantern, her steps were unhesitating.
At the end of the straight path, she turned right once and stairs appeared. At the end of these stairs, there was a space leading outside the ducal castle.
The moment Grace gripped her cumbersome dress in one hand and stepped boldly onto the stairs, a thin ray of light filtered down from above. Grace ascended the stairs and raised her head. She saw someone’s silhouette.
As she climbed further, the lantern Grace held illuminated the face of the one who waited. A middle-aged lady with deep gray eyes and gray hair bowed her head respectfully.
“Mrs. Cornwall.”
Mrs. Cornwall, the head maid of the Ducal House of Taylor, was the one who had waited with Grace for the past thirteen years.
At Grace’s call, Mrs. Cornwall raised her head and hurriedly closed the door to the passage Grace had come through. Then she removed Grace’s wedding dress and put on a modest navy dress she had prepared. Draping a black hooded cloak over it, the lady whispered quickly.
“He is staying on the top floor of the Maxwell Inn on 4th Alley. Since he still has some luggage there, he will likely return.”
“I understand.”
“My Lady, if the situation proves unfavorable……”
“There is no ‘if.’”
Grace cut off the words laced with worry. In the faint lantern light, the two women’s gazes met. Grace stared into the deep gray eyes, then took the lady’s wrinkled hand.
“Mrs. Cornwall.”
“…….”
“You know. There is no ‘if.’”
“My Lady……”
Mrs. Cornwall’s eyes reddened. Grace squeezed the hand she held tightly, then pulled her lips into a smile. At the smile that revealed an innocent yet tender nature, Mrs. Cornwall swallowed her surging tears.
“We’ll be discovered at this rate. When they find I’ve vanished, there will be a terrible fuss, so please protect those who remain.”
“…Do not worry. Jesse will follow soon.”
Grace nodded as if trusting her, then turned around. Mrs. Cornwall hurriedly opened the door connected to the outside. A bright, sharp light incomparable to the lantern’s glow poured in. It was blinding for a moment, but Grace stepped out without so much as a frown. A familiar coachman quickly opened the carriage door.
Mrs. Cornwall urgently followed Grace’s retreating figure with her eyes. Her back climbing into the carriage looked especially small and frail. Tears finally flowed from gray eyes and fell down her chin.
‘Mrs. Cornwall, I shall reclaim Taylor. So please help me.’
When everyone was lost in grief over the sudden deaths of the previous Duke and Duchess, it was Grace who rose alone. Holding the hand of a mere ten-year-old girl, Mrs. Cornwall had stood up. From that moment, her master was Grace.
The retainers of House Taylor gathered again around Lady Grace. They observed, planned, and waited. That Mrs. Cornwall had become Emma Taylor’s confidant was also part of the plan.
Mrs. Cornwall stared at the departing carriage and bowed politely. When she raised herself again, her face was as cold and heartless as usual.
Soon, the lady closed and locked the secret room door leading to the passage, pushed the wedding dress Grace had discarded into a black sack, and stepped into the dark underground passage.
Praying earnestly that the true master of Taylor Ducal Castle would return safely.