Tail’s Curse Chapter 8

 

Cordelia endured the two-hour carriage ride, half-heartedly nodding along as her aunt ranted about her ex-husband and even insulted Dorea, saying she took after her father in both looks and temper.  

 

Clenching her sweaty palms for the tenth time and wiping them on her skirt, she finally arrived at the destination. 

 

As the carriage stopped, her heart pounded wildly, and cold sweat broke out.  

 

She was no longer a child, so the mansion should have appeared smaller—yet somehow, it loomed over her like the grand, ornate tomb of a foreign king, ready to crush her. Her aunt, on the other hand, seemed delighted by the sight of the lavish estate.  

 

The servants guiding them were outwardly polite, but their subtle glances betrayed their mockery of her aunt’s brash and vulgar demeanor. 

 

Every time Cordelia sensed their disdain, shame burned her neck red.  

 

What stung most was the pity, scorn, discomfort, and even hostility in their eyes. 

 

A few of the older servants remembered Cordelia from her childhood and looked at her with sympathy, but the newly hired staff did not.  

 

Over the past few years, as the Devilliers family’s influence had expanded, many new faces had joined the household. 

 

Cordelia’s small shoulders hunch further. Her mood hit rock bottom when she finally faced the Devilliers couple.  

 

“Welcome, Cordelia.”  

 

The voice and smile greeting her were gentle, but she had already noticed Madame Devilliers—sitting upright like a refined lady, sipping tea—wrinkle her nose at her aunt’s mismatched shoes and gaudy dress. 

 

Still, Cordelia forced a smile and pretended not to see.  

 

Despite everything, she had always liked the Devillier couple, who had treated her kindly in her childhood. 

 

They were among the few remaining fragments of her fading childhood memories, and in her world, that undeniably made them good people.

 

Even if they found Cordelia cumbersome, uncomfortable, and subtly dismissed her, Cordelia remained unfazed.  

 

“Good day, madame.”  

 

“My, how you’ve grown. You’ve become such a lovely young lady now.”  

 

The Marquis Devilliers stroked his mustache as he complimented her. His expression, usually dry and unreadable, carried a faint trace of admiration. 

 

The rare praise lifted her spirits slightly. The once-affectionate ‘Uncle Devilliers’ had not smiled at Cordelia even once since the death of his eldest son, Jean.  

 

Though his scrutinizing gaze, as if weighing her worth, was far from comfortable, she paid it little mind. 

 

After all, the looks she received daily at home were no different. Still, this much was at least gentlemanly.  

 

“Thank you.”  

 

“You’ve grown to resemble your mother so much. Marilyn would have been overjoyed to see you.”  

 

Madame Devilliers murmured, her eyes creasing with emotion. 

 

It wasn’t sarcasm—even if just for propriety’s sake, it had been a long time since Cordelia had heard anyone mourn her late mother. That single remark from the Madame made her forget any lingering resentment in her heart.  

 

At times, it was almost pitiful how easily Cordelia, who had grown up starved for affection, could feel and forgive others’ affection.  

 

It was around then that her aunt let out an exaggerated, theatrical cough, causing the three to shift uncomfortably for their reasons.  

 

“Ahem, ahem. What a truly beautiful home.”  

 

When no one paid her any attention, her aunt stepped forward abruptly. Though her face displayed exaggerated arrogance and excitement, it only made her underlying insecurity more obvious. 

 

The Devilliers couple exchanged a subtle glance.  

 

The brief warmth of nostalgia melted away like snow. As Cordelia nervously licked her lips, Madame Devilliers curved hers into a smile.  

 

“Welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, how should we address you?”  

 

“Please call me Mrs. Sharlot. It was my late husband’s surname.”  

 

“I see… Madam Sharlot.”  

 

Skillfully masking her awkwardness, Madame Devilliers smiled and offered tea. 

 

The four of them sat at the table, facing one another. Cordelia took a sip, her throat parched. Her heart pounded uneasily. 

 

Madame Devilliers straightened her posture and spoke.  

 

“Cordelia. We heard you’ve been unwell all this time, so we couldn’t see you often. We should have taken better care of you. Jonathan and I… we’re ashamed to face you.”  

 

“Not at all.”

 

Although it was just a polite remark, Cordelia’s cheeks flushed as she murmured. 

 

Even if they had been neglectful, their very existence had been the only shield for young Cordelia. 

 

How could she possibly hate them? 

 

A fleeting trace of faint guilt passed over Madame Devillier’s face as she watched the youthful lady shaking her head repeatedly.  

 

“Well… I’m glad you think so. And actually, the reason I called you here today—”  

 

“Truthfully, our niece has suffered a great deal emotionally.”  

 

Just as Madame was about to proceed cautiously, her aunt abruptly and rudely cut in. Though it was impolite, what followed was an unbearably smug and affected tone, dripping with self-satisfaction.  

 

“Honestly, how exhausting must it be for a young lady to wait indefinitely for her fiancé at such a bright and promising age? This child wets her pillow every night, longing for him. But of course, he’s far too busy to spare a moment for his poor betrothed, isn’t he? How pitiful! Though times have changed, what choice do women have but to endure until men are ready? My niece is absurdly old-fashioned and naive—she wouldn’t dare even voice her desire to see him. Really, I—”  

 

“Aunt!”  

 

Cordelia, growing paler by the second, let out a small cry. She grabbed her aunt’s arm as if to stop her, but the woman, too excited to hold back, shook her off and continued prattling.  

 

“Isn’t it cruel to keep young lovers apart like this? Cordelia is an adult now! They’ve been engaged for twenty years—surely it’s time to fulfill the promise. Ask anyone on the street, and they’d agree! Between a man and a woman, what is life without, well… tender affection? Especially for young men of that age…”  

 

“Aunt! That’s enough!”  

 

Unable to bear any more of the inappropriate remarks, Cordelia sharply cut her off. Her aunt shot her an annoyed glare before forcing an ingratiating smile toward the stony-faced Devillier couple. 

 

Madame Devillier, observing the clumsy way the woman held her teacup, smiled like a statue.  

 

“I see. That’s… a very candid observation. Cordelia, do you feel the same way?”  

 

“Oh, no. Jonathan has always treated me well enough…”

 

Her mind seemed to be turning increasingly blank, but Cordelia desperately denied it. Then, her aunt grew visibly irritated and jabbed her niece sharply in the ribs.  

 

“You! Stop talking nonsense! Have you even seen your fiancé’s face once since he went abroad? I believe it’s a man’s responsibility to stay by his wife’s side after marriage. That way, you’ll have a child quickly, and do you know how much money it takes to raise even one child? In many ways…”  

 

“A… child?”  

 

As Madame Deviller forced a stiff smile, the aunt beamed and replied cheerfully.  

 

“Of course! Just imagine a cute, lovable child! For you, Madame, it would be a grandchild, and for me, a grand-niece!”  

 

Ahh…  

 

Cordelia felt her vision tinge yellow. 

 

In the haze, she could clearly discern the undisguised disgust on the faces of the Devillier couple—their revulsion at the thought of their precious grandson’s blood being tainted by that of such a vulgar woman. Her aunt’s behavior had long since crossed the line of what could be excused by their mercy, guilt, or sense of duty.  

 

Even the composed Madame de Viller seemed displeased, twisting her lips as she spoke.  

 

“Technically, it would be Marguerite’s bloodline, wouldn’t it? After all, we arranged the engagement with the Marguerite family. As for your… What was your surname again?”  

 

“Sharlot! Ohoho, your memory isn’t as sharp as you look!”  

 

The aunt seemed to think she had made a delightfully witty joke, looking quite pleased, but the Devilliers’ expressions had turned icy and frigid.

 

Even if the gap in status wasn’t as stark as it once was, her aunt’s attitude was undeniably rude, even among fellow nobles. 

 

Madame Devillier responded coldly.  

 

“From our perspective, Madame Sharlot appears to be nothing more than an outsider in this matter… It seems there’s been some misunderstanding.”