The Search for the Duchess’s Husband Chapter 49

Vivi’s face hardened.

 

She was the only one in the mansion who knew of Artia’s absence.

 

If Shylock found out, he would follow her whereabouts and wreak havoc.

 

‘I must never let it be known that the master is not in her room.’

 

That was Vivi’s job as the only remaining servant in the mansion.

 

No matter what her master’s godmother ordered, she would not allow her master a visit.

 

Vivi’s eyes were creepy and every muscle in her body was tense.

 

“Artia says she wants nothing to do with a thug who plays people for money.”

 

Shylock’s face hardened at Catherine’s pointed words.

 

“Are you sure you’re talking to me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Catherine glared at Shylock.

 

“I was mad for a moment, mad with money, thinking the Rushan’s were a good match, but not anymore.”

 

Catherine’s voice rose in anger.

 

“Get out of my daughter’s house, you despicable loan shark!”

 

Before Shylock could speak, Catherine looked at Vivi.

 

Reading Catherine’s intentions, Vivi stalked over to Shylock and grabbed him.

 

“Get off me!”

 

Shylock twisted his whole body in protest, but it was no use.

 

Just like before, Vivi picked him up and carried him out of the mansion.

 

The only difference was that unlike the time she’d set him down so gently and politely, this time she dropped him with a bang.

 

“Ugh…!”

 

Vivi blurted out, looking down at Shylock, who had just gotten his ass handed to him.

 

“Forgive me. I made a mistake. Be careful.”

 

With those harsh words, spoken in a tone that lacked any dignity, Vivi turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Shylock was not the only man to notice Artia’s absence.

 

Prince Killian, who was most likely to become the next emperor, was no different.

 

But unlike Shylock, who believed with all his heart that Artia was in the palace, he was aware of her absence.

 

“She’s gone.”

 

He turned into a black cat and went to Artia’s room, but it was empty.

 

The only thing visible was a blanket rolled up on the bed, as if a human had been lying there.

 

“I don’t think anything happened to Artia von Edenberg’s big maid, judging by her calm reaction…”

 

Killian didn’t trust humans, but he had a way of seeing through them.

 

The big maid didn’t seem like the kind of person who would do anything disrespectful to Artia.

 

Then…

 

‘Did she go somewhere in secret?’

 

Maybe to get money.

 

He thought so at first. But when he went back a few days later and still didn’t see her, he got a little worried.

 

The next day, when she still wasn’t there, Killian gave the order.

 

“I want you to find out where Artia von Edenberg is.”

 

‘Is Mrs. Edenberg planning a rebellion, or is she a spy for the enemy?’

 

Nocturne wanted to ask.

 

That was always the reason Killian had asked him to investigate a person’s background.

 

“You’re not taking this assignment very personally, are you?”

 

Nocturne wanted to ask, but all that came out of his mouth was a yes.

 

‘If it is, then put it down without argument.’

 

That was the attitude of a servant to a mad king.

 

The next day, Nocturne went to see Killian.

 

He was in the sword training center, shirtless and swinging his sword.

 

His black hair was damp with sweat, and his golden eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

 

Tight muscles that rippled with every swing.

 

It was a stunning scene, straight out of a painting, but Nocturne had only one emotion.

 

He is always intimidating.

 

‘Let’s do well today. Don’t blow my head off.’

 

Nocturne swallowed hard and reported.

 

“Mrs. Edenberg is currently staying with her maternal aunt, the Countess of Blührens.”

 

“Has she gone to ask for money?” Killian asked, waving his sword.

 

“Most likely, yes. I heard that Count Blührens recently sold some of his assets and came into a considerable amount of cash.”

 

“If she got the money, why didn’t she come back?”

 

“Well, it’s because… Mrs. Edenberg is currently being used as an impersonation of Count Blührens’s dead daughter.”

 

“……?”

 

Turning to Killian, who raised an eyebrow, Nocturne told him all the information he had received.

 

A Count and Countess who lost their daughter twenty years ago, a Countess who has become increasingly ill from the shock, and Artia comforting the countess by posing as her dead daughter.

 

And the upcoming fake wedding.

 

At that moment, Killian’s sword stopped moving smoothly.

 

Killian’s golden eyes flashed.

 

“A wedding?”

 

‘This is wrong. Please, spare me.’

 

Nocturne replied, holding back the pleading words that threatened to escape him.

 

“Yes, at the suggestion of the Countess’s physician, she has decided to hold a wedding, a wedding that has not gone well in the past, in the hope that it will heal the wounds in her heart. It is a fake wedding, but many merchants have come and gone to make it as formal as a real wedding.”

 

Killian interrupted Nocturne as he began to recite the list of merchants who had come and gone from the Countess of Blührens.

 

“Who’s the groom?”

 

“What?”

 

“Even if it is a fake wedding, the bride will not be alone.”

 

“That part hasn’t come in yet… I’ll find out right away!”

 

Nocturne shook his head like a guilty man and left the stage in a flash.

 

Alone in the vastness of the ballroom, Killian tightened his grip on his sword and muttered to himself.

 

“It’s not like they’re marrying for real.”

 

There was a hint of displeasure in his languid voice.

 

That night, far away in the county of Blührens, Artia dreamed.

 

It was a terrifying nightmare in which she was being chased by a golden-eyed cat the size of a mountain.

 

“You’re cute, but you’re scary…”

 

Artia grunted and hugged the blanket.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Helen wanted to hold Artia’s hand from morning till night.

 

Even more so when she fell asleep.

 

“You’ve always loved strawberries,” Artia said, “and when you eat them, you always ask me to cut them in half because you think they taste better.”

 

Holding Artia’s hand, Helen talked until she couldn’t go on, and then she fainted and fell asleep.

 

Artia would look at Helen’s sleeping face.

 

In less than a week, Helen had become a different person.

 

When she first saw her, she was like a withered flower, but now she is full of life, like a flower in spring.

 

It was all because of her love for Julie.

 

“I am not your real daughter…” Artia murmured the words she could never say aloud.

 

The more time passed, the heavier her heart became. At the same time, she felt pity, regret, and compassion for this poor woman.

 

As if she were the real Julie.

 

Artia stood there for a moment with a troubled face, then quietly left the room.

 

She went into the study.

 

Humphrey, sitting in the chair, greeted her.

 

“You’ve had a long day.”

 

Artia nodded and walked over to his side.

 

Dozens of paper envelopes were stacked on the large desk.

 

They were the wedding invitations Helen had been making for days. Each envelope bore the names of the guests, which she had carefully handwritten.

 

Humphrey looked at the invitations with a bitter expression on his face.

 

“The servant pretended to deliver them and gave them back to me.”

 

“What are you going to do about it?”

 

“I can’t invite everyone Helen wrote on the invitation, not only because I can’t reach them all, but also because I need to make sure I only invite those who understand her condition. I’ve already written to them, explaining the situation in detail. There’s just one problem.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The groom.”

 

“……!”

 

Humphrey held out a small portrait to Artia, whose eyes widened.

 

The well-worn portrait showed a handsome man with dark hair.

 

“This is Count Missoula, who was to marry Julia twenty years ago. He is distantly descended from the Imperial family and is handsome, and Helen was delighted, saying that Juliet would be lucky to be his bride.”

 

Her joy is shattered when Juliette dies on the eve of the wedding.