The Search for the Duchess’s Husband Chapter 81

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?”

 

But contrary to Artia’s wishes, Marigold’s face was very serious. Artia spoke her mind.

 

“Pretty girl is a very charming nickname, but it’s too much pressure.”

 

“Then how about cutie?”

 

“Please…”

 

The rest is history, as Marigold’s onslaught of nicknames continued, culminating in her being called Tia.

 

When Marigold didn’t get the nickname she wanted, she said, “I’ll call you Tia, but I want you to call me what I want to be called.”

 

“What do you want me to call you?”

 

Marigold replied cheerfully, as if she’d been waiting for this.

 

“Sister.”

 

“Uh, big sister?!”

 

“Yes, I’m two years older than you.”

 

But among the nobility, being older was no reason to call someone sister. It was even more strange for Artia, an only child.

 

Seeing Artia’s embarrassment, Marigold shrugged.

 

“If you don’t like it, so be it. But I won’t call you Tia, You’re Pretty girl…”

 

The words spilled out of her mouth at the cringe-worthy nickname.

 

“Sister!”

 

Marigold giggled, happy to have gotten the title she wanted. And then she added a sneaky little horse to the mix.

 

What some might find rude, she found natural.

 

That’s her power, I guess.

 

Artia turned her back completely on Marigold.

 

Dahlia, meanwhile, struggled to steady herself against Artia’s unraveling.

 

‘Fans are grateful.’

 

But only Redlip’s fans. It had nothing to do with Lady Dalia.

 

 

But despite her determination, Artia had other ideas.

 

‘Mrs. Gregg’s expression is much softer.’

 

Her usually cool black eyes were warm. They often curved gently.

 

‘Is something good happening, or is it the tea and dessert I’ve prepared for her today?’

 

For some reason, Dahlia’s transformation reminded Artia of herself, and she enjoyed talking to her.

 

She’d long forgotten the purpose of befriending her, to improve her social standing. Artia liked her simply because she liked her.

 

‘I couldn’t help it, I was a noblewoman.’

 

A noblewoman who couldn’t help but fall under the spell of the flower ladies.

 

Artia blushed, meekly admitting her feelings.

 

It was a lovely tea party.

 

 

* * *

 

 

This time, in the Imperial Palace. Nocturne smiled and broke into a cold sweat.

 

There was the foul aura emanating from Killian.

 

“What in the world is he reading that makes him look so unhappy?”

 

‘Is it a book of deep philosophy? Or a political book dealing with sensitive issues?’

 

Neither answer was correct.

 

What Killian was reading was a romance novel that Artia had picked out for him, the kind that thrills many women.

 

The title was “Count Auguste’s First Love”.

 

It was the story of a philandering count’s growing love for his wife, whom he had married out of wedlock.

 

 

“Kneeling, the count took his wife’s rough fingertips in both hands and said, ‘My body and my heart are yours, and I beg you, give me a little of yours.'”

 

 

Killian felt a hostility he had never felt before, not even on the battlefield.

 

He wanted to dive into the book and rip the words from the man’s mouth.

 

But Artia von Edenberg found the man handsome. Her pink eyes sparkled like cherry blossoms in the spring sun.

 

‘Let’s… read more.’

 

Killian resumed turning the pages with a pained expression.

 

* * *

 

 

Dahlia’s husband, Count Gregg, was a man of integrity and honesty, but he was not a very good husband.

 

He was so focused on his country that he neglected his one and only wife.

 

Some people would say he was a pathetic husband, but Dahlia liked that about him.

 

After all, she didn’t have much affection for her arranged marriage.

 

Her attention was solely focused on her writing.

 

After grooming herself, maintaining her home, attending social gatherings, and fulfilling her duties as a lady, Dahlia retired to her study to write.

 

She laughed, she cried, she agonized over her writing, and finally she exulted.

 

“I’ve finally finished it!”

 

Her voice filled with joy.

 

 

It was a look that would have surprised anyone who knew her.

 

Dahlia stared at the thick stack of paper, her eyes wide with excitement.

 

It was Redlip’s latest work, “The Noble Prince is Her Footman,” which she had been working on for almost a year.

 

She had accomplished a great feat, but there was still one big step to take.

 

Sending the manuscript to a publisher.

 

Dahlia couldn’t trust anyone with a manuscript more precious than her life, so she always took it to the publisher herself.

 

No one would know.

 

A few days later, Dahlia left the mansion, saying she was going shopping.

 

A maid followed her, pretending to carry the groceries, but it didn’t matter. It was the fifth time she’d done this, and she’d gotten used to dealing with maids.

 

“I’m going to look around the bookstore, and you can go wherever you want.”

 

“No, ma’am. How could I leave you alone?”

 

“It’s just that I like to choose my own books. When else do you get to explore the city?”

 

With that, Dahlia handed the maid a gold coin.

 

The maid was deeply touched.

 

Clever, beautiful and compassionate!

 

“Then I’ll have a quick look around and come back.”

 

The maid left, promising to return at the appointed time. As soon as she was out of sight, Dahlia’s graceful smile changed.

 

Dahlia was carrying a large bag, uncharacteristically large for a lady, containing the manuscript for Redrip’s new book.

 

She has to deliver it to the publisher today.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dahlia had worked with the same publisher since her first book.

 

They were small, but they were good at what they did.

 

They faithfully followed the terms of her contract: never asking questions about the author and never leaking information to the outside world.

 

She was happy with everything, but there was one thing she didn’t like.

 

The small publishing house was located in a remote, dark alley.

 

It was a place she’d never visit in her life if it wasn’t for her novel, and it always made her nervous.

 

“Let’s go as fast as we can.”

 

A child appeared in front of her, walking faster than usual.

 

The child held out his dirty hands to a surprised Dahlia.

 

“Pretty lady, I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Please help me.”

 

This was a common occurrence in the back alleys.

 

Dahlia hesitantly dug into the bag containing the manuscript and held out a handful of silver coins.

 

The child snatched them up with a delighted face.

 

“Thank you!”

 

Dahlia bowed her head slightly in recognition before walking past the child.

 

“You must be very rich, because most maids don’t carry money and bags.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Then don’t you think you can give me more than that?”

 

With that, the child grabbed Dahlia’s bag and ran down the alley.

 

It happened so fast that Dahlia, frozen in place, broke free and ran after him.

 

“Stop!”

 

Nobles are never supposed to run, even when their clothes are on fire.

 

She’d long forgotten the etiquette that had been drilled into her as a child.

 

But there was no way a noblewoman in a heavy gown and pointy shoes could keep up with a street urchin.

 

Suddenly, Dahlia tripped over a stone and fell.

 

On the ground, Dahlia looked up without taking the time to examine her wound.

 

The child in the distance was completely out of sight.

 

“No!”

 

Her frantic voice echoed through the dark, deserted alley.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dahlia fell to the ground and sobbed. She couldn’t think of anything.

 

She was in complete panic.

 

After a while, she regained her composure and muttered in a stuttering voice.

 

“I have to find the manuscript.”