Chapter 3: Chapter 1.2

Road to the North (2)

At that moment, Anne’s breath choked her as if the water that had reached her waist had risen to her chin in an instant. They covered everything with the façade of being a family only when they needed something from her. A very convenient method, often used by nobility. It was as obvious as it was effective. It was a word that always made her shut her mouth.

However, Anne, who quietly whispered to herself every time the word was used, couldn’t keep her mouth shut this time.

“Are you telling me to live with my future husband’s mistress?”

It was publicly known that a noble family would often have one or two mistresses who were paraded before the common people, but it was unheard of that a noble woman would get married as a means of dispelling an official complaint after laying a hand on one’s lover.

It’s the same as being sold.

It was an unbearable insult to a noble Lady. The family raised and valued their family’s noble face, but paradoxically threw their daughter’s honor into the fire.

“Angroanne, if they insist on asking you, doesn’t it mean that they want to see a successor from someone with noble blood? Thanks to your brother, you have the opportunity to become a Grand Duchess.”

Anne’s eyes fell on Robert, who scratched his stomach and brazenly added to his mother’s words. He raised his chin, as though daring her to contradict him.

“Yes. It turned out that she’s a commoner. Marriage should of course be between nobles of the right class.”

She wanted to laugh at her mother’s words, defensive of Robert as they were. And at Robert’s illogical speech. Libelois had apparently been upgraded to the point where they could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Grand Duchy.

“I already have a fiance. If Marquisate Whitmore finds out about it, they’ll formally protest.”

“That is nothing to worry about. Thankfully, the Grand Duchy contacted the Marquisate directly. Just this morning, a letter of dissolution arrived from the Marquisate.”

“Disso . . . lution . . .?”

Her voice trembled. She had not expected such an answer and had held a trace of hope. Her hope that she might be able to escape from this situation if she raised the Marquisate’s name was completely shattered.

It was too fast. It had been less than an hour since she heard this story, and the dissolution had already arrived. Robert had caused the issue the night before, less than two days ago.

“So, leave tomorrow.”

“. . . Tomorrow?”

Before she could clear her muddled state of mind, Anne was speechless.

Nonsense. It’s too fast . . .

It usually took a year to prepare for marriage. But such rapid progress was now truly frightening.

Anne, who bit her lips in nervousness, swallowed a gulp, and firmly opened her mouth.

“No. I will never go.”

Slap!

Her head turned violently at the same time as the blow had sounded. Belatedly, a pain akin to a flash of flame spread across her left cheek.

Anne, with dazed eyes, fixed her eyes upon the Count’s hand which was still in the air.

“What are you! Do you have to throw your family’s prestige into the gutter like this before you listen to the Master? How the hell did you educate your daughter!”

The furious Count turned the arrow to the Countess who was stroking his son by her side. The woman who did not respond when her daughter was beaten, when the blame rested on her, she scrunched up her face as if resentful.

“Did I teach you that way? I spared you so much attention. You dare to ignore my grace . . .”

In the end, it was always toward Anne that the real sparks flew.

This woman, called her mother, had only raised her daughter to counter the declining profits by marrying her into a good family. Thoroughly educating her on all manners, piano, embroidery, and other necessary virtues was only to increase her value in the marriage market, not out of her love for her daughter.

As Anne’s eyes slowly reddened, the County couple secretly exchanged glances with each other, spitting out soft voices.

“Isn’t it just living together? The beginning might be a little unsatisfying, but it’s a Grand Duchy. There aren’t just one or two families who are eager to form a tie by any means, so doesn’t it make sense to grab onto the position of Grand Duchess?”

“Hmm . . . Angroanne, if you go and give birth to an heir, our family will enjoy great glory. As soon as you get there, give birth to a son.”

Not surprisingly, it was not an apology, but a word that had even her small expectations crumbling to dust.

Crying— the bitterness akin to gastric juice— felt as though it was about to spill over from her neck, so Anne bit the inside of her lip. In the midst of this, her parents became disillusioned as long as she was to give birth to a son.

I was abandoned for their precious heir . . .

Her heart sank at the reality that the knowledge, manners, and talents she had cultivated to elevate her family’s name would eventually be embraced in the arms of an old man. No matter how hard she tried, never had a place here.

Anne swallowed her growing resentment. It was useless to protest against those who would never listen. Anne, who had never refused, had no choice but to quietly nod her head. But she also had no intention of following through right away.

“Yes. I will go.”

Anne clasped her cheeks with her hands and replied in resignation.

Her parents’ faces bloomed into smiles at her doll-like response. For the first time in her life, their smiles were directed toward her alone. She knew that the affection her parents showed for the first time would also be the last, so Anne smiled faintly, shoving her feelings deep down.