Chapter 19

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 19

Chapter Title: Masterpiece of Enchantment

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It was a masterpiece of enchantment, where Madam Lauren's flair had been unleashed without restraint.

That was Edgar's impression of Olivia standing before him.

Considering the short preparation time, it was an even more impressive creation. The necklace draped around her slender neck was a dramatic choice.

One that ensured anyone who saw her would know she was Olivia Blanchett.

That was the one thing he had demanded from Madam Lauren. And it had been perfectly fulfilled—Olivia stood right there before him.

It was regrettable that Lauren's blatant intentions had been woven into it, but he decided not to make an issue of it. The woman was far too alluring.

"Why are you here?"

"You saw me. Just a moment ago."

The woman replied with a suitably smiling face. Her vividly sparkling blue eyes, lost in some past memory, resembled the serene surface of a lake.

A romantic waltz melody drifted in from afar, slipping into the awkward silence between them.

"It's one of my favorites."

Edgar said with a grin.

"Shall we dance?"

"As you can see—my feet."

Edgar glanced down at her small feet, shyly revealed, and let out a chuckle. She was barefoot.

"How do you play tennis with feet this tiny?"

"How do you lose with feet that big?"

Edgar couldn't hold back his laughter. His low chuckle blended with the rhythm, now turned lively and upbeat.

"What if you entered the Dumblin tournament?"

Of course, he knew what her answer would be.

"No."

Edgar nodded regretfully.

"A shame, but if Miss Blanchett isn't keen, nothing to be done. Ah!"

"What's wrong?"

Olivia paled and hurried over as Edgar clutched his chest with a large hand and doubled over.

The hem of Olivia's dress fluttered in the gentle spring breeze, her white legs gleaming beneath the moonlight.

Edgar tilted his head at an angle to gaze at her and flashed a grin. He liked the worried look on her face as she examined him.

"My heart hurts now that you've refused."

"What! You scared me."

The woman scowled and struck his forearm with her clenched fist. Edgar instinctively seized her wrist.

The man's eyes changed in an instant.

"It was just a joke. But a lady who plays tennis packs quite a punch."

"I'm sorry."

The clamor of the bustling party filtered in intermittently beneath the brilliant lights. Just then, the wind picked up.

The breeze, carrying the scent from the rose garden, was intoxicatingly sweet. Edgar squeezed his eyes shut. His hand slipped from her wrist to rub at his eye. He wore a pained expression.

"Don't joke like that."

"This time it's real. ...Take a look?"

Edgar blinked a couple of times, then lowered his head toward Olivia.

The woman, who had instinctively drawn her shoulders back, hesitated before tilting her head slightly and leaning in. A faint crease formed on her smooth brow—she couldn't quite see.

"I can't see it."

Her breath brushed his cheek as she drew closer. He tugged his lips into a soft smile and leaned down further.

Still not enough, Olivia rose onto her tiptoes. He could feel her body heat. Edgar held his breath.

A clear blue sea. Those eyes, holding an unfathomable depth of blue, were fixed solely on him.

"Grand Blue."

The word burst out like released heat, and the woman on tiptoes lost her balance, swaying.

Edgar wrapped an arm around her waist, and she steadied herself with both hands on his shoulder.

In that moment, he tilted his face sideways to shield hers. As the startled Olivia pushed against him, he whispered into her ear.

"Want to go together tomorrow?"

A secretive whisper in her ear, followed by a pop! and a brilliant flash.

Olivia whipped her head around in surprise, and another pop!—a silver flash erupted. Then, boom boom, raucous explosions echoed overhead.

Gorgeous roses bloomed across the spring night sky.

The tabloid in the hands of Johann's great-aunt, Margaret, was viciously crumpled.

It was unmistakably a scene of an illicit rendezvous. Even Johann Leopold could see that.

Margaret Wellington Marchioness Dowager's birthday parties were renowned every year for their splendor.

She reveled in her old age by summoning every socialite worth knowing on her birthday, flaunting her enduring vitality.

Yet on this momentous seventieth birthday, absurdly, someone else had stolen the spotlight.

「Edgar's Rose: Steamy Rendezvous with the Former Duchess of Leopold」

"Th-this shameless..."

Stimulating headlines. The accompanying photo was more than enough to seize attention.

The woman's face—up on tiptoes, locked in a passionate kiss within the man's embrace—was obscured by Edgar, sparking just enough curiosity. But no one was actually curious.

Anne Juber.

Everyone at the ball that night knew who wore that famous necklace.

The newspapers had swiftly woven eyewitness accounts with their own tawdry imaginations into lurid illustrations. That third-rate romance had dominated the idle Rondos gossip rags in less than half a day.

Thud. The hand that folded the paper in half and slapped it onto the table was sharp.

"That's why I opposed it. A person's roots matter—I warned you. What a disgrace. I've outlived my time."

Johann merely listened in silence.

"How long since the divorce? To pull a stunt like this. Outrageous."

"It's the age of free love, Grandmother. What's wrong with dating after divorce? Better than my mother, right, brother?"

Johann shook his wrist lightly instead of answering, glancing at the gold-embellished watch.

"That's the problem too—men and women mingling so freely. Young ladies hand over their hearts too easily, blind to how shallow a man's intentions can be."

The dowager clicked her tongue.

"Eras change, but essence doesn't. Free love may be the fashion, but when it doesn't lead to marriage, it's the woman who suffers. Just look at Elena."

Elena Blanchett. Olivia's mother.

Johann's plan—to make a cursory appearance before the family elders and slip out of the hall—had been thwarted by his ex-wife's scandal.

"Virgins wandering without maids, attending lectures crammed with men, flitting about to dance scandalous steps."

"Tango, Grandmother."

Florin said with a laugh. Johann stared at his brandy glass with listless eyes. The ice had fully melted.

"The name hardly matters. In my day as a virgin, even waltzes were danced only before parents. A lady must carry herself with propriety. Look at Josephine. I've never seen that girl dance anything but a quadrille. So chaste. In this era, it's a marvel such a lady exists. I marked her as Johann's match ages ago. And now, opportunity knocks."

The dowager fixed Johann with a solemn stare. Three years of silence, and the nagging's overture had begun. He felt his wife's absence keenly in that moment.

"Must be fate, Grandmother."

Florin jumped in, defending her friend Josephine.

"Miss Josephine? I vouch for her. Flawless as a duchess. Her piano skills are likely the finest among Rondos ladies—my ears don't lie. With that talent, she never skimps on practice. Singing, painting—she excels at it all. Johann."

"And her embroidery is exquisite too. She was at the party today—"

As Johann rose, the Margaret sisters fell silent and glared at him in unison.

"Johann!"

"Save the rest for next year's birthday. Stay well, Grandmother."

Johann approached Margaret, leaned in to brush a light kiss on her cheek, then bowed politely to the ladies. Scoldings trailed after him as he departed.

"At twenty-eight, you ought to have two children by now, Johann."

"Young folks think spring lasts forever. Then regret it. Johann! Spring days vanish in a blink!"

Tsk tsk tsk. The earth-shaking tongue-clicks faded as the lounge door shut.

Johann strode down the corridor with long steps. The faint formal smile was long gone. Though his face remained impassive, his clenched fist gleamed white at the knuckles.

Olivia Blanchett.

Repeating his former wife's name stirred the rage he had buried in the abyss. An emotion he had never felt even in their most intimate moments. Because it was Edgar.

As Johann, lost in thought, neared the terrace, unwelcome figures swarmed him like a pack. He halted his measured pace.

If only they had some tact.

Despite being the third son of the Edinburgh ducal house, the new Duke of Leopold drew fools eager to cut him down—mouths itching for it. Collateral cousins, among others nearby.

This lot's hallmark was their utter lack of tact or shame.

"Your ex-wife's making quite the name in Britt."

Unwanted attentions clung annoyingly. He had taken marriage's perks for granted, like breathing. He couldn't deny the convenience it had brought.

"Whether she'll be the next Lancelot duchess remains to be seen. How's that sit with you? Quite the alluring photo."

Johann's gaze on the swaggering cousin was frigid.

"How long have those two been at it?"

"No way she did that while sharing your bed?"

Johann slowly closed his eyes, then leveled them at his cousin.

"Why not ask her yourself."

"Lighten up, Johann. On a fine day like this. At least you divorced before the knife in the back. Nearly foisted cuckoo chicks on Grandma as great-grandkids—Ugh!"

Johann swung his fist.