Chapter 4

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 4

Chapter Title: Edgar Langcaster Lancelot

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Olivia lingered among the excited onlookers for a moment, watching the man.

The man's forearm looked solid as he gripped the racket and walked. She couldn't help but let her gaze linger.

A servant took the racket from the man as he approached the bench, breathing heavily, and handed him a towel. The man wiped the sweat from his brow with it.

As the man sat on the bench, a gentleman who appeared to be his friend offered him a glass.

Water droplets plinked from the glass, where lemon slices and clear ice floated. At that moment, a man sauntered over from the opposite court, grumbling.

"The ball's not cooperating at all today."

"Just today?"

The other gentlemen on the bench snickered and giggled.

The men lit cigars and began chatting idly, while the ladies cast sidelong glances full of anticipation, pretending to stroll elegantly nearby, circling the group.

Olivia turned her steps toward the main building.

"Johann's ex-wife. I heard she's in Litton?"

"That woman?"

The sudden voices caught Olivia by the ankle.

"My mother saw her on the ship. She said at first she didn't recognize her because she looked so plain, but up close, it was definitely the duchess. She was with a maid."

"Johann's wife was stunningly beautiful. Should I go meet her sometime?"

"You lunatic."

Giggling drifted over with the cigar smoke to where Olivia stood. The unfamiliar scent was a mix of woody char and sweet chocolate.

"Gotta give credit where it's due. Brown hair like that, and still such a beauty? Rare."

"Not the overtly voluptuous type, more like a slender, delicate doe."

Edgar sipped his whiskey soda with a bored expression, leisurely taking in the scenery as the pointless conversation dragged on.

Passing over the lush grass court, beyond the cluster of ladies in dresses of every color like spring flowers, his gaze suddenly halted at the green waterfall at the entrance to the riverside path.

"Pretty eyes. The pale skin makes the blue stand out even more, just like that woman. Huh? That woman..."

"What woman? Who?"

The noisy group's attention snapped to her as well, all eyes focusing in unison. Someone let out a sharp whistle.

"Bingo!"

Incredibly, the woman was Olivia Blanchett.

Edgar Langcaster Lancelot's eyes narrowed.

There, under the shade of a massive tree where light and shadow crossed unrealistically, the woman stood primly. The woman who had been Johann's wife, with all her words and scandals.

The idle men erupted in chatter again.

"Just someone who looks like her?"

"Yeah, probably. If Johann and Edgar are on good terms, she wouldn't come to this hotel. No way. Loyalty and all."

"Loyalty after a divorce? Maybe she's here to stick it to Johann."

The loafers giggled again.

They lightly raised their glasses toward her, as if toasting.

Startled by the reaction, the woman turned hurriedly with her maid. Her flared skirt rippled with her quick steps.

"I've checked the guest registry. It's Olivia Blanchett."

"I see."

Edgar let out a soft voice without lifting his eyes from the documents he was reviewing.

Olivia.

Edgar rolled the pen between his fingers as he repeated the resonant name.

Was Johann's wife always like that?

The woman was still beautiful. But there was no trace of the wretched outcast from the Rondo Kingdom.

Above all, the woman he had seen before didn't have eyes like those.

The woman had a face so strikingly beautiful it stuck in the memory at first glance.

If there was one thing about her that matched Johann's standards for marriage, from head to toe, it was that face—that pretty face.

He had seen her two or three times, perhaps.

Even in those brief brushes unworthy of being called meetings, what left the strong impression wasn't her drunken antics, but her face peeking through the disheveled strands of her deep brown hair.

Especially those blue eyes, murky like storm clouds.

"What do you think her intentions are?"

Edgar asked his aide, Gerald.

For someone who had been drinking and playing tennis since midday, his smile was refreshingly bright. The crisp scent of aftershave from his recent shower added to it.

"Revenge against her ex-husband, perhaps."

"Revenge..."

"I suspect she came to trade confidential documents with you, young master. Stab her ex in the back and make a profit."

"You think so?"

Edgar signed the report with his elegant script, slotted the fountain pen back into its holder, and looked up.

"Why else would she come here?"

Edgar's lips curved silently.

Such a feeble ploy didn't suit the woman. Those eyes, full of untold stories, left no room for greed.

Whatever the reason, the woman who brought a thrilling spark to his bored life wasn't unwelcome.

"Send her an invitation. To Lady Blanchett."

Whether her hand held Leopold family secrets or not, it hardly mattered.

A night of amusement wouldn't be bad. The woman was beautiful, after all.

And if it disrupted Johann's composure, all the better.

"Those men seemed to know the duke, didn't they?"

"According to the maids at Great Hill, he studied abroad in Britt. They must have crossed paths."

Anne replied as she tied the ribbon at the neck of Olivia's nightgown.

"I see."

She tried to sound calm, but her voice trembled faintly.

The novel's protagonist was Clara.

Thus, she knew nothing about things outside Clara's interests.

The protagonist's sole focus was Crown Prince Christian. Of course, in the end, Johann Leopold won her love.

"He seemed popular with the ladies. Do you recognize anyone, Anne?"

"I'm clueless about that sort of thing..."

No topic circulated among maids as much as high society gossip, but it was beyond Anne. Reading newspapers or gossip rags was a luxury for her.

Anne, who had always shadowed her lady like a ghost, couldn't take her eyes off Olivia for a second.

Her lady was always precarious. The moments when she had a fit, got sedatives, and finally fell asleep were Anne's only free time.

Then Anne had to silently clean up the messes Olivia left behind. The duke's servants were always as cold as midwinter to Olivia.

Now Anne brushed Olivia's lush hair. The brush glided smoothly over the silky strands.

Olivia sat obediently like a good child, surrendering her hair to Anne as she lost herself in thought.

Waking up in the novel's world at the moment of death no longer mattered. How to live was what counted.

She didn't want to spend her life as Olivia Blanchett, wearing the shell of a doomed woman.

Especially not one who, jealous of her husband's lover, got framed for murder and executed.

So she divorced on impulse. She wanted no ties to anything connected to Johann.

To a place beyond Johann Leopold's reach, where no one knew Olivia Blanchett.

That's why she crossed the ocean, skipping countless countries on the continent. But already, one of those had gone awry.

What should she do?

Confront it? Flee? Or ignore it?

Her clasped fingertips trembled faintly. No clear answer came.

All she wanted was to live quietly and peacefully.

"There, all done, miss."

At Anne's voice, Olivia shook off her fruitless worries, stood with a bright smile.

"Thank you, Anne."

As Olivia headed to bed, a knock sounded. The clock on the nightstand read nine p.m.—time for the hotel's evening tea service.

Anne opened the door and took the tray from the room attendant.

On the silver tray sat a tea set alongside an elegant envelope tied with a gold ribbon. The attendant politely explained it was a ball invitation before bowing and withdrawing.

"Shall I open it?"

Olivia, seated at the table, nodded slightly at Anne's question.

Untying the gold ribbon—emblematic of Lancelot Hotel, woven into the decor everywhere—and breaking the red sealing wax revealed an invitation with gold-embossed edges.

Rose Ball. It was an honor to invite you to Lancelot Hotel's traditional event held in the rose garden every May.

"This Saturday."

Olivia read silently. Below the time and place was the dress code.

"You as a rose?"

Dressing like a rose in a rose-filled space? It seemed over the top, drawing a soft laugh. Hard to tell people from flowers.

"...Will you go?"

Anne asked cautiously, recalling the cafeteria incident.

"No."

Olivia's reply was short and light. She smiled—a smile that cheered anyone watching—as she lifted her teacup.

She knew it was a lowbrow prank.

A reminder to a woman who had once risen above her station of her current place. Plus, the ball needed a laughingstock to stay entertaining.

Olivia had no desire to walk into the sacrificial role.

Better to avoid the hotbed of vicious rumors, the women bloodthirsty to humiliate her, the men trading crude jokes about her.

Johann Leopold visited the riding club for the first time in ages.

He had planned to avoid outings except for work until the divorce fallout quieted, but life, as always, didn't go according to plan.

Then again, when had it ever?

Their divorce was as hot a topic as their marriage.

Three weeks later, unverified sensational articles still plastered front pages. Especially those resurfacing about Olivia Blanchett's lovers.

Olivia Blanchett Spotted in Agent Kingdom with Second Lover

Leopold Duchess Flees in Love with Painter Lover

Idle noble youths huddled in groups, whispering, then greeted Johann on sight while probing his expression.

Pathetic fools.

Johann crossed the lounge and mounted lightly.

Unlike Johann, the horse, unused to long runs, snorted excitedly and galloped off vigorously. Atop the charging steed, Johann winced at the blinding sun hanging in the distant treetops.

Please divorce me.

His wife's calm voice echoed in his head.