Chapter 33

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 33

Chapter Title: Cloudy Afternoon

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“You vulgar, foolish thing.”

Walter Hardy’s low murmur carried a fury that was hard to believe was aimed at his own daughter.

Todays tabloid newspaper, flung carelessly onto the drawing room table, boldly featured an article comparing Princess Gladys and Erna. What they called a comparison was, from start to finish, a petty hatchet job tearing Erna apart. It seemed determined to shove her already ragtag reputation straight into the sewer.

“Even after all those warnings, she just wouldn’t listen, and now this!”

“Calm down, dear.”

Brenda Hardy, who had been rubbing her throbbing forehead, hurriedly grabbed her husband’s wrist just as he reached for the liquor bottle.

“Think of Count Leman. It’s not over yet.”

Leman. At that name—like a single ray of light in the darkness—Walter Hardy finally swallowed his rage and set the bottle down.

After such a raucous festival night, it was only natural that the scandal between Prince Biern and Erna Hardy would flare up again. But no one could have foreseen it spreading across all of Lechen, stirring the public into a frenzy.

The wildcard was Princess Gladys.

As criticism of the prince intensified for so brazenly playing around with another woman right in front of his ex-wife, whom he had forgiven and decided to reconcile with, the princess stepped forward with her own clarification. Her mention of the dead child had been especially devastating.

She directly refuted the rumors branding Biern as a cold-blooded man who had abandoned even his own child. Though they had divorced, he had continued to show steady interest in the child afterward and had quietly attended the funeral.

So please stop these unfair accusations. He too is a father wounded by the loss of a beloved child. Reconciliation can’t be forced. If he chooses the lady of House Hardy, I will gladly respect his decision.

The newspaper that printed the princess’s heartfelt interview spread across the kingdom in mere days. Coming not from some gossipy tabloid but from Lechen’s most authoritative press, its impact was enormous.

Walter Hardy’s hand, habitually reaching for the liquor bottle, instead frantically rang the call bell. Even gulping down the cold water the maid brought did little to quench his thirst.

The more nobly the princess appeared—defending not only her ex-husband who had wronged her but even his lover—the more Erna naturally became the vile villainess. The people of Lechen were raging as if they wanted to drag the witch blocking the grand duke and princess’s reunion to the stake and burn her alive.

With the situation deteriorating like this, even the men who had once lusted after Erna and made advances began pulling back one by one. Now, only Count Leman remained—the old man so close to death that he was indifferent to public opinion.

A young, pretty woman to bear him the son of his lifelong dreams.

The old man wanted nothing more from a remarriage, so surely he wouldn’t back out over this. He had to stay in. Otherwise...

“S-Sir... A letter just arrived... from House Leman...”

The maid, hesitating and glancing nervously, handed over a letter stamped with House Leman’s seal. The couple’s brief spark of hope at that promising name faded as their faces darkened, eyes meeting in shared dread.

Count Leman was supposed to attend the Hardy family dinner tonight and meet Erna. Yet here was a letter from the very man they’d see in just hours. It didn’t bode well.

“Open it, quick! Hurry!”

Brenda Hardy urged her husband with a face full of anxiety. Swallowing dryly several times, he tore open the envelope with his bare hands and pulled out the count’s letter.

“It’s nothing serious, right? Right?”

Brenda Hardy’s neurotic voice shook the heavy air of the drawing room. Walter Hardy, silent as if he’d forgotten how to speak, simply handed the letter to his wife in reply.

As he stared blankly into space, Brenda Hardy read the short, curt note over and over. It was plainly uninterested in courtesy, merely notifying them he wouldn’t attend the dinner. Understanding its true meaning wasn’t hard.

In the end, even the last bidder had walked away. Their prized commodity, so carefully prepared, had gone unsold. It was as good as a declaration that they now had only one future left.

Bankruptcy.

Having borrowed recklessly to play their final hand, that day would come even sooner than planned.

Walter Hardy snatched the liquor bottle with trembling hands. The viscountess could no longer stop him.

Unable to bear the shock, Baroness Baden had taken to her bed, finally emerging only in the late afternoon. Exhausted as she looked, she still found her reading glasses on the table, put them on, and straightened her clothes.

Erna, my dear!

Thinking of that name brought fresh tears to her eyes, which had only just stopped flowing.

The baroness sat in the rocking chair by her bedroom window and sobbed for a long while more. The crisp, starched white handkerchief was soon soaked through with tears.

“Ma’am...”

Mrs. Greve, who had come worried about her skipping lunch, couldn’t finish her sentence and let out a deep sigh. Her own wrinkled eyes were red and wet, just like the baroness’s.

Ralph Royce, who had gone to the village after ages to buy provisions, came rushing back with news like a bolt from the blue. He’d whipped the cart-pulling donkey so fiercely—uncharacteristically—that it seemed the poor beast might drop dead on the spot.

The young miss... our dear Erna...

The gruff man’s tear-streaked face accompanied the newspaper he thrust forward, with Princess Gladys’s photo splashed large across it. At first, taking it from him, she’d worried the poor fellow had lost his marbles. But reading the article banished such concerns entirely.

Mrs. Greve reacted far more passionately than Ralph Royce, charging into the house. The shock hit her like a hammer to the head, making her nagging arthritis vanish for the moment.

The newspaper carrying the story of House Hardy’s lady—now the enemy of all Lechen—passed from hand to hand until it reached the baroness, who sat by the sunlit family room window, mending the edge of a worn handkerchief. Looking back, it was a miracle from the heavens she hadn’t suffered a heart attack.

Unable to even suggest food, Mrs. Greve quietly crossed the bedroom and sat beside her.

“Erna would never do such a thing. This has to be some terrible mistake.”

“Of course, ma’am. Absolutely.”

Mrs. Greve agreed without hesitation.

The rumors buzzing in the village were devilishly wicked. Thinking of Ralph just standing there listening to such filth still made her blood boil. If it had been her, she’d have sewn those filthy mouths shut.

“I even got a letter from her not long ago. She said she was doing well. Healthy, adjusting to the city, making friends, seeing all sorts of rare and wonderful things, and...”

Recalling her granddaughter’s letter, full of bright, joyful tales, the baroness began sobbing again. Mrs. Greve, watching, burst into tears herself, turning the bedroom into a sea of weeping.

“It’s Walter Hardy’s doing. That bastard’s the one who dragged our Erna into this mess!”

After pouring out a torrent of hot tears, a fierce anger blazed in her eyes.

She hadn’t strongly opposed Erna’s wish to live by her father’s side because deep down, she thought it might help the girl’s future.

Before passing away, Baron Baden had often said the same. They couldn’t keep the child cooped up in this remote place forever. But Erna was their everything. Life without her was unthinkable, so they kept putting it off, and before they knew it, the little girl had grown into a young lady.

So they’d resolved to let her go like this, tearing out a piece of their own flesh. Walter Hardy was a heartless wretch, but he was still Erna’s father. If he was finally ready to shape up and act like a parent, that was a blessing.

But some people’s children just couldn’t be salvaged.

Forgetting her refined lady’s composure for a moment, the baroness ground her teeth and shoved up her reading glasses perched on her nose.

“We have to save Erna.”

Meeting Mrs. Greve’s eyes, she declared solemnly.

“I won’t let that child end up as miserable as Annette. Never.”

Gladys’s power came from her lack of malice.

That was Biern’s conclusion after watching the recent uproar. He’d known it all along, but her recent moves made it seem like she’d grown even stronger in the meantime. It was almost awe-inspiring.

Biern tossed the half-read today’s newspaper to the foot of the bed and leaned back deeply into his head cushion. The lamplight from the bedside table illuminated him as he lounged, sipping a very late morning tea.

Gladys was probably sincere.

The princess had genuinely wanted to defend her maligned ex-husband and help the lady of House Hardy who’d been put on the chopping block because of him. Biern didn’t misunderstand that sincerity. He just despised it.

Running a hand through his tousled hair as he set down his teacup, Biern let out a long sigh. Glancing out the window, the view was all somber gray. It felt like a storm was brewing.

A father wounded by the loss of a beloved child.

Gladys’s skillful lie suddenly came to mind, drawing a wry chuckle from him.

The princess, who once strangled her foes with cruel truths harsher than lies, had now mastered falsehoods too. Her craft of weaving truth and lies to bind her enemies was masterful—worthy of artisan praise.

Lars’s king should be passing the crown to his daughter instead of scheming to sell her back to Lechen. Using such a brilliant strategist for mere marriage politics—what pitiful statesmanship.

The strong tea roused his lingering sleepiness, and Biern slowly rose from bed, slipping on a robe. Opening the window let in a wind thick with the scent of impending rain.

Biern gazed at the cloudy afternoon landscape with an unlit cigar between his lips. He realized it wasn’t lit the moment Erna’s name suddenly crossed his mind.

Closing the window, Biern tossed the unlit cigar carelessly onto the table and headed to the bathroom.

The sound of the shower running dragged on a little longer than usual.