Chapter 117
She thought maybe he really didn’t know.
Maybe Claude hadn’t expected things to get this bad; maybe, if he’d realized, he never would have taken her along. Maybe he’d say he had his servants try to shield her from getting hurt—something like that…
That was what she thought he might say.
But none of the things he actually said were anything like that.
Felice realized he had known all along. Worse, he’d even used that knowledge.
For what? To drag her down so that Lady Elise would shine in comparison?
Did he really have to go that far…?
Felice crumpled by the door, burying her face in her knees.
Did he really have to do all that?
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see anyone. She already felt like a joke, but….
* * *
For several days, Claude waited by Felice’s window every morning. It wasn’t just once or twice anymore; the window was firmly closed, never opened.
Changing tactics, he started lingering in the kitchen around breakfast, hoping for a chance to ‘bump into’ her and talk. If he managed to speak to Felice, she’d only force a smile and nod.
Her eyes, utterly devoid of any warmth, looked up at Claude.
“Yes, please say whatever you like, Claude.“
Meeting her gaze, Claude always lost his nerve and said never mind, only to retreat in defeat—again and again.
Meanwhile, things continued moving forward.
Prime Minister Robert requested to meet Claude, and at a charity event Elise brought up his name. More scandals hit the newspapers.
Of course, Claude ordered the papers he’d invested in to stop publishing stories about Felice, even if stories about him and Elise were left alone. Sales dropped for a few days, but Claude made up for it with a large investment.
Even so, rival newspapers gleefully ran their own articles. The new narrative was that Claude and Elise’s romance was just beginning—and Felice, of course, was cast as the villain.
The stories published bore no resemblance to reality, and every morning Felice read the papers. Once, Claude tried to snatch the paper away, but seeing her lifeless fingers go limp, he stopped even trying.
At the same time, reporters needing interviews swarmed Felice’s home and the Baron’s hospital day after day. Every article ended with the line that they hadn’t yet managed to meet Lady Felice herself.
Yet that didn’t stop them from writing sensational stories.
Some society lady claimed Felice had slyly insulted Elise at tea. Details—like who the lady was, who attended, or even when the event was held—were conveniently left out.
Eventually, a reporter published an article speculating that Lady Felice had actually gone missing.
The more vicious the news became, the quieter the Racliffe manor grew. Annie, now unable to roam the house as freely as before, was on the verge of losing her beloved teacher.
Finally, Annie made a decision.
Early one morning, she enlisted Mrs. Pritchard’s help to interview the staff around the manor.
“Gardener Thomas, when is the rose garden at its prettiest?”
“Tomorrow, I’d say, should be when it’s in full bloom.”
Annie, with a twig in hand, posed her questions while Mrs. Pritchard wrote everything down in a notebook.
“How was the flower tea this week?”
“Would you say something to Miss Felice?”
“What was the most interesting thing that happened in the kitchen today?”
After dashing about with Mrs. Pritchard, Annie took the notebook, unable to read all the words but at least recognizing the names. Using the names Mrs. Pritchard had written, Annie drew pictures with colored pencils.
Once she’d finished her interviews, Annie headed up to the third floor. Claude’s interview would be accompanied by the butler, Ben.
Knock, knock—
“Baron, it’s Annie.”
As Annie called, Claude opened the door for her. His expression was just as gloomy as Felice’s, and Annie’s eyes grew worried.
“Thank you for agreeing to this interview today.”
Still, Annie remained cheerful and bowed.
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