My Husband Never Dies - Chapter 62

Unperturbed, Laura topped off Evelyn’s wineglass with fragrant white wine.

A pleasant breeze drifted through the garden.

It brushed against her skin with quiet temptation, as though urging her to flee to a world beyond these walls.

Still holding the knife, Evelyn spoke on impulse.

“What do you think would happen if I left this estate?”

“Huh?”

“I mean if I slit your throat right now and walked out of this godforsaken mansion.”

Laura’s gaze fell to the knife in Evelyn’s right hand.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, my lady.”

Unlike the delicate table knives favored by noblewomen, the blade in Evelyn’s hand gleamed like a weapon made to kill. Yet when Laura looked at its chilling edge, there was only puzzled confusion in her eyes.

“Even if you left the estate…”

The maid answered in the same gentle voice as always, wiping the mouth of the wine bottle clean with a crisp napkin before continuing.

“…nothing would change.”

She smiled softly.

“You would come back eventually anyway, my lady.”

The air began to grow damp.

Looking down at the hazy mist creeping up from around her feet, Evelyn let out a crooked smile. So much for the Duke being away.

As the cool, dense fog rolled in, the bright afternoon vanished as though it had never existed. The world around her faded into gray. Looking at the maid, whose gaze had already turned dull beneath the encroaching mist, Evelyn spoke flatly.

“I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going back inside.”

“Already? But you love the fog, my lady.”

“Drop the act.”

Rising from her chair without a trace of hesitation, Evelyn fixed the maid with a hard stare. Laura didn’t flinch. She wasn’t frightened. She didn’t even look uncomfortable. She simply smiled, exactly as she always did.

“You should eat, my lady. At least have a bite.”

“No. My appetite vanished the moment I realized the great Duke of Brumfield was so terrified his leashed wife might run away that he’d resort to this.”

As Evelyn hurled the accusation at her, the maid’s eyes softened with quiet affection. Even after hearing such blasphemous words, she only smiled.

That wasn’t a maid.

“You’re so sensitive.”

A voice brushed lightly against her ear, warm with amusement. Evelyn pretended not to hear it and walked on.

Behind her, someone’s voice continued speaking.

“Look forward to your gift.”

“Gift, my *ss.”

Grinding out the curse through clenched teeth, Evelyn strode back into the mansion as though fleeing from the fog itself.

She had just reached for the handle of the mistress’s bedroom, tucked away in the deepest part of the main residence, when she suddenly froze.

There was someone inside. The room should have been empty. A voice drifted through the door, one that made no effort whatsoever to conceal its presence.

“My, aren’t you precious?”

It was Laura.

Her voice brimmed with delight and affection. Which meant the maid who had been standing beside the parasol only moments ago had somehow reached the bedroom before Evelyn.

Faced with yet another impossible scene, Evelyn merely let out a derisive laugh and pushed the door open. At this point, things like this no longer surprised her.

“My lady! How was your meal?”

Perhaps because the sound of the door opening echoed through the room, Laura hurried over with quick, light steps to greet her.

Evelyn didn’t even have the energy to answer. She simply walked past in silence. Following after her, Laura continued cheerfully.

“The little one didn’t fuss at all while waiting for you. I’ve never seen such a well-behaved baby. I wonder if that’s because the little one takes after you, my lady?”

Evelyn came to an abrupt stop and turned to look at Laura.

“What did you say?”

“Hmm?”

Laura only looked back at her with innocent confusion.

Then, at the edge of Evelyn’s vision, she noticed a piece of furniture that had never been there before. A small bed — its high wooden rails were set so closely together they resembled the bars of a cage.

As though drawn by something unseen, Evelyn walked toward it. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her not to get any closer, but her feet ignored the warning.

The crib had been carved from a single block of lustrous black ebony. Its frame was so solid it looked almost unnaturally sturdy.

Along the tightly spaced rails, too narrow for even a newborn’s tiny fist to slip through, the crest of House Brumfield had been meticulously inlaid in gold.

And inside…

Nestled at the center of impossibly white silk lay a tiny, fragile baby.