Please Forget Me - Chapter 353

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

I Accuse Myself
— Dana Mansfield, Marchioness Mansfield

A few days later, a piece disguised as a written confession—but in truth an exposé—appeared on the front page of a daily newspaper partially owned by the Ackroyd family.

Publishing it under a name I loathed using was done on Kathleen’s advice. She said that the Marchioness would draw far more attention than Dana Loveridge ever could.

In truth, the person who wrote the exposé and the one who decided to release that long story in serialized installments, like a novel, was Killian’s mother.

I had already learned, while writing letters to Killian, how poorly I handled matters like this and how clumsy my writing was. So rather than feeling interfered with, I felt relieved that she had taken the lead, borrowing my name and my story to guide the exposé.

I am a sinner. I pledged love to a man who was not my husband, and loyalty to a country that was not my own.

It seemed Killian had inherited his talent with words from his mother. Kathleen crafted the opening and closing lines to be provocative enough that readers would have no choice but to await the next installment, all while steering the narrative into a powerful defense that turned what should have harmed me into something advantageous.

Before you stone me as an immoral woman who betrayed every bond, before you hang me by the neck, I beg you—hear my story first. Had I not fallen in love for the first time in the summer of my fourteenth year, I would not have become a sinner.

I gave Kathleen permission to reveal everything about my past.

In particular, I asked her to be sure to include that I had been deceived into a fraudulent marriage by the Marquis, that I had never shared his bed, and that the shameless man had committed adultery before I ever had.

An adultery with a woman from an enemy nation, no less. I told her this would be important later.

At the time, every newspaper was shouting the same refrain—“Execute Priest Ackroyd,” “Strip him of his medals and knighthood.”

So it was only natural that my exposé drew attention. To a public growing weary of the same recycled outrage, my revelations that opened an entirely new chapter of the affair must have felt thrilling.

By the time the exposé had moved beyond the scandalous love triangle and reached a poor, obscure couple living deep in the mountains of Highland, the entire country was abuzz with what they were calling ‘The Marchioness Scandal’.

Once it gained popularity, other newspapers began covering my story without even being asked.

[How Did the Marchioness Become a Traitor? Speculation Runs Wild
A Forbidden Love Between a Noblewoman and a Priest
Exclusive: New Information on the Highland Officer Who Threatened the Marchioness’s Chastity]

— As the entire nation rages and wonders whether the man is alive or dead, an anonymous military source reveals that Major F has already died. The circumstances of his death remain…

The newspaper carrying my exposé was reportedly selling better than it ever had, even better than when it serialized novels by popular authors. Letters demanding the next installment flooded the office, and people reportedly lined up at newsstands before dawn, waiting for the morning edition.

Some readers passionately hoped the tragic love story would end happily, while others insisted that adultery must be condemned no matter the reason. They fought fiercely in reader submission columns and in cafés across the streets.

I didn’t care either way.

I had sold my honor to capture the nation’s attention. Now it was time to use that attention.

It is entirely my fault that a hero was reduced to a traitor.

I began appealing directly to the entire nation.

Killian was not a traitor blinded by ambition. He was merely a man trying to protect the woman he loved.

He had no other way to shield me from Felkner, and so he was forced to seek the protection of a military officer senior to him. Even then, all he did was become a tutor to that man’s son.

Even so, he agonized until the very end. Had he not loved his country, the decision would have been easy.

Unable to bear the humiliation I suffered at the hands of the enemy, he chose to sell himself in my place, to an enemy officer.

Killian never said this outright. But I knew he had struggled because of his conscience toward his homeland. Otherwise, why would he have hesitated, despite having such an extraordinary network of influence at his disposal?

I still remembered it vividly. The late evening when he returned after being forced to drink with Captain Hildebrandt. He tore off a corner of the cake Mrs. Hildebrant had sent him, tasted it absently, then lay back on the bed and stared at me for a long while before murmuring quietly…