Chapter 47
Lilien couldn’t bear to look at the hurt on Matilda’s face, so she turned abruptly and left the sitting room first.
As she gripped the banister and climbed the stairs, her figure seemed almost fragile. But she managed to make it up without stumbling and finally arrived outside her father’s study.
At some point, the Count had forbidden Lilien from entering his study. Being an obedient daughter, she hadn’t opened the door since. But for the first time in her life, Lilien defied his wishes—she grasped the golden handle and turned it.
The study was a mess, far worse than she remembered. Papers were scattered everywhere, and the official seal lay haphazardly atop the desk.
She didn’t stop there. Lilien began searching every drawer, gathering any documents related to the estate and property. With her long hair tied back, she sat down in her father’s chair and methodically began to read through the black-inked pages.
Despite her father’s worries, Lilien was resolute and strong.
* * *
Meanwhile, Matilda wept uncontrollably for Lilien, who was now left alone with a ruined household. With trembling hands, she finished packing her things and left the count’s residence—she was the last servant to go.
“What on earth will she do on her own now…”
Standing at the gates, Matilda looked back at the manor, the gardens, the outbuildings—her heart heavy with sorrow. Every corner held memories of her childhood, and she had truly believed she would always be there by Lilien’s side.
Matilda knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the gentle Lilien was in reality incredibly stubborn. And that’s why she couldn’t bring herself to say, “I’ll stay by your side.”
“What am I supposed to do…”
She found herself unable to take that last step away from the house. She couldn’t just leave Lilien alone, but she also couldn’t stay.
After a moment of hesitation, Matilda made a decision. She would seek out the one friend Lilien had who wasn’t bound by money—someone who would be there out of genuine loyalty.
After changing carriages a couple of times, Matilda arrived at the very heart of Baltan. She dabbed away her tear-stained cheeks with a handkerchief and made her way straight to the palace.
Just as she arrived at the palace gates, it started to drizzle.
“I’ve come to see Lord Headington.”
She told the servant, who recognized her.
“It’s urgent. Just tell him it’s about Lady de Bermore, and he’ll let me in right away.”
Matilda, who was more experienced in matters of the heart than Lilien, had always been sure of one thing: something more than friendship had begun to bloom between the two. She wasn’t sure how far it had gone, and that made her anxious.
But she knew there was no other way for Lilien to weather this crisis.
Her lady was delicate, naive, and terribly vulnerable.
* * *
That night, the darkness finally found a crack in Lilien’s defenses. The walls she had built so carefully began to crumble as the cold edge of reality slipped in.
“I’m fine.”
She murmured to herself in the empty house. She had to keep repeating it—otherwise, the fear would overwhelm her.
She was completely alone in the dark room.
“I always knew it might come to this.”
Unsteady on her feet, Lilien staggered to her bed and collapsed onto the sheets. The rain that had started earlier in the afternoon was growing heavier, the sound of it so sharp she couldn’t sleep.
She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. On the nightstand was an empty glass—she’d tried drinking a few glasses of brandy to help her sleep, but it had only left her feeling queasy and wide awake.
“Why do people even drink this stuff…”
Her mind was still sharp, but her tongue felt sluggish.
Tears, at odds with her determined will, pooled at the bridge of her nose and finally spilled over. She roughly wiped them away.
She couldn’t cry—she would have to visit her father in the morning, and she couldn’t show up with swollen eyes.
Reaching out, she picked up a letter next to the glass. She’d found the beige stationery in her father’s study.
It was a proposal letter, but instead of hope, it contained nothing but humiliation.
A wealthy merchant from the outskirts of the empire had written to express his interest in marrying her.
The problem? He was an elderly man with white hair, whose wife had died over a decade ago.
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