Jasmine picked up one of the letters when Claude, with a stern expression, walked in with a creaking sound as the door opened. He strode in with an air of brooding intensity, his dark eyes fixed on the open drawer as he approached Jasmine. His hair was still damp from the recent wash, and droplets of water glistened on his brow.
“What’s this, Claude?” Jasmine asked.
Claude’s response was a stern silence, his gaze locked on the drawer as he knelt down to forcefully shut it. His fingers gripped the handle with a fierce determination, his whole body tense with emotion.
“It’s a letter from Canillia,” he finally admitted, his voice low and guarded.
“But you’re not Canillia,” she pointed out.
“I plan to either burn it or return it,” Claude replied with a hint of defensiveness.
Claude had always been a son with a rough exterior, but a tender heart that shone through. But now, things were different. There was a hard edge to him, as though he were trying to flee a situation he had been caught in, as if he had made some grave error.
“Is that the truth?” Jasmine demanded, her voice bearing an urgency that had not been there before.
Jasmine stood, staring at Claude as though he were her foe.
“Even if a war raged on and our land lay in ruin, nothing has caused me more anguish than the troubles of my family. No matter what it is, don’t hurt Canillia. You’ll come to feel that same agony yourself,” she warned.
“Don’t bother me with your complaints. I know how to handle myself,” Claude replied icily, pulling his chair closer to the desk and returning to his papers. Jasmine stepped back, gazing at her son in silence.
How much like his father he has become in his stubbornness and his possessiveness, she thought. It was all too clear that these traits could bring about great trouble. Without experiencing it firsthand, she already knew it to be true.
At that moment, the tea attendant entered the room, and upon noticing Jasmine, offered a deep bow.
“I will pretend I did not witness this. Do try to resolve this before the ceremony. I must prepare for our guests,” Jasmine said, her words heavy with concern.
At her departure, Claude’s quill, which had been moving with rapidity, came to a sudden halt.
After Jasmine had gone, Claude retrieved the drawer in which he had secreted the letters.
His mother had been correct. Exposing the truth contained within those few sheets of paper was a more arduous task than commencing a war or deciding the fate of Count Shelby.
It was agonizing—his heart was heavy with a trivial secret.
The thin and gaunt man extended his arms and reclined in his seat, his gaze rising to the ceiling. His once-blue eyes were now darkened with the depths of darkness.
* * *
The north had been a laggard in the arrival of spring. While the capital and the southern regions were draped in emerald greenery, the north still held on to the crispness of the air, making light jackets a necessity. But despite the chill, the air was buzzing with anticipation.
One after the other, two carriages and five cars entered the courtyard, each slicing through the cool breeze with a determined purpose. The gardeners stopped their work and doffed their hats, bowing in respect as the guests arrived. The drivers, too, lined up in a neat row in front of the entrance, standing at attention.
As the sun’s dimming rays seeped through the carriage windows, the guests inside leaned out one by one, eager to catch a glimpse of the magnificent Del Casa. The structure was an imperial masterpiece, not only in terms of its sheer size but also in its unique architectural style that could not be found anywhere else. Its greatest attraction was undoubtedly the reddish crystal and white stone walls that rose up from the ground, supported by six magnificent columns. The porch-like entrance roof added a touch of grandeur, elevating the mansion to a league of its own.
At last, a carriage circled in from the main gate, coming to a stop in front of the mansion’s owner. “This is Countess Ophelia Sebastiano,” the butler announced as the door opened, and the Countess emerged, resplendent in her finery.
Jasmine, the hostess, greeted each guest as they arrived, starting with Countess Ophelia. The doors of Del Casa, closed since the war, were now thrown open, and the visitors streamed inside, as if they had been waiting for this moment for ages.
Samuel Hall, the grand ballroom, was filled with visiting relatives and acquaintances, their glasses clinking as high-end liquor flowed freely, setting the tone for a night of revelry and celebration.
“But where is the grand duchess?” one guest asked, scanning the crowded room.
“There are whispers that she might be a commoner,” another replied, a hint of derision in their voice. “Or perhaps she’s too ashamed to show herself.”
“Impossible,” a third guest interjected. “If they intended to keep her hidden, they wouldn’t have announced the marriage in the first place.”
“Perhaps she’s simply frightened by the crowd,” someone else offered.
As the guests continued to speculate and gossip, their focus remained fixed on Canilllia, the next hostess of the Ihar family. They were eager to scrutinize her and determine if she possessed the qualities befitting a grand duchess.
Like eager hunters preparing for a fair, they frantically searched the grand duke’s house for any sign of Canilllia, piecing together the rumors that had been circulating for weeks.
“I’ll leave you here for now,” Jasmine announced, drawing the guests’ attention. “I’ll show you to your lodging rooms. Dinner will be served at eight o’clock. Please make sure to freshen up beforehand.”
Her words prompted the guests to scatter in all directions, each determined to find their own room. The attendants followed, weighed down by the burden of their luggage, each carrying a tremendous amount of bags and trunks.
As the last of the guests dispersed, Jasmine sank down onto the sofa, looking as if she had been exhausted for days. Her fatigue was palpable, and it was only then that Edith appeared with a strong cup of coffee in her hands.
“Thank you, Edith,” Jasmine said, taking the steaming cup with a grateful nod. “Do you know where the Duke is?”
“He’s gone to the Rene district,” Edith replied, her voice low and serious. “Apparently there’s been some sort of issue with the pulp factory.”
Jasmine raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The Rene district, huh? That’s rather suspicious, don’t you think?”
“Suspicious, my lady?”
Jasmine took a sip of her coffee, her gaze fixed on the far wall. “He’s gone to meet Lady Canillia, at the convent in Rene.”
At those words, Edith’s eyes widened in surprise. Jasmine traced the surface of her teacup with a thoughtful expression, remembering their conversation in the study.
“It’s remarkable how much he takes after his father,” she murmured to herself.
But would her son understand the importance of being strong yet yielding to his own woman? Only time would tell.
Feeling exhausted, Jasmine decided to rest for a while before dinner. Luckily, her workload had decreased significantly since Canillia had arrived. Jasmine was grateful for the younger woman’s help, and prayed that her son would not let such a remarkable woman slip away.