For the Lady's Wise Regression - Chapter 26

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 26
She really did hate crowds.
Her face was nothing but the desperate urge to flee this very moment.
“……I’m sorry. There I go again, making a show of myself.”
Vanessa gently took Ian’s hand, her expression apologetic.
“Sorry for what? It’s not your fault insects are drawn to you.”
“Insects?”
“Yes. Summer’s coming early, it seems. The way these flies have been swarming already.”
……
“We’ll need to fumigate the Manor once we’re back. Before they get any more brazen.”
First he’d gone on about lack of decorum, and now this.
Had he always been this cutting?
Or was it from standing in crowds for so long?
To anyone listening, it would sound like he was talking about summer insects—but this was clearly aimed at the Marquess of Renard’s household.
They’d all heard it.
Sure enough, the Marquess’s wife was glaring at her as if she wanted her dead.
Just like that first night with Calleil, when she’d cracked the door open and watched from the shadows.
‘I genuinely thought she was a ghost back then.’
Every time she and Calleil were alone, that woman would materialize from nowhere, staring with those eyes—so much so that even on their wedding night, she’d been afraid to do more than brush his sleeve.
But now that she knew she wouldn’t have to endure it anymore, those eyes had lost their bite.
“……Quite right. Fumigation it is.”
She threw a pointed glance at the Marquess’s wife as she spoke, and the sharp thrill that followed made her smile.
Ah, so this is why they say a common enemy and a drink are all it takes for the social set to become fast friends.
To be honest, she hadn’t been sure about the drinking part, but creating a common enemy felt like spitting in her own face—something she’d kept swallowed down until now.
……But it felt better than she’d expected. This.
She’d thought only she knew he was a madman, and then this person appeared out of nowhere and matched her sentiment perfectly—’You think so too? I think so too!’—slapping her on the back in agreement.
Thanks to that, the corners of Vanessa’s mouth kept rising toward the heavens.
“I hope we can stamp out every last one, wouldn’t you?”
The Marquess’s wife’s face had turned red as a tomato on the verge of bursting.
She probably couldn’t even tell her to stop because of her Title—how infuriating that must be.
But what was she supposed to do about it?
This sort of situation would become her daily life from now on.
‘Ah! How sweet.’
Like biting into fruit bursting with sweet flesh, chewing with unbridled satisfaction.
Vanessa had broken into an unguarded smile toward Ian.
Ian saw no reason to spoil her mood.
“Eradicating them entirely would be difficult, but not impossible.”
When she could flash such a cavity-inducing smile just from him playing along like this, how could he mind?
“Is it just the heat, or have they been getting worse lately?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Hmm……”
Vanessa’s gaze flickered toward the Marquess of Renard’s wife before darting away.
“It seems I’ve driven them off for now, at least.”
“If they keep pestering you, let me know.”
“Why? Going to whip up some insecticide?”
Unlike Vanessa’s jest, Ian swept his cold gaze across the banquet hall, which had grown quiet.
“If they keep swarming, I’ll have to be thorough about it.”
The Marquess of Renard’s wife’s stiff posture finally wilted.
Seeing that, Ian’s mouth suddenly twitched into a smile.
“They don’t seem to comprehend words.”
“Surely not. After a proper blow like that, would she dare show her face again?”
She drove the wedge deeper into the Marquess’s wife, whose jaw had been working so much it looked like her lips might disappear entirely.
‘In this life, you’ll see nothing but the soles of my feet.’
Vanessa made the vow silently to herself, then drew her gaze away from the crown of the Marquess’s wife’s head.
***
When the dust had settled, only the Marquess of Renard’s household remained, standing alone.
“……Well, that was quite the spectacle on such a fine day.”
“She must have been shocked. Small wonder, really, though one might say she overreacted somewhat.”
“The Marquess’s wife clearly knows etiquette, but seems tone-deaf. At this rate, people might misunderstand rather badly.”
As a nobleman from a family with business ties to Duke Cheliago added his voice, criticism began to swell from all corners of the hall, as if they’d been waiting for permission.
“The Marquess of Renard ought to rise from his sickbed at once. Yet here his wife is, suffering so greatly in his stead.”
At the mention of her husband, the Marquess of Renard’s Wife’s teeth clenched audibly.
“……I fear my inadequate parenting has caused this disturbance. We came to offer congratulations on such a fine day and occasion, yet now both giver and receiver will leave with wounded hearts.”
It was as good as announcing their departure, yet no one stepped forward to stop them.
The Marquess of Renard’s Wife composed her rising breath in silence, then approached Calleil, who had not stopped watching Vanessa’s retreating figure.
“Let us go. It seems we are not truly welcomed guests here.”
“Mother, please go ahead. I…….”
“Calleil.”
The Marquess of Renard’s Wife whispered softly to him, her gaze sharp as a blade.
“Be obedient, my son. I will hand you everything you desire, even if I must destroy it with these hands. But we leave now.”
“……Yes.”
Only then did Calleil’s gaze pass beyond his mother, and he bowed his head to all the nobility assembled in the hall.
“I apologize for marring the fine atmosphere with my personal feelings. The shortcomings of today, I shall repay in full at a later time. Let us end this rebuke here—for we are bound to one another in mutual exchange, are we not?”
Those gathered understood that this apology was a warning in disguise.
A warning not to forget the great and small favors they had given.
The nobility, who had been quick to speak, exchanged glances among themselves until the man who had first criticized them stepped forward reluctantly, stroking his beard.
“Ahem…… One makes mistakes in life, does one not? I shall speak well of you to the Duke Cheliago.”
“Count Gideon will surely understand as well. What matters is that we came to offer our felicitations, after all.”
Behind the nobility, who now rushed to offer comfort in exchange for this apology masked as coercion, the Marquess of Renard’s Wife departed the Banquet Hall.
‘Vanessa…….’
The Marquess of Renard’s Wife ground her teeth as she repeated the name in her mind, letter by letter.
‘Let us see if you can smile so freely when the Imperial Banquet comes to celebrate the delegation.’
Her eyes flashing with malice, the Marquess of Renard’s Wife turned from the Banquet Hall and began walking.
“Calleil.”
“……Yes, madam.”
“This must be the last time you bring shame upon my name.”
“I apologize.”
“Soon the Empress’s granddaughter will arrive in the Empire. I hear she is afflicted with illness—approach her naturally. I shall provide the cure, so you must not fail this time.”
“……Must I marry her?”
“Yes. She is doing so—what is there you cannot do twice?”
“But I cannot marry a woman whose heart does not move me…….”
“Calleil? You must rise higher than your father. That is the only way my raising you will have been worthwhile, will it not?”
“…….”
“Do not show the taint of common maid’s blood in your veins. And henceforth, call me mother even in public. There will be many eyes watching.”
“……Yes, moth, er.”
With a click of her tongue, the woman walked ahead, and Calleil clenched his teeth hard.
“Why do you linger? Come.”
At her word, his clenched fists slowly unfurled.
He could not defy her.
The moment he struck her down, his breath would stop.
It was a learned helplessness, instilled in him since childhood, known to no one else.
‘Perhaps it would be faster if I simply went mad.’
Calleil followed behind her slowly, his self-deprecating thought left in his wake.
How much longer could he maintain his sanity?
He sensed that little time remained.
‘I must obey Mother’s words.’
The whisper invading his mind was becoming ever clearer.
‘I love Mother.’
So madly. To the point where he wished to excise this feeling and kill it.
As his thoughts continued, Calleil’s face transformed as though painted by a brush—flawless, smooth, composed.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’ve hurt you because of me.”
The way he chattered on, seeking to soothe his parent’s mood, was precisely like a small child.
“They say there’s a café in the Capital with wonderful tarts. Shall we go? Mother, you do love tarts.”
“Do you still love Vanessa?”
“A woman with nothing but a title to recommend her? Why would I? The person I love more than anyone is you, Mother.”
“……That’s true. It has been some time since I’ve had a proper outing with my son.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say that, Mother.”
At his natural use of the term, the Marquess of Renard’s Wife laughed, satisfaction flooding her features.
In that same moment, Calleil’s eyes also glinted with a strange light.
“Even now, my ideal has always been you, Mother.”
“My son’s ideal woman, no less. At my age, it warms the heart.”
“Please, you’re far too gracious. Still as lovely as ever.”
“Come now, let’s go. Too much modesty makes one look foolish.”
Calleil’s lips tightened in mimicry of the Marquess’s wife’s expression.
“You should smile—I’m not scolding you now.”
“Ah… yes, I’m sorry. I thought you were angry with me.”
A smile curved naturally across his face, its smoothness almost jarring in its perfection, yet from a distance they would appear nothing more than a fond mother and son.
The Marquess’s wife, noting the unfocused glaze in Calleil’s eyes, patted his head with evident satisfaction.
“I could never scold my beloved son.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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