For the Lady's Wise Regression - Chapter 29

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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 29
Among the dress shops scattered in the outer districts, pushed out from La Fond Duneb Street, there exists an ancient adage.
Extend too much credit and you’ll lose the shop.
The saying goes that you might lose even a boutique if you dabble in running a salon.
And here, in this very place, was a designer teetering on the brink of that very fate.
Click. Tap. Tap. The sound of fingernails being bitten echoed through the empty boutique.
Far out in the periphery, well beyond La Fond Duneb Street itself. This was where all the dress shops unable to secure a spot on the main avenue lined up like market stalls.
Primadella Boutique, a long-established fixture of that outer district and something of a name in its own right, was doing nothing but gathering dust this afternoon.
How hard she had worked to put up that salon sign.
And then, just days ago, watching the fruits of all that labor crumble to nothing before her very eyes—
Della, owner and costume designer of Primadella Boutique, stared at her ledger with hollow eyes.
“It’s a loss… a complete and utter loss…”
Della let out a pained groan.
Was this the price of trusting a duchess and getting ahead of herself?
Around her lay bolts of fabric half-cut and jewels already processed and set.
‘She said she was marrying his son. Why on earth did the groom suddenly change?’
Vanessa Saroth.
Della turned over the name that had set the empire ablaze these past few days.
Had things proceeded as the duchess promised, earning a spot on Duneb Street itself would have been no great feat.
A dress for a duke’s daughter, after all.
Once it adorned her, fame would have practically written itself.
So she’d put it all on credit—the jewels, the fabric, every last thing!
And now how was she supposed to dispose of any of it?
“I’m the fool for trusting her… deceived again…”
Della ground her teeth and glared at the negative balance written in her ledger.
This was bankruptcy. Pure bankruptcy.
Losing her shop over a bad friend.
She’d always thought that old saying about extending credit didn’t apply to her.
Yet here she stood, living proof otherwise.
Della clutched her head and stared at the firmly closed shop door.
‘Please… please let even one thing sell today…’
Some said Primadella Boutique didn’t know its place.
Located in the outer district as it was, yet it charged prices higher than the salons on Duneb Street itself.
Each time such criticism arose, Della would invoke Sobina Salon and Asildeneub Salon.
She and their costume designers had studied design under the same master, she would say—fellow students of equal standing.
The reason Primadella Boutique had earned its name even in the outer districts was precisely this.
In truth, strictly speaking, Della had trained not under the same master but under his younger brother.
But in any case, neither Sobina Salon nor Asildeneub Salon had made any real objection, so what did it matter?
And thanks to that, she’d caught the duchess’s eye and gained her friendship—a profitable arrangement all around.
Surely, just months ago.
Noblewomen too financially straitened to purchase salon dresses would place custom orders through the duchess at Primadella Boutique.
Was she being punished now for running her shop so carelessly?
Now Della couldn’t even speak of studying under a shared master without shame.
How could she explain it?
That she’d trusted that deceptive duchess and extended credit for everything—fabric, jewels, the lot—only to face utter ruin?
To make matters worse, she’d collected advance payments from other custom orders just to finance that single dress.
If she told those customers she couldn’t fulfill their orders now because she had no funds to produce the garments…
“I’m finished. Completely and utterly finished…”
So Della gazed hopelessly at her closed shop door, clinging to straws.
Please, before the duchess arrives, let just one person—anyone at all—come.
If anyone purchased a dress from her boutique today, she would consider them a benefactor for life, she murmured.
And truly, as if by miracle.
Knock knock.
A bell of salvation rang out in the shop that had been silent all morning.
Heavens!
Della clamped her mouth shut and sprang up from the counter, launching herself forward like a bullet.
“Welcome!”
She yanked the door open and smiled as wide as she could.
“What an honor to have you visit Primadella Boutique, renowned even in the outer reaches of Duneb Street. Today surely brings blessings to our young mistress…”
Blessings…
Ah…….
Della faltered, her words catching in her throat as she went rigid.
“……Saroth, no—the Duchess of Rustcliffe……?”
Was this a dream?
Della stared at Vanessa in a daze.
Vanessa, catching the title, turned to face her with an odd expression.
“Good day, madam. It seems I’ve already had my wedding, then.”
“Ah……! I—I beg your pardon, my lady. But what brings you……?”
Vanessa’s laughter spilled out softly.
“Why else would I visit a boutique? I’m looking to purchase some dresses for everyday wear.”
Among the dress shops scattered on the outskirts of La Fond Duneb Street, there existed an old saying.
Only the customer could give the poison and the cure in equal measure.
‘From today on, you are my one and only muse! My savior! My inspiration!’
As the saying went, if one wished to gain renown, a duchess’s patronage was worth a hundred times—a thousand times—more than a marquess’s wife.
‘I was going to keep my distance anyway, so this works out rather well, doesn’t it?’
What friendship was there in purchasing dresses on credit every time?
It was daylight robbery in the guise of companionship.
After quickly settling the figures in her mind, Della broke into a brilliant smile toward Vanessa.
“Welcome, madam! This is Primadella Boutique—and from this day forward, your own private salon!”
At Della’s warm greeting, Vanessa’s eyes widened slightly, but her expression soon clouded with discomfort.
“Ah…… Primadella? Oh, dear…….”
A warning bell chimed in Della’s mind.
Before the customer had even crossed the threshold, she was already showing signs of withdrawal.
“I was drawn to this shop’s rather unique selections—but I hadn’t realized it was run by the Marquess’s wife’s dear friend.”
Unique. Drawn to.
Della barely managed to close her mouth, which had begun stretching into a grin wider than a wooden basin.
The lady in question—none other than the anticipated Duchess, the hottest topic in the capital these days—was offering such lavish praise!
So what reason could possibly keep such a lady from crossing her threshold?
Because she was friends with the Marquess’s wife?
Ha! Della exhaled sharply through her nose.
“Friends, you say? Did the Marquess’s wife tell you that?”
Before Vanessa could even respond, Della seized the opening.
“Friends who pile up debts and never settle them. What kind of friend doesn’t repay their debts?”
Tap-tap.
At the sound of footsteps arriving at just the right moment, Vanessa glanced sideways out of the corner of her eye.
A shoe adorned with a large rose. A dress in black and crimson. A ruby glinting at the neckline, and brilliant rings adorning the fingers that held the hem.
Even from a distance, her magnificence was unmistakable—Belladonna Leonard’s gaze met Vanessa’s.
That stiff neck was unchanged, as always.
Vanessa nodded first, briefly and politely, and Belladonna reluctantly reciprocated with a gesture of courtesy.
‘There’s no way she wouldn’t hear this, not on a street like this.’
A smile played at Vanessa’s lips as she turned her gaze back to Della.
“Given how firmly you’re denying it, madam, it seems I was mistaken.”
“Indeed. A friend? That’s something only the Marquess’s wife chooses to believe on her own. What common person could possibly contradict a lady of rank? And between you and me, madam—she is nothing but a terrible customer, nothing more and nothing less.”
Grind, grind.
The sound of teeth grinding thundered in her own ears. How foolish to rattle on like this, like someone with no tomorrow, without knowing who might be listening.
“It would be a blessing if she’d at least call herself a friend. But every time she comes, all she says is ‘I’ll pay later.’ She doesn’t even understand the most basic principle—if you have no money, don’t buy things. I’ve been put in truly difficult positions more times than I can count.”
The way Della clumsily mimicked the Marquess’s wife on the ‘I’ll pay later’ part drew a laugh.
“Very well, madam. To celebrate this misunderstanding being cleared up, I shall purchase every single dress in your boutique.”
At Vanessa’s words, Della cried out in sheer delight.
“An excellent choice, madam! You absolutely won’t regret it. Oh, and would you allow me to take your measurements? If you’ll permit me, I’d like this to become a salon for you alone!”
“By all means.”
If she knew what position she’d just placed herself in, that joy of having landed a lucrative patron would melt away like snow.
Not that it was any of her concern.
Vanessa watched as Della hummed her way toward the back of the boutique—watched her with the knowing awareness that the Marquess’s wife, standing not far from here, had heard every word of this conversation.
There she was, trembling as if she might tear her skirts to shreds.
In her past life, that expression had always been followed by shouting, and she’d dreaded encountering it.
But now, a thrilling sense of satisfaction made her whole body quiver.
And thanks to Della kindly running her mouth first, miraculously, that rage wasn’t directed at Vanessa.
Vanessa pressed her lips down firmly as they threatened to curve upward, and drew a long, deep breath.
‘I’ve just unwillingly overheard someone speaking ill of her.’
After casting a suggestion on myself that bordered on self-hypnosis, it became easier to look at the Duchess.
Good heavens. I almost burst out laughing right then at that contorted face of hers.
The stiffness from before had vanished entirely; this time the Duchess herself greeted me first with proper courtesy.
I inclined my head in return, and she betrayed her barely concealed anger and contempt through furious footsteps.
Click! Click! Click!
Ah, I couldn’t hold it in.
Vanessa, who had been watching the Duchess’s receding figure with a grinding sound, burst into loud laughter.
What kind of footfalls sounded like horse hooves, for heaven’s sake?
‘……We’re nowhere near finished yet.’
This humiliation was merely a taste of what’s to come.
Because I intend to crush every single thing you’ve ever enjoyed, bit by bit, just like this.
By then, Vanessa’s smile had faded, and with eyes turned cold, she watched until the Duchess disappeared into a speck.
Only then did Vanessa’s footsteps carry her through the threshold of the Primadella Boutique.
‘Let’s make a proper spectacle of this spending spree.’
***
Squeak.
The carriage of House of Saroth came to a halt at the entrance of Rustcliffe Mansion.
“Is it too sudden?”
The one who emerged was Vanessa.
“Ian!”
Having spotted Ian, whom she encountered at just the right moment, Vanessa broke into a broad smile.
“……Vanessa?”
Ian’s eyes widened at the sight of Vanessa greeting him so warmly from the entrance.
That look on his face — as if asking why she’d come.
She’d sent a letter in haste, but perhaps it hadn’t been delivered yet?
As Ian drew closer, he glanced at the carriages lined up behind Vanessa, then back at Vanessa herself.
Vanessa’s eyes swept quickly over Ian’s attire, and she let out a small, soft sound.
Perhaps she’d been meddling after all?

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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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