Surviving as a Terminally Ill Heiress - Chapter 23

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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 23

Fitting, though I wasn’t sure if that was the right word for it.
Tru fidgeted before me, her furrowed brow and the hand cupping her chin an open invitation for excuses.
“I swear, I meant no harm! Of course I didn’t leak any secrets…! It’s just that I thought you’d want to know the rumors about you a few days early, before they start spreading everywhere…! Honestly, servants at other mansions tip off much worse things…! Besides, noblemen kind of enjoy being the subject of gossip to some degree….”
She wasn’t wrong.
Scandal sheets about the nobility usually came straight from the servants.
And how well those sheets sold became the measure of one’s fame.
No wonder the owners of successful gossip publications strutted about so openly.
‘In other words, that’s how it is.’
Tipping off the famous Scandal Sheet was an open secret even here at Ambrose.
That explained how my arrival and background had spread so quickly.
‘But something still feels incomplete about all this….’
I tapped my index finger against the sofa rhythmically.
Various concepts swirled through my mind.
Information leaks. Initiative. The importance of intelligence.
A conclusion formed.
I needed my own Scandal Sheet network.
Someone greedy and capable, but honest enough to willingly hand over the information I wanted.
I stopped tapping and turned my steady gaze across at her.
Sitting there was a criminal awaiting judgment.
“Tru.”
“Yes….”
“Do you like money?”
“Yes!”
At least catch your breath before answering.
I laughed softly and extended my palm.
“So do I. Hand it over.”
“…I’m sorry?”
“The money you made from selling me out.”
Tru sobbed.
Then she flipped up her skirt. Why does she carry a coin purse there of all places?
In any case, the money she reluctantly produced was far more generous than I’d imagined.
Oh. I hadn’t even thought about the expenses from preparing the evening reception.
I whistled and asked half in jest.
“Is that all?”
Tru flinched and produced a few more coins.
A greedy, simple-minded materialist, sharp only at sensing profit.
‘If she ever betrays me again, I’ll know instantly.’
I smiled with satisfaction.
“Now call Philip and Maya.”
Crack.
Lightning seemed to strike Tru’s face in that instant.
“Wait—you’re not forgiving me…?”
Her voice trembled with the shock.
I looked directly at her.
“I’m taking you on as my personal attendant.”
“M-me? Why are you…?”
Tru went rigid, completely unprepared for this turn of events.
I laughed and shrugged.
“It’s what I want.”
“B-but it’s so sudden, could you at least explain step by step…?”
“You’ll get a raise when you’re promoted.”
“Work me like a dog.”
I’d found the perfect tool.

* * *

“A letter has arrived, miss. And here is the item you requested.”
Tru sank to one knee and presented both the letter and a larger sheet of paper with perfect alignment.
On her collar hung a blue badge, not yellow.
I accepted the letter with a faint smile.
“Thank you.”
“Please use a gentler tone with me, won’t you? I’m no longer just anyone—I’m your one and only faithful personal attendant!”
“Right, well….”
That’s enough.
My eyes gave her a warning, and Tru quickly retreated.
I sighed and opened the letter first.
“…Hm-hm.”
“Good news, perhaps?”
“Yes. Someone earnest and sincere is coming, though a bit stubborn.”
I smiled as I carefully closed the letter.
The reply had been written after days of deliberation, each character pressed carefully into the page—and reading it now, I couldn’t help but smile.
Good, that’s settled.
Now for the next thing….
‘So this is the Scandal Sheet.’
I scanned the thin newspaper with unfamiliar eyes.
I’d only ever known of it by reputation; I’d never actually read one before.
I’d been too busy trying to survive; I had no reason to waste time on aristocratic gossip. Even now, I felt no particular curiosity.
I opened it with reluctance.
To be honest, the scandal about two unnamed nobles carrying on an affair was somewhat interesting, though poorly written.
As was the piece about some complicated inheritance dispute beneath it.
But most of it was utter drivel.
And what dominated the most space was Ambrose.
Good heavens. Who had been spouting such useless nonsense?
“Oh, that information about ‘What Makes Ambrose’s Kitchen Special!’ in this section—I provided that tip. Apparently people have been wanting to buy the same tools and spices Ambrose uses. And this spring’s speculation about what color curtains they’ll change to—I picked that up too, from overhearing the steward and head housekeeper discussing it. Oh, and there’s more next to that….”
I stared blankly at my enthusiastically chattering personal attendant.
Tru stiffened and clutched her coin purse desperately.
“T-this wasn’t earned from selling information about you….”
I shook my head.
I wasn’t taking it back. I was just speechless.
Tru’s actions were speechless, but so were the humans who paid money for gossip like this.
‘Most speechless of all is the one selling it.’
Philip’s face came to mind.
A devoted follower of the Ambrose heir, an indifferent observer, and the owner of a pathetic gossip publication.
Which was his true face?
‘…It’s complicated.’
I’d thought all my worries would be solved once the reception ended.
‘Still, the most likely suspect remains Howard.’
He had both circumstantial and concrete evidence against him.
More than anything, he had clear motive.
The others lacked motive. Killing me would bring them almost no real benefit.
After deliberation, my conclusion settled.
Having reasoned through the suspect logically, I decided to report him to the head of this household.

* * *

Early in the evening, after putting my siblings to bed and setting out to find the Duke, Philip spoke.
“He is in his bedroom. I shall show you the way.”
I nodded and followed.
So the bedroom—I’d never been inside before, only to his study.
As Philip knocked at the Duke’s bedroom door, I glanced back over my shoulder.
Perhaps that gaudy glittering thing was still hanging in front of my spare room.
“Please enter.”
The bedroom Philip opened for me was the most serene of all the rooms I’d seen in the mansion.
Which seemed wholly at odds with the man sitting in that armchair.
I stepped onto the soft carpet and approached him.
The Duke, dressed in comfortable indoor clothes and a robe, stared fixedly at something.
What was he looking at…? Ah.
A portrait hanging above the fireplace—of a woman.
The woman, with honey-colored hair swept up gracefully, appeared middle-aged but possessed a serene and striking beauty.
I thought I knew who it was.
‘This must be the Duchess of Ambrose.’
The Duke felt my approach but did not tear his eyes from the portrait.
His gaze held the yearning of one always counting the absent.
Just as a flicker of sympathy began to stir, he spoke in a voice lower and quieter than usual.
“Finished playing detective?”
The old bastard.
Any sympathy evaporated instantly.
I’d always suspected he knew everything while simply watching from the sidelines.
There would be no better opportunity to test me than this.
But had it really been intentional?
‘Indifferent to helping a child, my foot…no, scratch that.’
Just a mad, negligent house.
What if something had actually happened to me? Then what?
My glare carried my anger, but the Duke merely smiled smugly.
“So, the main point?”
“…If I’m wrongfully killed, I absolutely won’t die alone.”
“You’re trembling with fear, I see. The main point.”
Does he find this amusing? He certainly looks like he does.
It infuriated me that I had to ask him of all people.
“Help me.”
The words flowed from my tongue, ground out with the accent I’d grown accustomed to over these past days.
The Duke leaned back arrogantly and asked.
“What kind of help?”
“Keep anyone who threatens my life from approaching me.”
“Does the method matter?”
I tilted my head, then nodded.
It didn’t matter. As long as he kept the threat away, that was enough.
The Duke hummed thoughtfully, stroked his jaw, and asked one final question.
“Then who is it?”
“I….”
The moment my lips began to open.
Wait.
Something felt wrong.
It suddenly felt as if someone were whispering against my ear.
Be careful, the voice said.
A premonition came that I might make the same mistake twice, like Scott had.
And when I met the Duke’s red eyes, I understood anew.
There was only one chance.

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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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