That’s How I Became a Villainess - Chapter 11

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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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11

Isaac stood tensely, anxiety flickering across his face as his eyes darted repeatedly around the room.
He caught people watching the two of them, their shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
He straightened his neck stiffly, exactly as his Etiquette instructor had taught him, and whispered.
“Everyone keeps staring at us, though. Why? I’m not making a fool of myself, am I?”
“They’re admiring my dress. Women are like that.”
It was mockery, really—they were watching two outcasts being shunned—but Bridget offered the deflection smoothly enough.
She couldn’t afford to have Isaac angry and storming out of the Ballroom just yet.
Just then, a cluster of noblewomen who had been watching them approached.
The woman at the fore smiled at Bridget with practiced elegance.
“How lovely to meet you. I’m Elliot Wilder.”
“Countess Wilder.”
Bridget made a shallow curtsy in greeting.
“You know who I am, then?”
“One would have to be ignorant not to know House Wilder.”
Pleased by the remark, Elliot glanced at her companions and smiled.
Bridget understood immediately: they had not approached out of goodwill.
They were allies of Cavendish.
“We’d like to make the acquaintance of the Baroness Winston. Would that be acceptable?”
“I’m afraid I’m rather worried about leaving my husband alone.”
She was making a polite refusal when Isaac, oblivious, waved a hand dismissively.
“I’m fine, Bridget. Go on and talk with the ladies.”
He was clearly determined to have Bridget build connections with these noblewomen, no matter what.
‘Foolish man.’
That thought aside, Bridget left Isaac and followed Elliot.
They were not intimate enough for her to cling to him when he was essentially pushing her away.
‘Whatever they intend to do to me, following Countess Wilder seems the easier path.’
Elliot and her circle watched Isaac standing alone and awkwardly, their laughter barely contained.
“How can you two be on such good terms? You seemed terribly affectionate just now.”
“I know, if I had a husband ‘like that,’ I wouldn’t want to spend a moment with him.”
Bridget simply smiled and said nothing.
One of the noblewomen then asked more wickedly.
“What’s it like living with your husband’s paramour? Is it crowded and amusing?”
“Oh, Leoni!”
Another woman beside her made a show of scolding her while actually egging her on.
“I’m simply curious how you manage, Baroness. Please don’t misunderstand. They say you approved of that woman yourself?”
“How close would the three of you have to be to share a roof! Who could do such a thing? So do you take turns with that woman and your husband, or perhaps….”
The noblewoman lowered her eyelids suggestively.
“All three together?”
“How scandalous!”
A ripple of snickering erupted from the group.
The noblewoman who posed the crude question gave an exaggerated shrug, feigning innocence.
“Oh, forgive me. I meant whether you date.”
Their rudeness was relentless.
“That woman—Bellingham, isn’t it? I’ve heard her Service Technique is so masterful that even a dying old man would spring right up. Is she really as advertised?”
At this brazen insinuation, the noblewomen could contain themselves no longer and burst into laughter—the true face of those who merely played at nobility.
Hearing their laughter, others in the Ballroom turned their attention to the conversation, joining in mockery of Bridget.
She had expected it and prepared herself for standing in the center of the Ballroom under the scorn and contempt of the world, yet it was still difficult.
But Bridget remained silent, as though she felt nothing at all.
Hadn’t she decided to become a villainess?
If she still had a heart that would waver at people’s pointing fingers and whispered gossip, she would never have made such a resolve in the first place.
Bridget stood rooted like a pine tree clinging to a cliff face swept by harsh winds, her resolve crystalline and unshakeable.
When Bridget offered no rebuttal, the noblewomen grew bored and began jeering openly for all to hear.
“With the times in such turmoil, all manner of unseemly things come to pass. The shamelessness of bringing a husband’s mistress into the home!”
“It’s from fear of setting a precedent, I suppose. Living without order or propriety is no different from beasts.”
Bridget was considering how to respond when her gaze caught a figure passing behind the noblewomen.
She was an elderly woman with an upright bearing and sharp, penetrating eyes.
She swept past the people approaching her with cool disdain, as if she had no interest in exchanging words with them, and continued toward her destination.
Bridget’s eyes widened.
It was her—the very woman she had been seeking. Countess Mille Spencer.
“You mustn’t pass me by!”
Bridget suddenly raised her voice.
The Countess’s gaze turned toward Bridget.
“I simply didn’t want to lose my husband. Oh, how each day is absolute torment……!”
Elliot and her circle stared at Bridget with wide eyes as she suddenly burst into tears.
“Crying in the ballroom over a mere jest.”
“My goodness, how utterly shameless.”
They regarded her with disdain, furrowing their brows as though Bridget were a woman without any sense of decorum.
“The Baroness seems to have had far too much to drink…….”
“She ought to rest on the Terrace.”
Having achieved their purpose, they drifted away from Bridget, tutting softly at her tears.
Then Countess Mille Spencer approached with sharp, deliberate steps and fixed Bridget with an intensely stern gaze.
“Do not show tears in a place like this. It makes you look weak.”
She seized Bridget by the wrist.
Her gaunt, wrinkled hand possessed a surprising strength belying its fragile appearance.
“Come with me. This will do you no good.”
“Thank you…….”
Bridget followed the Countess with polite courtesy, thinking how her hair remained perfectly arranged, pulled back so tautly that not a single strand fell out of place.
She had seen this woman before, older and frail, yet still fastening her hair with that same meticulous care.
‘You cannot simply pass me by in this life either, Mille.’

“Have you calmed yourself?”
She clicked her tongue once, then drew out a handkerchief and gently wiped away the tears gathering at Bridget’s eyes.
Her touch was tender, at odds with her cold expression.
“Wherever you go, there are people of low character. Whether you allow yourself to be wounded by them is your own choice.”
Her tone was clipped, almost as if she were administering a rebuke, yet Bridget understood that this was the greatest warmth of comfort Mille could offer to a stranger.
That was who she was—wary and exacting, harsh with others as she was with herself, appearing cold, yet never able to pass by the weak without offering aid.
“I fear I have been disrespectful to you, madam.”
“Pay it no mind. I was about to leave in any case. I am Mille Spencer.”
“Bridget Winston.”
Bridget bent her knee, lowered her eyes, and spent sufficient time in her curtsy—a gesture of genuine deference.
“Ah, excellent.”
Mille seemed impressed by Bridget’s greeting, offering a satisfied smile.
“It is rare to find a young person in this age who performs the proper curtsy with such precision.”
Of course she was satisfied. This was the exact courtesy of greeting that Mille had taught her in their previous life, a woman who held Etiquette in the highest regard.
She had always emphasized how crucial a first impression depended on the greeting itself. She would lament how the world had become a place where most people scarcely knew how to curtsy properly.
With a single properly executed courtesy, much of Mille’s guardedness had lifted.
“I am embarrassed to have made such a spectacle of myself in the ballroom.”
“When one’s emotions run high, anyone is prone to falter.”
Mille’s voice was far gentler than before.
“I heard people at the party speaking of you and the rumors surrounding you. It is not my place to judge, but as one who has lived longer, I shall offer this counsel: taking your husband’s paramour into your home in order to keep his affection was not a wise course. It is best to remain as distant as possible from your husband’s lover.”
“……I see.”
“I do not mean to censure you. It is merely advice born of experience.”
Mille held her head erect.
She had a husband who, in forty years of marriage, had been so consumed with his affairs that they had scarcely sat down to share a meal face to face.
‘Because of that foolish choice, I am able to meet you again like this.’

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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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