That’s How I Became a Villainess - Chapter 12

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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 12

Mildea was an intimate of Julian Blake, the cruel tyrant who had seized the throne of the Royal Palace amid a bloody uprising.
Originally, she and the Spencer Family had drawn little attention.
But when Julian, who was nothing more than the late king’s hidden bastard, launched a rebellion and ascended to the throne, she suddenly became the center of notice.
She was the one person the suspicious king trusted without reservation.
Yet she was also someone whom even the king could not move as he wished.
For that reason, every nobleman dreamed of gaining a private audience with her.
But she was far too cautious and reluctant to involve herself in politics—approaching her was no simple task.
The Marquis Cavendish and his wife, who had persuaded such a woman to attend the party, were figures of considerable influence in high society.
Had they not contrived the absurd arrangement of keeping house with the husband’s mistress under one roof, Bridget would never have received an invitation to such an affair.
Bridget had concluded there was no possibility of meeting Mildea twice by mere chance.
Today, she had to capture her interest.
“Thank you again, madam. This is far too slight a gift to call it proper repayment, but……”
Bridget stepped closer to Mildea, politely sought permission, and then placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
A faint light seeped from Bridget’s hand, hovering about Mildea’s shoulder and neck.
Mildea, alert as always, sensed some change and raised her eyebrows slightly.
“What is this?”
“I’ve purified the Evil Spiritual Force that clung to you, madam.”
Evil Spiritual Force—a malevolent aura that derived from wicked or feeble hearts such as curses, despair, and jealousy—was the common term for such things.
It existed everywhere and attached itself to everyone.
While such things ordinarily had little effect on ordinary people, those whose mental fortitude had weakened were said to suffer nightmares, insomnia, and chronic ailments as a result.
“It’s a humble gift, I confess, but your sleep should be quite peaceful for some time to come.”
“……You possess quite a talent. I’ve heard that such strange abilities occasionally manifest in those born with a delicate constitution. However, I have no need for such assistance.”
She meant that her mental strength was not so fragile as to be affected by such things.
Mildea had a marked aversion to revealing her own weaknesses.
“I merely wished to express my feelings as best I could with the talents I possess. Nothing more.”
“I see.”
Mildea regarded this courteous young woman for a moment.
She did not look upon Mildea with the admiring gaze that so many others who knew her displayed, nor did she fawn or attempt to curry favor—and she made no effort to cling or press for familiarity—yet somehow Mildea found herself drawn to her.
‘I had heard she was foolish. Perhaps she is merely naive.’
She disliked foolish people, but naive ones were scarcely better; in the savage wilds of the court, the latter were devoured far more quickly than the former.
And yet somehow that concern for her lingered.
Though Mildea did not care for prolonged conversation with strangers, she found herself asking Bridget a question.
“……Is this talent of yours quite effective?”
“My mother was cured entirely of a chronic insomnia that had plagued her since her youth.”
“You are a modest woman.”
Instead of replying, Bridget smiled softly.
Mildea gazed at her with an inscrutable look, then remarked that it was time to return home and stepped away from the terrace.
There was no mention of meeting again or of future correspondence, yet Bridget believed she had achieved her purpose.
Mildea had a son who had gone to war.
Soon that son would return home and complain of severe nightmares and insomnia.
Mildea would summon the kingdom’s most skilled physicians to her house, but his illness would show no improvement, and before long she would think of Bridget.
“Bridget, had I known of you only a little sooner, could my son have lived? I searched the entire kingdom. I searched everywhere to find someone who could heal my son. Why did you appear only now?”
In her past life, Mildea’s son had taken his own life.
Mildea believed that his fate was entirely her fault—that it was God’s punishment upon her.
And so, as atonement, she entered the Convent, which was notorious throughout the kingdom for the harshest life of any such place.
It was a cruel place where people entered either to punish someone else or to receive punishment themselves. It was far more akin to a prison than a convent.
It was there that Bridget had met Mildea.
‘In this life, neither of us will have to enter that dreadful place, Mildea.’
* * *
When Bridget returned to the party after parting from Mildea, people cast sidelong glances at her.
It seemed her private conversation with Mildea on the terrace had caught their attention.
The curious Marquise Cavendish approached Bridget and whispered to her.
“What did the Countess Spencer say to you? I’m told you were with her on the terrace for quite some time. She’s usually so brief in conversation.”
Just as Bridget was about to offer some vague excuse, she noticed Isaac hurrying out of the party hall.
“My husband appears to be leaving. If you’ll excuse me.”
The Marquis’s Wife was disappointed, but she couldn’t stop Bridget from leaving.
As Bridget climbed into the carriage behind Isaac, he slammed the door shut with an irritable bang.
“Where on earth were you? Did you know those people were making crude jokes about me behind my back?”
So he’d found out after all.
“I didn’t know.”
Bridget turned her gaze to the window, feigning ignorance.
Isaac’s eyes narrowed sharply as he studied her.
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“This wasn’t something you planned from the start?”
“No……?”
Bridget turned her head to look at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you wept in front of all those people.”
“……People were saying such spiteful things.”
Isaac’s eyes became slits.
“That’s a lie.”
“…….”
Had Isaac sensed something?
Bridget was momentarily flustered, but she forced herself to look composed, lowering her eyes and pressing her lips together.
“You were the one who said you’d stay with Penelope. And then you wept over a few words from those people? You really didn’t see this coming?”
Isaac’s lips twisted.
“You’re scheming something. Aren’t you?”
* * *
At that very moment, while Isaac was away, Penelope was dining with her parents at her childhood home.
Her authoritarian and stern father, William Hudson, had been in an uproar ever since he learned that Penelope had committed infidelity while away in the Ruessel Kingdom.
He ordered her to end the affair at once and return to Bellingham Estate, never to leave it again for the rest of her life.
Her mother, Viola, who was overly dependent on her father’s will, hadn’t written Penelope a single letter of inquiry out of deference to him.
Only when Penelope told them that Isaac had promised to accept the child she was carrying did her parents finally agree to see her.
“You’re to stay at the Winston Mansion?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Did the Viscount Winston desire this? And Bridget? Did she have nothing to say about it?”
“Bridget said first that she wanted to stay with me.”
“Bridget did?”
Viola’s eyes widened in surprise. William’s brow furrowed.
“What is she plotting?”
“Bridget said she’d rather embrace everything than drift away from me, and continue as before…….”
“Do you truly believe such a thing is possible?”
William brought his fork down against the table with a sharp rap.
Penelope flinched, shrinking back.
“What woman in this world would befriend her husband’s mistress? To swallow such naive words whole—I wonder if you have any sense at all.”
“B-but you know Bridget. She does whatever I say…….”
“Foolish! That was before you stole her own husband from her.”
Penelope hung her head, cowed and ashamed.
Her father, frightening since childhood, still terrified her now that she had grown.
William clicked his tongue in frustration, his gaze contemptuous—as though his daughter were beneath his contempt.
Before her father, Penelope could not help but feel small and wretched.
“That wench Bridget is surely plotting something behind that mild facade.”
“Th-then what should I do……?”
“What should you do?”
William wiped his mouth with his napkin and spoke with absolute authority.
“You must divorce Bridget and become the mistress of that household.”

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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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