The Countess's Body Has Disappeared - Chapter 62

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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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Episode 62
Davion answered with a shrug instead. Esmeralda’s mouth fell open in astonishment.
Still, a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, and he rubbed it sheepishly as he continued.
“They say that indiscretion becomes dull with repetition. I did sustain less damage than I’d anticipated, though. I was hoping for at least eight weeks off work.”
“But what about the other driver? He must be trembling, waiting for the damages to be assessed…!”
“There is no other driver. I crashed into a tree by myself. I’m not sure how that story got twisted.”
“And what if you’d actually died doing this…!”
“I’m not suicidal. I controlled the impact carefully.”
Good heavens.
Overwhelmed by Davion’s methodical refutations, Esmeralda finally gave up and clicked her tongue. If this man had been her lover, she thought with a shudder, what a headache he would have been.
“Leaving aside the Duchess’s permission, I believe my family may cut off support after I marry. So normally, one prepares a slush fund to handle such contingencies. I’d use a bank in the Tebe Federation. They use numbered accounts there, which makes them difficult to trace.”
She withdrew a notepad from her handbag, jotted down a bank name, tore out the page, and handed it to him.
Davion squinted at the notepad. The handwriting was sloppy from her hurried scrawl, but fortunately legible enough.
The fact that Lord Rene had a mistress was an open secret whispered through high society. Esmeralda’s knowledge of the bank likely stemmed from that same source.
When Davion set the notepad on the side table, Esmeralda tapped it gently with a long fingernail and spoke.
“The problem, though, is that opening an account there takes a full two weeks. Assembling a proper slush fund would require considerably more time.”
“I don’t need much money. Just enough to make Cecilia happy.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Lieutenant.”
Davion, who had been studying the notepad with furrowed brows, looked up in surprise. Esmeralda was regarding him with a pitying gaze.
“She will be happier the more money you have.”
Davion cleared his throat and folded the notepad into his pocket.
“I’m not really worried about the slush fund. The real problem is that I might end up marrying another woman before the account is even opened.”
“Given the Duchess’s resolve…”
“That’s exactly what I was about to say.”
Esmeralda nodded, then fell silent, staring into the distance. Soon, a gleam appeared in her eyes as a good idea struck her.
“Well then, why don’t you get engaged to me first? And then you can make preparations one by one.”
Shadows of consideration slowly crossed Davion’s brow.
During an engagement with Esmeralda, no new marriage proposals would come his way—the proposal itself wasn’t a bad one on its face. The engagement terms could be negotiated, and with everyone’s attention focused on it, gathering the slush fund would be much easier.
But…
“Wouldn’t you be the only one losing out, Esmeralda?”
Esmeralda, who had glanced back down at her own nails, snorted and replied.
“It’s a greater loss to marry a man who’s already in love with someone else. Besides, even if we break the engagement later and it causes some gossip, my name as an actress will only gain value, won’t it? In that sense, it’s actually profitable for me.”
Having read the conclusion from Davion’s expression, Esmeralda picked up her handbag and stood. Looking up at her as she adjusted her hat, Davion offered his thanks.
“Whatever your reasons, I’m truly grateful for your help.”
“By the way, does that woman of yours agree to marry you?”
Davion’s usually eloquent words faltered before that question.
He had pushed the thought aside for a moment, but a proposal was arguably the most urgent matter. Cecilia was in the process of severing their relationship, even going so far as to meet with other men for potential matches.
As he desperately hoped she would accept his proposal immediately, an ominous premonition that she would not began to weigh on his mind.
“I see. I needn’t ask—it seems you’re in no position to worry about your mother right now, are you?”
Esmeralda looked down at him with an alluring smile.
“You mentioned a maid working at the Manor? I’m planning to visit the Duchess with my mother in a couple of days. If you have anything you’d like me to convey, I can relay it for you.”
Davion rose hastily, eager to see Esmeralda out, and answered.
“If you would, I’d be grateful. What time do you expect to arrive at the Manor?”
“Around three o’clock, I think.”
“Cecilia should be in the Wine Cellar at that time. I’ll draw you a map.”
Esmeralda produced a notepad and pen from her handbag and handed them over. As she watched Davion sketch a map against the wall, she wrinkled her nose.
“You have her entire schedule memorized? That’s rather stalker-like.”
“One learns these things naturally with frequent visits.”
After returning the notepad to Esmeralda’s hands, Davion exhaled a long, held breath.
“Please tell her that I haven’t been seriously injured, so she won’t worry.”
.
.
.
It had already been four days since Davion’s hospitalization.
Each morning, Cecilia cleaned his bedroom alone.
Though the master was absent, dust accumulated with its usual diligence. She set down the soiled broom and gently pressed her palm against the quilted bedding.
It was terribly cold.
In barely four days of vacancy, it had become as lifeless as a room untouched for years.
Cecilia lifted his pillow, buried her face in it, and drew a deep breath. The scent of soap cleared her mind—but nothing more.
When a sound of footsteps came from the doorway, she hastily set down the pillow and straightened herself.
The housekeeper Wade passed through the corridor, jingling a bundle of keys. Upon spotting Cecilia, she waved, stepped into the bedroom, and drew a single key from her pocket, pressing it into the young woman’s hand.
“Here—the bedroom key. He won’t be back for a while, so make sure you lock up once you’re finished cleaning.”
Cecilia caught Wade’s arm urgently just as she turned to leave.
“Please, how badly is the young master hurt?”
Wade turned back to regard Cecilia, who clutched the bedroom key as though it were a talisman, her knuckles white with tension. Anyone could see she was wound tight as a spring.
“Well… from what I’ve heard, he took a nasty blow to the head, but we won’t know the real extent until someone sees him properly. Still, everyone figures he’ll be in the hospital for at least another fortnight.”
“A, a fortnight?”
“Isn’t that good news for you? Take it easy while you can.”
She gave Cecilia’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze before departing. Left alone once more, Cecilia found herself drowning in a deepening tide of worry.
‘A head injury…?’
That meant the wound was truly severe.
Why did none of the other servants in this house seem to care about him? Remembering how her colleagues had cheered at the news of Davion’s extended hospitalization, Cecilia forced down the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.
She lifted her head and gazed out the window at Ruby, perched in the branches of the tree below.
When Cecilia’s gaze did not waver for some time, Ruby cocked her head—a gesture asking if the girl had something to tell her.
Cecilia hesitated for a moment, then shook her head.
Animals could not distinguish between place names or building titles that humans assigned. Even if she told Ruby which hospital Davion was in, the bird would have no means of finding it on her own.
When Cecilia locked the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway, the murmur of unhurried conversation drifted up from the garden below.
Blake was strolling along the flower garden path in pleasant conversation with a middle-aged woman.
Though Cecilia could not hear their words, she knew at once that the woman was Esmeralda’s mother. The distinctive auburn-tinged blonde hair was unmistakable—a mirror image of Esmeralda’s own.
How could they be so carefree when their child lay ill? Repulsed by Blake’s callousness, Cecilia latched the window shut, sealing out the sound of their laughter.
Her feet carried her toward the Wine Cellar, each step as heavy as though weighted with lead. She was deep in the shadows, selecting wines for Blake, when an unexpected visitor came seeking her out.

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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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