The Murderous Duke's Domestic Affairs - Chapter 67

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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 67
I bowed to the Empress and the Imperial Princess, and to those seated across from them as well. It was a gesture quite different from before, when I had only bowed to the Empress while recounting my own story. Though it was merely a courtesy, it proved sufficient to silence the whispers that had been directed at me. The Empress’s lips curved into a smile slightly deeper than her usual expression upon witnessing the scene.
“First and foremost, I wish to express my infinite gratitude to Her Majesty the Empress and Her Highness the Imperial Princess for extending this invitation.”
My soft voice enveloped the Exhibition Hall, which had fallen silent. Though I felt weighed down by the countless gazes directed toward me, I did not let the smile fade from my lips.
“The works you have all presented have been deeply moving. Truly beautiful and radiant. They were so magnificent that merely beholding them stirred inspiration within me.”
I had not forgotten to offer praise for those who had presented earlier. The people no longer whispered loudly enough for me to hear, though some tilted their heads skeptically or furrowed their brows. Of course, there were those who continued to murmur among themselves. They were surely displeased.
“A Countess, no less, appearing in such attire without a shred of shame….”
Yes, that sort of reaction. I gazed directly at the Countess seated across from me, her voice sharp and cutting. There was nothing shameful about what I wore. It was merely clothing—and quite thick and warm at that.
“It seems this garment I’ve worn today does not meet with your approval. This is called a cardigan, I’m told. Does anyone here happen to know of it?”
“Why would we concern ourselves with the rags that commoners wear?”
The sharp crack of a fan striking the table echoed through the hall. The Countess had finally raised her voice. How troublesome. I regarded her for a long moment before turning my gaze back to the Exhibition Hall. Even without speaking aloud, it seemed everyone harbored thoughts similar to the Countess’s. Though I had anticipated such a reaction, anger nonetheless rose within me. My smile naturally became rigid. Commoners, she said. Yet if a noble had not earned their title through personal achievement, they were merely fortunate to have been born into their station.
I took a small, steadying breath. I needed to regain my composure. Now was not the time to give in to anger, nor to fear the sharp gazes directed at me. Now was the time to address the matter at hand. I straightened my posture. I am a strong person. Aster had said so.
Recalling his words, I lowered my gaze briefly before raising my head once more. It had been my own decision to introduce the cardigan among the many knitted garments. Even when Jasmine had cautioned that noble society would never accept it, I had refused to relent. I had anticipated this reaction as well. So, it was fine.
Perhaps because I thought of Aster, my rigid smile softened somewhat. How strange it is. Others speak of you with fear, calling you a “murderer” they dare not touch, yet when I think of you—when I recall your voice telling me I am a strong person—I feel empowered and my spirits lift.
I am not truly strong, but you have told me that I am.
“Clothing worn by commoners, perhaps that is so.”
I smiled at the Countess, my eyes crinkling at the corners. Whatever she was thinking, her expression twisted. Where had her earlier confidence gone? She had taken such pains with her appearance, yet here she was making such a face. But somehow, having silenced her lifted my spirits. I opened my mouth once more.
“When I was a child, there was a garment I loved dearly. It was a sweater my Grandmother had knitted for me with her own hands. Though the Siaz Territory where I lived was a warm place, I was a sickly child prone to catching colds. The sweater my Grandmother knitted was softer and warmer than any other garment I owned.”
“Ha, so the Siaz Territory is as impoverished as they say—even the lord’s daughter wore the same rags as commoners!”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
I asked with a gentle smile still gracing my face. It seemed the Countess had no intention of allowing me to continue my presentation. I was curious as to why she persisted, but I set that question aside. If I allowed myself to be drawn into her provocations, nothing would be accomplished.
“How can a young lady from a noble house show such shamelessness!”
The fan in the Countess’s hand snapped open with a sharp sound. Whether she was covering her mouth or her fierce gaze was meant to convey displeasure, I tilted my head gently to one side.
“Why is that shameful?”
“If you truly don’t understand….”
I cut off the Countess’s words. They were not worth hearing. My violet eyes regarded the Countess calmly before turning deliberately toward those assembled in the Exhibition Hall.
“Is there not among you someone who has embroidered handkerchiefs for a husband or child with their own hands? My Grandmother merely knitted something with her own hands for a granddaughter she loved.”
How amusing it all was. The extent of what is permitted to a noblewoman amounts to little more than this. Embroidering handkerchiefs for family, playing instruments, sitting prettily like a doll, and offering pleasant words of affection to those around them. Yet they cling to the justification of loving their families.
Sweaters. Cardigans. The garments of commoners, whom those who bear the name of nobility and consider themselves superior find contemptible. I was well aware that such resistance was inevitable. But precisely because of this, it was easier to persuade those assembled here. They would yield once I invoked the “love of family” that they held so dear.
A granddaughter who, despite sitting in the elevated position of a Countess, still cherished the memory of her Grandmother’s love. A tale of “familial affection” that the nobility would find appealing. As expected, my assessment of these shallow-minded people proved accurate. The atmosphere in the Exhibition Hall shifted swiftly in my favor, and the Countess fell silent. Though she still wore a sharp expression and turned her head away.
“But that garment is not a sweater, is it? You said just moments ago that it was a cardigan….”
A small voice emerged from a corner of the Exhibition Hall. The bright, probing tone belonged to the Young Baroness from some Coastal Estate. Since sweaters were worn by fishermen to shield against harsh winds and cold, it was natural that she would know the distinction. I smiled toward the Young Baroness. It was a smile of an entirely different quality from the one I had directed at the Countess.
“You are quite right. This cardigan is similar to a sweater, but distinctly different.”
Before continuing, I allowed a brief pause. After a silence just long enough to kindle curiosity, my voice resumed.
“Are you aware that sweaters were also used as military uniforms? The last war, in particular, saw many bitterly cold days. Thus, sweaters were an essential supply.”
Refined noblewomen did not care for tales of cruelty. They preferred dreams and love, stories of such things, beautiful music, and sweet wine—matters befitting them. I met the eyes of those who frowned, one by one. You sit here in such comfort because of those who fought on the Battlefield at the Emperor’s command.
A garment developed for wounded soldiers on the Battlefield who found sweaters inconvenient to remove and don. I explained with a smiling face the origins of the cardigan—named mockingly after a defeated enemy general whose forces had suffered great casualties—yet I had to suppress the anger rising within me.
The cardigan had come to mind immediately upon first seeing the dress code of “knitted garments.” The wounded soldiers who came to recuperate in the Siaz Territory were particularly sensitive to the cold. They did not remove their cardigans even on warm days. Naturally, many of the ladies in the Siaz Territory took up knitting cardigans as a side occupation, and I had witnessed this firsthand.
When I spoke of the cardigan to Jasmine, who had come to the Duke’s Mansion to prepare attire matching the dress code, Letti had shown evident interest. Aster had muttered with a frown that it was comfortable, at least. Without thinking, I asked him if he had worn such a garment before. Instead of answering, he simply laughed softly.
Yes. Both he and Letti were among those who had survived and returned from the heart of the Battlefield. Struck by this sudden realization, I resolved that I must introduce the cardigan at this gathering. Despite Jasmine’s warnings that the noblewomen would not accept it, I had insisted. Commoners’ clothing. Battlefield clothing. Yet the cardigan was more than that. It was the garment of heroes, of those to whom I owed gratitude.
This garment was not one to simply vanish into the annals of history. It was not something to be dismissed as mere commoner’s attire. Lauren wanted to speak to the ‘nobility’ gathered here: that the commoners you scorned were those who risked their very lives fighting in your stead. They were essential to this Empire’s survival. The ‘blue blood’ of nobility, which you held in such high regard and paraded with such arrogance and pretense, was nothing more—and nothing less—than a stroke of fortune.
Of course, she could not voice her thoughts so plainly. Whether fortunate or not, this nation was one bound by class, and if she spoke her mind, word would spread that the Duchess of Lilywood was a radical advocating for the abolition of the caste system. Such rumors were best left unspoken. For the sake of House of Lilywood, if nothing else.
When she finished her lengthy explanation, silence alone remained in the Exhibition Hall. Not a single flutter of a fan, not a whisper. Had she failed? Her words about the commoner’s garment, no matter how eloquently she had framed them, seemed to have struck no chord with the nobility. She should have listened to Jasmine Aloria’s counsel. Lauren pressed her lips together firmly.
A small sound of applause broke through just as Lauren was about to collapse without even offering a bow. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes fell upon the Empress, regarding her with a smile. And then the Exhibition Hall began to fill with the sound of clapping hands. Though some wore expressions of reluctance, with the Empress displaying her approval, none of the others dared open their mouths to voice dissent.
“That was truly a magnificent presentation, Duchess. You have exceeded my expectations.”
Lauren turned her gaze toward the Empress in a daze. Despite the considerable distance between them, the Empress’s pale green eyes sparkled like emeralds—unmistakable at a glance. As she met that luminous gaze, the turbulent heat that had filled Lauren’s mind began to cool gradually. The tension that had gripped her shoulders, rigid as stone, slowly began to ease.
At first, she had wondered if the Empress was mocking her. But there was no trace of the peculiar delight or contempt that mocking carried, nor any hint of malicious mischief in the Empress’s expression. Which meant that the Empress’s radiance was genuine. A smile began to bloom slowly at the corners of Lauren’s lips, which she had been pressing so tightly together.

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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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