The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 33

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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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In Search of the Duke’s Husband – Episode 33

“What?!”
Artia’s eyes widened as she stared at the Shop Owner in astonishment.
“Surely you don’t think an elegant noblewoman would never show displeasure at a price, so you’re offering such a ridiculously paltry sum?”
That was exactly what he thought.
But the Shop Owner could not say so.
With the determination of a master negotiator, he composed his expression and replied.
“That could never be the case. I have always treated all our donors with utmost sincerity. If my offer does not suit you, please name your desired amount.”
Artia answered with elegant composure.
“15 million gold.”
In that instant, the Shop Owner’s composure crumbled.
“That’s… a bit much. What about 6 million gold?”
“….”
“Would 7 million gold satisfy you?”
“….”
After prolonged haggling, they finally settled on 10 million gold. He had ended up receiving double his initial asking price.
The Shop Owner, now thoroughly deflated, managed a strained smile.
“You are quite the passionate young noblewoman.”
His words implied that the noblewoman was shamelessly obsessed with money, but Artia paid no mind and gestured to Catherine.
“Mother, please take out the other dresses we brought. We still have more to donate.”

Artia received all the items at double the Shop Owner’s initial asking price.
The Shop Owner, drained as though his very soul had been extracted, didn’t even bother haggling over the final item—he simply quoted a fair price from the start.
Catherine emerged from the shop with a bulging purse, regarding Artia with an expression of utter disbelief.
“You were always trembling while staring at the ground, so when did you become capable of doing something like this?”
“Well, I am the first woman to divorce since the Emperor’s ascension to the throne. Haggling is hardly a difficult task for me.”
“I see. But next time, do it when I’m not around. It was embarrassing standing there.”
At Catherine’s words—spoken by someone who would sooner die than abandon her noble pride—Artia’s eyes narrowed.
“As you wish.”
Catherine approached Artia, who had answered curtly, and crossed her arms.
“Well then, shall we go? Time for shopping!”
Catherine was brimming with excitement—a far cry from when she’d claimed embarrassment. The unexpected windfall had lifted her spirits considerably.
Upon entering one of the Convent’s most prestigious Dress Shops, Catherine announced confidently:
“I need to have a dress fitted for her.”
The staff greeted the obviously affluent customer with radiant smiles, recognizing her refined taste at a glance.
Catherine, who had remained demure in the Second-hand Shop, became quite the chatterbox here.
“Nothing with excessive decoration or exposure. I know young women look lovely in such things, but she absolutely despises them. I want something elegant and pure.”
“Her complexion is so fair that bright, clean colors suit her wonderfully.”
“The chest doesn’t need emphasis, but cinch the waist tightly—that’s the design I want. She has such a delicate waist. We must showcase that.”
Catherine then had Artia try on dress after dress—dozens of them—before finally settling on one.
“Thank you so much, madam!”
As they left the shop, they heard the staff member’s hearty gratitude—that single dress had apparently met her daily sales quota.
Unlike Artia, who had been thoroughly exhausted by the ordeal at the Dress Shop, Catherine was positively radiant.
Mother had always loved shopping, I reflected.
Yet today, she had purchased only one dress—mine. She had spent every coin earned from selling those items on my gown.
My heart fluttered strangely.
Artia spoke to Catherine.
“Thank you. I’ll wear it well.”
“If you’re grateful, don’t just say it with words. Dress beautifully and marry a wealthy man. Then tell the new Edenberg Duchy to give me a more generous budget.”
It was a response entirely in character—all sentiment evaporated in an instant.
“I will.”
Artia answered with a helpless laugh.

* * *

That night, Artia sat in her comfortable indoor clothes, carefully tending to a pink dress.
Then she heard a rustling sound. Looking up, a black cat stood at the window.
“Nabi!”
Artia sprang from her chair and rushed to the window.
“You must have been so startled when I wasn’t here last time. You have no idea how worried I was that you wouldn’t come back.”
Unlike Artia, who chattered away excitedly like a child, the black cat remained aloof and dignified.
‘That’s charming too….’
Artia noticed the direction of the cat’s gaze. Those golden eyes were fixed on the pink dress.
Artia laughed softly.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is the dress I wore when I made my debut.”
Five years ago, when Artia was eighteen, she had worn this dress.
True to its purpose as a debutante gown, the design exuded the purity of a girl freshly come of age.
Artia continued, gazing at the dress.
“Mother bought me a new dress today, but I suddenly wanted to see this one again. She chose this one for me too.”
“….”
“Other people say a debutante ball is thrilling enough to remember for a lifetime, but I didn’t feel that way.”
Everything about it had been dreadful for me.
Being displayed like a doll in a shop window, showcasing my beauty in a space packed with people, forced to dance with men I barely knew.
“But the dress itself—I truly loved it.”
Choosing a debutante gown with Mother was something I had dreamed of since childhood.
After Mother died, I thought that dream would never come true. It was Catherine who made it possible.
Even though she was my stepmother, even though our relationship wasn’t as intimate as other mothers and daughters, I enjoyed choosing the dress with Catherine.
And I loved the dress so much.
Though at the Banquet Hall, people had mocked me relentlessly, saying the bright, cheerful dress didn’t suit the gloomy Artia….
Artia held the dress before me and laughed brightly.
“What do you think? Isn’t it beautiful?”
“….”
Embarrassed by the cat’s unwavering silence, Artia pouted slightly.
“I meant the dress, not me.”

The path back to the Imperial Palace.
The black cat walked along a deserted street, his mind drifting to five years prior.
Killian von Orpheus, the same age as Artia, had attended the debutante ball that very day.
Killian von Orpheus entered the Banquet Hall dressed with impeccable elegance from head to toe.
Every soul in the Banquet Hall found their gaze captivated by him as if enchanted.
There was not a trace of the awkwardness one might expect from someone barely come of age. He was nothing but utterly perfect and beautiful.
“Behold that commanding presence. His Highness Killian von Orpheus shall surely bring unprecedented glory to this Empire.”
Yet contrary to the people’s adoring reactions, Killian von Orpheus’s condition was dire.
The cloying perfume that saturated the Banquet Hall was unbearably potent. The shrill voices of the women were equally excruciating to endure.
The Empress spoke in a low voice to Killian von Orpheus, whose brow was furrowed.
“Don’t let yourself look pathetic.”
This was still the time when Killian von Orpheus’s misogyny remained hidden from the outside world. The Empress spoke to him as he merely composed his expression.
“The people are waiting. Go out and dance the opening dance to begin the ball.”
Killian von Orpheus was arrogant and ruthless, yet he harbored an obedient streak when it came to the Empress.
Above all, he was not so irresponsible as to ruin such an important event because of his condition.
Killian von Orpheus took the hand of the woman the Empress had chosen for him.
He did not even glance at her face.
All he perceived was the nauseating sensation that coursed through him the moment their hands touched, and the overwhelming stench of perfume emanating from her that twisted his stomach.
With superhuman patience, he concealed his revulsion and completed the dance.
Thunderous applause poured down upon them both. The woman who had danced with him laughed shyly and said something, but he could not hear it properly.
Killian von Orpheus turned and departed the Banquet Hall with an elegantly measured stride.
He continued deeper into the Garden.
Until the cacophony of the ball could no longer be heard.
Upon reaching a secluded corner of the overgrown Garden, Killian von Orpheus grasped a tree and opened his mouth.
“Retch.”
Acrid gastric fluid erupted from his empty stomach—he had eaten nothing all day.
Then came the rustle of foliage, followed by a small voice.
“Are you alright?”
“…!”
With the shrubbery between them, Killian von Orpheus and Artia stood unable to see each other’s faces.
Yet Killian von Orpheus recognized the voice’s owner at once.
Artia von Edenberg.
But Artia clearly had no idea of his identity.
Had she known he was Killian von Orpheus, she would never have spoken to him so casually.

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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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