The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 48

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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 48

Helen’s brow furrowed as she observed Humphrey’s expression.
“My dear, there you go with that look again. Are you truly so reluctant to see Julie married off?”
“…Yes, I am.”
“I feel the same way, but we mustn’t show it. This is our daughter’s most joyous day—we must send her off with smiles.”
“…You’re right. We must.”
Just then, the Maid entered and announced:
“Madame Diola has arrived.”
Helen’s eyes sparkled as though she’d just heard of Father Christmas’s visit, and she grasped Artia’s hand tightly.
“Let’s go see what a magnificent wedding dress Diola has created for us.”

Madame Diola—the designer Helen had entrusted with Juliet’s wedding dress twenty years prior.
Upon seeing Helen seated with a composed expression, Diola exclaimed:
“My lady, you’ve recovered so wonderfully!”
“Don’t speak of me as though I were an invalid. I’ve been taking medicine for a touch of cold, but I’m in good health. As for you, your face looks worn. The dress-making must have exhausted you terribly.”
Diola’s brow lowered as she observed Helen’s concerned expression.
It wasn’t that my face had grown worn—it was simply that I had aged.
I am no longer an active designer chasing trends with fervent passion, but merely a retired old woman.
Instead of voicing this, Diola simply nodded.
“Yes, my lady. I poured all my effort into creating this dress for you and Juliet.”
Diola turned her gaze toward Artia.
Artia swallowed nervously at this first encounter with an outsider since becoming Juliet, and Diola smiled warmly at her.
“Please try on the wedding dress, Miss Juliet.”
The natural way Diola addressed Artia as Juliet spoke to her innate talent as a businesswoman.
Having learned the situation from Humphrey, Diola had taken up her needle once more and worked through several sleepless nights to craft the wedding dress.
Exactly as Helen had commissioned it twenty years before.
Moments later, Artia emerged in a white dress.
The gown, with its fashion frozen in time, featured pronounced shoulders and an abundance of ribbons that gave it a somewhat dated appearance.
Yet the delicate embroidery adorning the cuffs and hem revealed just how meticulously Diola had crafted every detail.
‘This is already my second wedding dress in this lifetime. It seems I’m destined to have quite the relationship with bridal gowns.’
Artia lifted her head with a soft laugh, then froze. Helen was weeping.
“You look absolutely beautiful, my daughter.”
Her gaze was so warm and tender that Artia’s heart ached with emotion.
To dispel the awkward silence, Diola clapped her hands together.
“What a vision of beauty! What an honor it is to create a wedding dress for such a lovely bride.”
Madame Diola continued, her words as honeyed as a tongue in the mouth.
“Miss Juliet will surely become the happiest bride in the entire Empire.”
Helen beamed as though she had never wept a moment in her life.
“You think so too, don’t you?”
“Of course. Whose daughter wouldn’t be?”
Madame Diola skillfully matched Helen’s mood, then winked at me with practiced ease.
‘Remarkable. Someone who’s been in this business for decades truly operates on a different level.’
I marveled inwardly, subtly raising both thumbs in approval.

After Madame Diola’s departure, countless visitors arrived at the Edenberg Mansion.
Jewelers, florists, cobblers, cosmetics merchants, silk traders—all of them had assisted with Juliet’s wedding preparations twenty years prior, just as Madame Diola had.
Upon receiving Humphrey’s request to help arrange the false wedding, they had all readily agreed.
They wished to aid the pitiful Countess who had prepared so diligently yet never witnessed her own wedding ceremony.
“Here is the jewelry set you requested, madam. I’ve prepared diamonds with a blue shimmer to match Miss Juliet’s eye color.”
“May is indeed the season for flowers. I shall fill the entire wedding with blooms in full bloom.”
The mansion, which had been silent as if time itself had stopped, erupted into bustling activity.
Amid the lively atmosphere, Helen gripped my hand tightly as we selected various items together.
Her face radiant with the same joy she’d worn twenty years before.

* * *

At that same moment, in the Convent.
Rumors of every conceivable variety circulated regarding Artia, who had secluded herself for days.
The most persuasive account claimed that Artia, blackmailed by Shylock von Rusian for money, had suffered a complete mental and physical collapse.
Shylock had little difficulty tracing the source of such an absurd fabrication.
It was Penelope.
“Artia is suffering terribly. What if she loses Ansi Lake or is forced into marriage? My poor friend…”
As more people fell under Penelope’s influence, increasingly vicious rumors about the Rushan Family spread.
“So obsessed with money, and now they’re abducting brides as well.”
Those who harbored existing resentment toward the Rushan Family seized this opportunity to voice their grievances loudly.
“It’s not just House of Edenberg. The Rushan Family has ruined more than one or two noble houses through lending. Some have collapsed so completely they can never recover.”
“Hardly surprising. The interest they demand is absolutely merciless. A truly villainous family.”
Upon hearing these rumors, Shylock muttered coldly.
“They came crawling and begging for loans, and now they dare speak differently.”
The criticisms he’d heard before scarcely troubled him, but rumors concerning Artia were another matter entirely.
‘Gossip that interferes with my marriage to Artia von Edenberg serves no purpose.’
Shylock sought out Penelope, the source of the rumors, first.
“Madam, contrary to what you may believe, perfectly normal marriage negotiations are proceeding between House of Edenberg and the Rushan Family. I would prefer you not spoil the favorable atmosphere with idle talk—unless, of course, you wish to make an enemy of the Rushan Family.”
Having made his threatening request, Shylock presented a box.
Within the elegant velvet case glimmered a jewelry set.
In one hand, a whip; in the other, a carrot. The instinct for survival ensures the carrot is seized, fear of the whip notwithstanding.
This was the technique that had built the Rushan Family’s fortune—the mastery of Shylock von Rusian.
Yet Penelope’s face contorted in a way that made one question whether a noblewoman should allow herself such an expression.
“How amusing. You used the same tactic on Artia, and now you’re trying it on me. But here’s the problem—I value my friend far more than your pittance.”
“…!”
“Perhaps if you scraped together every last coin the Rushan Family possesses, I might consider it.”
It was unmistakable mockery.
Sensing that reasoning with this woman was futile, Shylock turned away without hesitation.
‘No matter what that woman says, nothing will change.’
Once Simon married Artia, the rumors would dissolve like morning mist.
Yet one concern gnawed at him.
Artia’s wellbeing.
‘I assumed she was hiding in the mansion out of wounded pride at surrendering so quickly. But if Penelope was right—if she’s truly fallen ill…’
In the worst case, she might resort to self-harm or worse.
Like those fools crushed beneath the weight of debt who made foolish choices.
Shylock’s cold expression hardened.
He felt no sorrow at the prospect of death. Yet if something happened to Artia now, blame might fall upon the Rushan Family.
Even with their declining fortunes, they were still House of Edenberg.
And above all, Simon would grieve.
‘That would be troublesome.’
Shylock procured a tonic renowned for its restorative properties and made his way to the Edenberke Estate.
“I have come to pay my respects upon hearing that the Duchess of Edenberg is unwell. Take me to her at once.”
But Bibi, standing before him, shook her head.
“The mistress is not in a state to receive visitors.”
“A mere maid dares obstruct me? Spare your words and show me the way.”
A savage, predatory aura emanated from Shylock—the fury of a wounded wolf. Yet Bibi stood her ground with equal ferocity, immovable as an enraged bear.
Shylock’s teeth ground together.
Every instinct screamed at him to strike that presumptuous maid across the face and cast her down.
But the memory of being thrown out by Bibi before held him back from rash action.
The suffocating standoff was broken by Catherine’s voice.
“Why is there such a commotion?”
“Duchess Mother!”
To Shylock, Catherine was unmistakably an ally.
They shared the same objective: to confine Artia—that rabbit—within the cage of the Rushan Family.
Shylock’s lips curved into a serpentine smile.
“I have come to discuss the marriage arrangements. Please allow me to see your daughter.”

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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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