The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 49

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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 49

Bibi’s face hardened.
Only Bibi knew that Artia was absent from the Edenberg Mansion.
If Shylock von Rushian discovered this fact, he would undoubtedly pursue Artia’s whereabouts and interfere with her plans.
‘The master must not be discovered away from her chambers.’
That was the duty of the one left behind in the mansion.
No matter what command the Duchess Mother issued, she would not open the master’s door.
Bibi, her eyes cold and unsettling, tensed every muscle in her body.
“Artia says she doesn’t wish to meet a thug who plays with people using money.”
At Catherine’s sharp words, Shylock von Rushian’s face froze.
“Surely you do not speak of me?”
“Yes.”
Catherine glared at Shylock von Rushian.
“I was briefly mad. Dazzled by money, I thought the Rushan Family would be a suitable match. But not anymore.”
Catherine continued in a sharp voice.
“Get out of my daughter’s house this instant! You contemptible loan shark!”
Before Shylock von Rushian could respond, Catherine looked toward Bibi.
Reading Catherine’s intent, Bibi approached Shylock von Rushian and lifted him effortlessly.
“Let me go!”
Shylock von Rushian thrashed and struggled, but it was futile.
Just as she had done before, Bibi carried Shylock von Rushian like a piece of luggage and brought him outside the mansion.
The only difference was that instead of setting him down with infinite gentleness as she had then, she hurled him to the ground with a resounding thud.
“Ugh…!”
Looking down at Shylock von Rushian, who had landed ungracefully on his backside, Bibi opened her mouth.
“Forgive me. I made an error. Do take care on your way.”
Bibi spoke in a flat, emotionless tone devoid of any inflection, then turned sharply and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Shylock von Rushian was not the only man troubled by Artia’s absence.
Killian von Orpheus, the most likely candidate for the next Emperor, felt the same way.
However, unlike Shylock, who believed with absolute certainty that Artia was within the Edenberg Mansion, he knew of her absence.
‘She’s not here.’
Artia’s chamber, which he had visited in the form of a black cat, was completely empty.
All that remained was a blanket rolled tightly and placed upon the bed, as though a person lay sleeping beneath it.
‘Given the composure of Artia von Edenberg’s large maid, it doesn’t seem as though anything untoward has occurred….’
Killian trusted no one, yet he possessed an insight that allowed him to see through people.
That large maid did not strike him as the sort who would commit any impropriety against Artia.
Then….
‘Has she gone somewhere in secret?’
Perhaps the reason was to secure funds.
At first, he had accepted it as such. But when he visited days later and still found her absent, his mood grew somewhat unsettled.
When he visited again the next day and she was still nowhere to be found, Killian issued a command.
“Find out where Artia von Edenberg is.”
Is the Duchess of Edenberg plotting a rebellion? Or perhaps she is a spy for the enemy forces?
Nocton von Alihas wished to ask.
It was only natural, for every reason Killian had ever given for investigating someone’s whereabouts had been precisely such matters.
‘Surely His Highness is not issuing this command out of purely personal sentiment?’
Nocton wished to ask, but his mouth produced only the answer: “Yes, Your Highness.”
When ordered, one obeys without question.
Such was the demeanor required of a retainer serving a mad prince.
The next day, Nocton sought out Killian.
Killian, who was at the Training Grounds, had removed his shirt and was wielding his sword.
Black hair damp with perspiration, golden eyes gleaming as they reflected the sunlight.
Firm muscles rippling with each swing of the blade.
A scene as beautiful as a masterwork painting, yet the only emotion Nocton felt was singular.
‘That body is always so threatening, no matter how many times I see it.’
Let me do well today. So my head doesn’t fly off.
Nocton swallowed hard and made his report.
“The Duchess of Edenberg is currently at the residence of her distant uncle, the House of Bluerance.”
Killian asked while swinging his sword.
“Did she go to secure funds?”
“It appears so. Count Mizura has recently sold off assets and procured a considerable sum in cash.”
“If she obtained the funds, why hasn’t she returned?”
“That is… Currently, the Duchess of Edenberg is impersonating the Count’s deceased daughter.”
“…?”
Nocton relayed all the information he had gathered to Killian, whose eyebrow had risen.
A count and countess who lost their daughter twenty years ago, the countess whose illness deepened from the shock, and Artia, who comforts her by impersonating the deceased daughter.
And a false wedding ceremony to be held soon.
In that instant, Killian’s blade, which had been moving with such grace, came to an abrupt halt.
His golden eyes flashed with intensity.
“A wedding?”
I’ve made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me.
Nocton von Alihas barely suppressed the pleading words that threatened to spill from his lips before responding.
“Yes, sir. According to the physician attending the Countess of Bluerance, it was decided to hold a proper wedding ceremony—one that was not conducted correctly in the past. The hope is that through this ceremony, the emotional wounds carried by the Countess of Bluerance will be healed. Though it is a ceremonial wedding, many merchants have come and gone to ensure it maintains the formality of a true wedding.”
Killian cut off Nocton von Alihas mid-sentence, just as he was about to recite the list of merchants who had visited House of Bluerance.
“Who is the groom?”
“Pardon?”
“Even if it’s a ceremonial wedding, the bride won’t be standing alone, will she?”
“That information hasn’t arrived yet… I will find out immediately!”
Nocton von Alihas bowed his head with the face of a criminal bearing a grave sin, then departed the Training Grounds at lightning speed.
Left alone in the vast Training Grounds, Killian gripped his blade tighter, muttering under his breath.
“Who does she think she is, getting married on a whim?”
His languid voice was laden with unmistakable displeasure.

That night, far away at the Bluerance Estate, Artia drifted into a dream.
It was a terrifying nightmare—a cat with golden eyes as massive as a mountain, chasing after her.
“C-cute, but so frightening…”
Artia whimpered, clutching her blanket tightly.

* * *

Helen wanted to hold Artia’s hand from morning until night.
Especially as sleep began to claim her.
“You’ve always loved strawberries since you were young. When you ate them, you’d always ask me to remove the stem and cut them in half because you said they tasted better that way.”
Holding Artia’s hand, Helen would talk until she could endure no longer, then collapse into sleep as though unconscious.
Artia gazed upon Helen’s peaceful, sleeping face.
In less than a fortnight, Helen had transformed into someone entirely different.
‘When I first saw her, she was like a withered flower, shriveled and drained of life. Now she blooms like a flower in spring, overflowing with vitality.’
It was all because of her love for Juliet.
‘I am not truly your daughter….’
Artia silently recited words she could never speak aloud.
As time passed, a heaviness settled deeper into her heart. Simultaneously, this pitiable woman became increasingly precious, sorrowful, and dear to her.
As though I had truly become Juliet herself.
Artia stood in that place with an anguished expression for a long while before quietly leaving the room.
Artia made her way to the Study.
Humphrey, seated in a chair, greeted her.
“You’ve worked hard today as well.”
Artia nodded and approached his side.
Dozens of envelopes were stacked upon the large desk.
They were invitations Helen had crafted over the past several days, each envelope bearing the carefully written name of a guest in her own hand.
Humphrey regarded the invitations with a bitter expression and spoke.
“The servants pretended to deliver the invitations but returned them to me instead.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I cannot invite everyone Helen has written on these invitations. Not only would it be difficult to contact them all, but only those who can understand Helen’s current state should attend. I’ve already sent letters with detailed explanations of the situation. However, there is one problem.”
“Who?”
“The groom.”
…!
Humphrey handed a small portrait to Artia, whose eyes had widened in surprise.
In the aged portrait was painted a handsome man with black hair.
“He is Count Mizura, who was betrothed to Juliet twenty years ago. With distant ties to the Imperial bloodline and blessed with striking beauty, Helen was overjoyed. She spoke of how fortunate Juliet was to become the bride of such a noble gentleman.”
But the night before the wedding, Juliet died, and all of Helen’s joy shattered into countless pieces.

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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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