The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 79

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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 79

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The only divorced woman in the Empire, the most extravagant woman in the Empire, the most austere woman in the Empire.
The atmosphere of the tea party where these three extraordinary women gathered was surprisingly warm and convivial.
Marigold in particular burst into laughter every time Artia spoke.
“How do you speak so well? You haven’t had a single friend to have a proper conversation with all this time. Oh, forgive me.”
Marigold covered her mouth and studied Artia’s expression carefully.
Artia laughed it off with an unbothered face. It was true that she had no friends, after all.
“Actually, I’m quite fond of reading books. That’s why I have plenty of topics to discuss.”
“I see. As for me, the moment I read even a single letter, I fall asleep as if hypnotized. I suppose I share the same interests as Dahlia.”
Artia’s eyes brightened.
This was an opportunity to have a proper conversation with Dahlia, who had been quiet the entire time.
“What sort of books do you primarily read, Lady Greg?”
Dahlia answered in a low voice that contrasted with Artia’s cheerful tone.
“I read mostly educational literature. I also enjoy humanities texts.”
Yes, I can certainly imagine that.
Yet Artia did not hastily release the thread of engagement and asked further.
“You have no interest in novels?”
Before Dahlia could answer, Marigold interjected.
“She won’t read that sort of thing—says it’s beneath her standards.”
Dahlia, who had maintained her composure throughout, showed a flustered expression for the first time.
“When did I ever say such a thing?”
“Don’t you remember? Back then, I gave you that novel that was wildly popular among the nobility women, and you made such a stern face.”
“I don’t read books like that!”
Dahlia’s expression had been so fierce at that moment that Marigold found herself apologizing without thinking.
“It’s just that…”
Artia asked carefully toward Dahlia, who was stammering in a manner uncharacteristic of her.
“May I ask what book it was?”
This time too, Marigold spoke first.
“Was it ‘The Burning Heart of the Northern Duke’?”
“Marigold!”
At the mere mention of such an embarrassing title, Dahlia cried out with a flushed face, but Artia’s pink eyes sparkled like a rabbit that had discovered a carrot.
“That’s a novel by RedLip!”
Marigold was taken aback by Artia’s fervent reaction, having assumed she would be embarrassed merely from hearing the title, given her innocent appearance.
“Do you know that author?”
“Yes, she’s my favorite author.”
“…!”
Marigold and Dahlia’s eyes widened.
RedLip was famous enough that even those who didn’t read romance novels knew her name, yet no noblewoman openly admitted to being a fan of hers.
Her novels were far too obscene.
The author herself seemed aware of this, revealing nothing beyond the pen name RedLip.
Because of this, her works were treated with even greater secrecy and discretion, classified as ‘literature one must read in hiding.’
Yet Artia spoke as though none of this concerned her whatsoever.
“When I read those descriptions burning with passion like wildfire, my heart races as though it might burst. RedLip is the greatest author of our age!”
Having gushed enthusiastically about RedLip, Artia came to her senses a beat too late.
Oh no.
Being a fan of RedLip wasn’t shameful in itself, but it was hardly appropriate to discuss before women she was having tea with for the first time.
Especially not before Dahlia, who was regarded as the Empire’s most virtuous lady.
‘Did I offend her?’
Artia looked at Dahlia with a troubled expression. But instead of the cold, rigid face she’d expected, Dahlia’s cheeks were flushed a deep crimson.
“…?”
Faced with this entirely unexpected reaction, Artia’s eyes widened. Marigold too wore a look of surprise as she blurted out her words.
“Why do you have the look of someone who just received a confession from the Duke of the Northern Region—the one whose everything is ice-cold except his bedchamber?”
“That’s never happened.”
Dahlia shook her head with a composed expression, as though to say when would that ever occur.

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Fortunately, Dahlia made no negative judgment about Artia’s tastes. She simply offered no particular endorsement either.
As Artia conversed with Dahlia and Marigold, she came to understand something.
‘The reason these two women commanded the attention and affection of so many was not merely because they possessed wealth or knowledge.’
Marigold, who guided the atmosphere with her bright energy.
Dahlia, who listened to others’ words with calm attentiveness.
They possessed a magnetism that drew people to them.
And though Artia never suspected it, the two women were entertaining similar thoughts.
‘I thought her face was so indistinct I’d forget it no matter how many times I saw it, but the more I look, the lovelier she becomes. If I were to drape a massive diamond necklace across that pale, slender neck of hers, unadorned as it is, she’d be even more beautiful….’
‘Her topics are varied and her way with words is excellent—it’s a pleasure to converse with her. I find myself wanting to talk with her more.’
Artia spoke carefully to the two of them.
“Today was truly delightful. Would it be alright if I invited you both next time?”
Marigold could finally contain herself no longer and pulled Artia into an embrace, crying out.
“Of course!”
Dahlia also nodded gracefully.

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Dahlia returned home after the tea party concluded.
A woman descended from generations of bureaucratic families, she had married a man holding a prestigious position in the Central Government.
True to the residence of a high-ranking official, the mansion was furnished with dignity and refinement rather than ostentation.
After bathing and changing into comfortable indoor attire, Dahlia made her way to her Study.
While most noblewomen did not maintain a separate study, her husband believed that a woman of noble birth should possess knowledge befitting her station, and so he readily granted her this private space.
Advanced Grancian, The Empire’s History, A Century of Art, Philosophy by the Five Sages….
The books lining the shelves bore scholarly titles one might expect from the Academy curriculum.
‘Had Marigold been in this room, she would have winced at the mere sight of these titles, complaining of a throbbing headache.’
Recalling her friend’s expression, Dahlia slid the bookcase to the side, and to her satisfaction, a small hidden compartment revealed itself.
Books occupied this space as well.
Yet their titles differed markedly from those she had just observed.
The Unrequited Love of a Stoic Knight.
A Lover Purchased with a Merchant’s Arrogant Fortune.
The Tender Prayers of a Fallen Priest.
And… The Burning Heart of the Northern Duke.
The books were all novels by RedLip. Dahlia fingered the volumes and murmured to herself.
“I never imagined she was a fan of mine….”
Indeed, the true identity of RedLip—the celebrated author who made the hearts of Empire’s women flutter and ache—was none other than Dahlia herself!
Dahlia had been raised in a strict household where even the mere clasping of hands between a man and woman was deemed unseemly conduct in public.
Her parents, who maintained impeccable posture even while sleeping, had told young Dahlia countless times.
“You must become a wise and dignified noblewoman.”
No one knew that Dahlia, who had spent her entire life obedient to their words, was the author who had boldly depicted sensual scenes in her novels.
Not her husband, who lived under the same roof, nor even Marigold, her dearest friend.
‘If my husband discovered I were RedLip, he would confine me to the Convent in the countryside.’
He would insist with fervent righteousness that I seek purification of my corrupted soul through prayer to the Goddess.
And that was merely the beginning. Her parents, who took such pride in her, would be devastated, and her reputation in High Society as the most virtuous of noblewomen would crumble to dust.
Thus, Dahlia had decided to regard RedLip as an entirely separate entity from herself.
‘I know nothing of an author called RedLip. I have never even read her novels.’
Pretending ignorance of this other self proved less difficult than one might expect.
The noblewomen she encountered rarely broached the subject of romance novels in conversation.
Though the name RedLip did surface from time to time.
“I heard that all the Maids in the mansion were so captivated by that author’s books they spent entire nights reading them, and my curiosity was piqued, so I read one myself. I was truly astonished. How could anyone write something so vulgar and licentious….”
“The author who penned such drivel must surely be someone from the lowest depths of society, utterly ignorant of what dignity means.”
“I even heard rumors she was a prostitute.”
The women laughed shrilly, leveling sharp condemnations at an author whose face they had never seen.
Each time, Dahlia desperately composed her expression as though the discussion concerned a complete stranger.
…But today, for the first time, she heard something entirely different.
“She is my favorite author, after all.”

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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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