RBSP 2

Chapter 2

The Society’s Punching Bag, I’m Retiring!

I had only come to my senses a week ago. That was the day I had felt utterly drained of energy, exhausted from the previous night’s party that had stretched far into the early hours.

This social season was my third since making my debut. Of course, my burden was relatively light since I already had a fiancé. I didn’t need to desperately hunt for a man like the other young ladies.

However, letting four years slip away like that felt like an unbearable insult to some.

“I am going to send a formal letter of protest to the Duke of Windsor right this instant!”

The moment I came down to the first floor in search of some honey-water, I instantly regretted it.

The Count of Gloucester had been fuming with rage since morning. With a roar loud enough to rupture eardrums, he made me want to cover my ears without even realizing it.

The reason he was throwing such a fit first thing in the morning was undoubtedly the rolled-up newspaper clutched in his fist.

“What on earth do you even do around the house? You couldn’t bear a proper child, nor could you raise the ones we already have properly! And you couldn’t even successfully finalize the match I brought home myself?”

Suddenly, the crossfire landed on the Countess. Seeing Countess Helena standing nearby, trembling uncontrollably and unable to even offer an excuse, made me feel like my own situation was somewhat preferable, after all.

“What kind of news was published?”

Fleeing right now to live my own life would essentially mean dumping all of this onto Countess Helena. Regrettably, I wasn’t heartless enough to do that.

“What kind of news, you ask?”

The Count’s fury, which had been thoroughly unleashed upon his wife, found a new target. His expression twisted into a menacing scowl, and he hurled the newspaper straight down at my feet.

The flamboyant title of the fully opened newspaper caught my eye.

• [Junior Duke Karlroy Windsor, Secret Romance with the Baron of Kent’s Daughter at a Tea Party?]

A photograph of Karl and an unidentified young lady caught my eye in the paper. It was a blurry shot of Karl looking stiff as ever, with the young lady leaning against his shoulder.

“I see.”

“What? You see?”

Unlike the Count, I wasn’t all that angry. I was the one marrying Karl anyway. No matter which woman he was hanging off of, that fact wouldn’t change.

However, my calm demeanor seemed to fuel the Count’s rage even further.

“Aren’t you far too relaxed about this?”

“Father. It’s not like articles like this are appearing for the first time.”

“Right. That bastard has made the papers every single year since his debut in society! Each time linking his name to a different young lady! But how is it that your name never once gets linked with his in any remotely harmonious way?”

“Was that so?”

“Besides, this season is particularly severe!”

On that point, I agreed. In fact, only three weeks had passed since the start of this season, yet this was already his tenth scandal article.

“Everyone has lost their minds trying to snare the Junior Duke.”

This year marked the third season for both Karl and me. Our engagement had been sanctified and recognized by the church, but progress had dragged on sluggishly ever since. Furthermore, reaching the third season in high society held a massive significance.

“Have you even considered what your position will be if we somehow end up breaking off the engagement this season?”

In the Kingdom of Hibernia, the social season ran every year from spring to late autumn. It was a state-led marriage system that began with the Queen’s ball and ended with the Queen’s ball.

Noble men and women without engagement partners would step out into high society to find a match. They were expected to find a fiancé and marry before the conclusion of their three seasons, and failing to do so within that window meant being treated as having a severe flaw.

Typically, men who “failed” at marriage became holy knights or priests, while women became nuns or governesses. It was a formal declaration that they had been entirely cast out of the marriage market.

With our wedding continually delayed, everyone chattered on about how they had no idea when we might call off the engagement. It had happened every year, but this year was especially ruthless. It was admittedly annoying that young ladies were kicking up such a fuss just to snag Karl, but it wasn’t enough to shock me.

“Relax, Father. Karl is my fiancé. Once the mining operations begin this autumn, we won’t be able to postpone the wedding any further.”

“Yes, I suppose so! But his attitude is simply too outrageous!”

Every day, the Count regretted not having forced an immediate wedding ceremony rather than a mere engagement when he first struck the mining rights agreement with the Duke of Windsor. He shouted so loudly that his voice carried clearly all the way to my room on the second floor.

“Gloria Gloucester.”

Caught with a look of utter indifference on my face, the Count growled.

“Why on earth are you so nonchalant? Do you even have a plan?”

“What plan? Karl is going to be my husband anyway.”

I was certain of it. Mining in the Windsor Dukedom’s mines was scheduled to begin in the autumn. Once the agreement was fulfilled, there would be no more excuses to delay the marriage. At the absolute latest, we would hold the wedding before the start of the next season.

“You really understand nothing about men, do you? With young ladies propositioning him like that, don’t you think a stony fellow like the Junior Duke might eventually give in?”

The Count shook his head in exasperation. A wave of nausea washed over me, causing me to drop my head. Countess Helena in the corner wore the exact same expression.

“You are already twenty-two, and this is your third season. If the engagement is broken, what other choice do you have but to become a nun?”

Talk about a horrifying curse.

I simply repeated empty, soulless nods. Because my lack of sincerity was painfully obvious, the Count flared up in anger once more. Fortunately, Countess Helena, suddenly finding a burst of courage, stepped in to break up the argument.

“M-My Lord. Please stop. Your blood pressure!”

Thanks to Countess Helena’s noble sacrifice, I was able to retreat back to the peace of my room.

Perhaps because of the honey-water I never got to drink, my head was throbbing. Ah. Dismissing sparkling wine as nothing special had left me with a monumental hangover. I collapsed straight onto the bed.

“Ugh.”

Burying my face into the mattress, my brain finally began to function again.

The Baron of Kent’s daughter? As I lay face-down on the bed, I tried to conjure up the young lady’s face. The fact that it didn’t instantly come to mind meant she wasn’t particularly memorable. I still remembered the face of Baron Pudge’s daughter pretty clearly, though—the one from those articles claiming we took a walk together last time.

No matter how many scandals Karl got tangled up in with various young ladies, I truly didn’t care.

Karl was as stubborn as a rock. While his sharp tongue when he actually spoke was a drawback, thankfully, he rarely opened his mouth at all. Still, he was a principled man who at least fulfilled his basic duties.

Even though his name constantly made the papers wrapped up in scandals, I knew better than anyone that not a single woman had ever scheduled a formal date and met with him.

So, it was completely fine. Even if Karl ended up photographed and scandalized alongside some random woman he bumped into on the street, it wouldn’t change the fact that I was his engaged partner. I would just have to make up for all this hardship by bleeding the Windsor family dry of their fortune. I took everything lightly.

“Gah, insane!”

If I hadn’t glimpsed a horrifying future during that leisurely afternoon nap, I might have spent this entire season with such a magnanimous mindset.

My peaceful days were completely shattered by that cliché of an afternoon nap.

“W-What is this?”

Barely an hour into my nap, I had experienced a vivid dream. A terrifying dream that left a cold chill running down the back of my neck.

It was a day when autumn foliage was just beginning to peek out here and there. A newspaper article detailing matters related to the Windsor Dukedom was published. It reported that due to a sudden disaster, the mines had been sealed off and excavation had been halted.

In an instant, the inter-familial agreement was rendered null and void, and shortly after, I received a letter dispatched from the Windsor Dukedom.

An annulment. The Duke of Windsor requested an end to the engagement between Karl and me as if he had been waiting for this exact moment. It was called a request, but it was essentially an ultimatum with no room for refusal.

I was an unmarried aristocrat facing her third season. If I failed to find a new marriage partner within this season, there would be no next time. Naturally, Karlroy Windsor immediately began searching for a new fiancée. For the immensely wealthy and powerful House of Windsor, that was an effortless task. Countless young ladies lined up for the attractive position of the Junior Duke of Windsor’s fiancée.

However, for the House of Gloucester—a family steeped in rich history and vast wealth, yet equally drowning in dishonor—it was not nearly so simple.

Of course, it wasn’t as though no men had proposed to me. The Gloucesters boasted stunning, dazzling appearances, and I was a particularly prominent figure in high society.

However, the sudden necessity for a dowry—something completely unnecessary in my proposed marriage to Karl—soured the miserly Count’s mood.

“It would probably be best if at least one person in our family devoted themselves to the church.”

Before the season had even drawn to a close, I was loaded onto a windowless cargo wagon and carted off to a convent.

If they were going to send me to a convent, they could have at least chosen a place with decent facilities. Having suffered from severe motion sickness for days during the journey, I contracted pneumonia shortly after arriving and died before I even turned twenty-three.

All the years I had endured high society’s vile gossip and the Count’s verbal abuse while waiting for Karl were invalidated in a single moment. It was far too vivid and sickening to simply dismiss as a mere dream.

What good does it do to play the role of the devoted, understanding saint? That ungrateful fiancé of mine would call off our engagement the moment the mines collapsed, and that man who was hardly a father would sweep me away to a convent just to spare himself the eyesore.

Ah, this is so frustrating.

Gazing out the window as dusk began to fall, I furiously beat my pillow. I couldn’t brush this off as a momentary bad dream. Every scene felt intensely real, as though I had lived through those years myself. Feathers began spilling out from inside the pillow, which had faithfully absorbed all of my pent-up rage.

Just as the pillow reached the end of its lifespan, I made up my mind.

Society’s punching bag? I’m not doing it anymore. I’m retiring from being the neighborhood punching bag and living life entirely on my own terms!