RBSP 3

Chapter 3

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

And so, I spent an entire week cooped up inside the house.

My sudden change in behavior after attending almost every single event since the season opened sent the surrounding rumors swirling once more. However, I was in no mood whatsoever to get all dressed up, head out to gatherings, and willingly act as high society’s punching bag.

Even a punching bag deserves a reward; I couldn’t just sit there enduring insults for the sake of a marriage bound to fail anyway.

Yet, the Count had absolutely no consideration for how I felt. He kept stealing suspicious glances at me while I ate. It made it impossible to concentrate on my nicely scrambled, fluffy eggs.

Really, this family environment is practically designed to make one’s temper explode.

“Have you not been going out lately?”

“Is that so? I did attend a tea party last week, though.”

“Have you not stayed inside ever since? You should be getting out there even once more to make your face familiar to people.”

All this time, the only reason I had attended high society events religiously was to build familiarity with the noble ladies—to establish connections with people who might be useful once I eventually became the Junior Duchess of Windsor.

However, I sensed a double meaning behind the Count’s words.

“Since it’s still spring, wouldn’t it be wise to secure an insurance policy while you can?”

“As the Lord declared in the Great Prophecies, a holy marriage covenant is sacred and must be guarded as fiercely as one’s own life.”

I folded my hands together, putting on a grand show of devout piety. It was a scriptural verse I had seen to the point of utter exhaustion in the convent right before dying in my dream.

The Count cleared his throat awkwardly. Well, naturally. After all, when it came to treating a marriage covenant like complete trash, no one was quite like the Count, who had been married six times.

“It’s not as though I’m telling you to commit an unfaithful act, is it?”

“Of course. ‘Those who commit unfaithfulness shall surely burn in hell!’ I have memorized every single verse from the Gospels.”

Pfft!

A sputtering sound erupted right beside me. It came from my eldest brother, Mathias, who had been dining with a dignified expression.

“What messy behavior is that?!”

“Ah. My apologies, Father.”

Mathias, the Young Count, calmly dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Rinsing his mouth lightly with water, Mathias wore a brazen face as if nothing had happened.

“I was simply so overwhelmed with joy seeing Ria’s faith run this deep.”

“Do not just stand by as a spectator; maintain a sense of urgency. If Ria’s marriage arrangement with the Junior Duke falls apart, the one suffering in the future will be you.”

“It is Ria’s marriage arrangement. My only wish is for things to unfold in the way that is best for Ria.”

Mathias was the son the Count had had with his first wife.

The first wife had passed away the day after giving birth to Mathias, and the second wife had stepped in before Mathias was even a hundred days old.

In other words, Mathias was a living witness who had watched the Count’s colorful history with women unfold in real-time.

“Still, you are going to tomorrow’s ball, aren’t you?”

The Count did not like engaging in long conversations with Mathias. Unlike the Count in every way, Mathias was a highly polite, exemplary nobleman with a spotless record regarding women. Not taking after his father was Mathias’s single greatest point of pride.

Making no effort to hide his desire to cut the conversation short, the Count asked his question. My expression momentarily hardened. I didn’t want to go. Yet, as a young lady of a noble house, it was an obligation I couldn’t escape. No matter how recklessly I wanted to live, I couldn’t gamble with my very livelihood.

“I suppose I must.”

When I let out a heavy, unfiltered sigh, the Count dug at his ear. He looked as though he couldn’t bring himself to believe his ears. But to me, it felt like being dragged straight into hell.

Tomorrow’s ball was hosted by the Grand Duchess of Sardinia. It was a ball hosted by none other than the wife of the royal heir. Even high nobles who haughtily skipped other parties out of arrogance would be in attendance. It was a gathering that even Karl, who had spent the entire season blatantly avoiding me, was absolutely obligated to attend.

The unfortunate part was that I, who desperately wished to avoid Karl, had no right of refusal either. Sigh. My sigh deepened. Now, the Count’s eyes bulged wide enough to pop right out of his head.

“Gloria!”

I heard a voice calling me from a distance. Turning around sluggishly, I saw my chaperone, Marchioness Leonor, approaching. Exuding an effortless grace with an elegant smile on her face, she was truly the noble of nobles.

“Marchioness, you’ve arrived?”

“Have you been waiting long?”

Without a chaperone present, one could not enter the venue. However, I could hardly tell her that the delay was actually a relief. As I forced a faint smile, the Marchioness let out a gentle sigh.

“I cannot understand why marriage causes such a senseless uproar.”

“Tell me about it.”

Marchioness Leonor was the former Countess of Gloucester. One might wonder what kind of messy family tree this was, but it was the absolute truth.

She wasn’t my birth mother; she was the Count’s second wife and the birth mother of my married elder sister, Isabella.

She was also the only person among all the former Countesses of Gloucester whose whereabouts and survival were officially known.

The Marchioness had taken on the role of my chaperone at Isabella’s request. Naturally, the Count had thrown a wild fit, but… distinguished noblewomen of her renown were rare. If anything, she was a case of someone who had truly soared to success after her divorce.

“Bella’s younger sibling ends with you, correct? Being a chaperone is certainly no easy task.”

“I believe Father has grown old now as well. Lately, he doesn’t even seem to be meeting with any mistresses.”

“I only hope that man drops dead of exhaustion in a woman’s bed.”

Across the entire kingdom, the Count was the single solitary person to whom Marchioness Leonor—a woman who was practically the symbol of noble ladies—would speak such words about.

Well. If I were in the Marchioness’s shoes, I would have done the exact same thing. After suffering a stillbirth and falling gravely ill, all she received in return were divorce papers. It would have been more than enough to make anyone grind their teeth in resentment to this very day.

“As I always say, if you ever wish to run away from home, you are welcome at my residence anytime.”

“Thank you for the kind words. Still, with Mathias around this time, it’s manageable.”

“Indeed. I do wonder how a child like Matty could ever come from the Count.”

The Marchioness let out a quiet laugh. She had married the Count before Mathias was even a hundred days old, and until her divorce, she had raised Mathias alongside Isabella like her very own child. To Mathias, the Marchioness was no different from his true mother.

“Announcing the entry of the Young Lady of Gloucester and her chaperone, Marchioness Leonor!”

Once the chaperone arrived, our entry was swift. I felt like a dog being led straight to the slaughterhouse.

Knowing the future for a week now, having to listen to the ear-grinding gossip of the noble ladies all over again…

On top of that, I had absolutely no idea what kind of expression to wear when I saw Karlroy Windsor. I’d be lucky if I didn’t punch him square in the face. It was truly suffocating.

“Poor child.”

My nervousness must have shown. The Marchioness patted my back lightly.

In the brief moment the Marchioness stepped away to fetch some lemon water, the noble ladies set their tongues wagging without a single second’s rest.

Right. As if wanting me to hear every single word they wouldn’t dare say out loud in front of Marchioness Catherine Leonor.

“Is that truly suitable attire for a noble lady?”

“Tell me about it. If Her Highness the Grand Duchess of Sardinia knew, she would be furious. Compared to her dignity, Gloucester is…”

This wasn’t a remark targeted solely at me.

The position of the Grand Duchess of Sardinia had been the hottest topic in high society a decade ago.

The Count had wanted my elder sister, Isabella, to claim that seat. Whatever rumors were spun, Gloucester was one of the prestigious families that had existed since the founding of the kingdom, and with Marchioness Leonor as her birth mother, she had more than enough qualifications. Thus, regardless of her own wishes, Isabella had become a strong candidate for the Grand Duchess.

Fortunately, once the Grand Duke of Sardinia snagged a fiancée during his very first season, she was quickly freed from that pressure.

In the very next season, Isabella successfully married after accepting a proposal from the March-Lord of Rothsay.

In the end, Father was the only one who had ever lusted after the title of Grand Duchess, yet ten years later, it still remained as prime fodder for gossip. If they were going to chew someone out, why not chew out the Count? Are we truly that easy of a target?

“Family background really is everything. Just think of whichever Countess of Gloucester she is now. I can’t even remember her face.”

Standing here keeping my mouth shut would only make me look like an absolute pushover.

Ultimately, I cut right into the ladies’ conversation.

“The current Countess is the sixth.”

“Oh, my.”

The noble ladies put on innocent, naive expressions as if they had never expected me to chime in. Quite funny how they assumed I wouldn’t hear them, as if I were a mere wall in this banquet hall.

The conversation continued rather placidly—right up until the waltz began playing. I could feel everyone’s eyes locking onto Karl and me. That made me want to play along even less. I avoided him with all my might.

Had there ever been a time like this since my engagement to Karl? No. This was the first time. Karl had always worked tirelessly to avoid attending social gatherings alongside me. However, we were forced to meet at unmissable court gatherings like this, and every single time, I was always the one to extend my hand first.

He would turn me down using every excuse under the sun. A lady extending an invitation first was already a target of finger-pointing in high society. Therefore, proper etiquette dictated that even if a female beggar on the street asked, a gentleman ought to accept. Yet Karl cared for neither protocol nor propriety.

They said people in the salons weren’t betting on whether we would dance, but rather on what words Karl would use to reject me. If even I knew about it, there was no way Karl didn’t. He knew everything, yet stood by as a bystander, making him the primary culprit behind my status as society’s punching bag.

Well. Either way, this round of bets was completely ruined.

Surrounded by enemies on all sides, that single fact alone brought me a slice of satisfaction.

“Well done.”

Returning with the lemon water, the Marchioness offered a brief word of praise. It wasn’t very chaperone-like, but it was certainly motherly.

“Thank you.”

I replied lightly. As the cool lemon water went down, my chest felt relieved as well. Leaning down slightly, I set the empty glass on the table. I assumed the surrounding commotion was simply due to the song ending.

“My Lady.”

I had never imagined a scenario where Karl, his brows furrowed, would be the first to speak to me.

Because this was a first.