Chapter 74

 9 – Marianne’s Truth – 13

 

After returning to the estate, I first set about gathering information to understand Ilya's situation.

However, I had not been close to Ilya during our academy days or after our marriage, and we shared hardly any mutual acquaintances. Consequently, there was very little I could actually do. It was Evan, needless to say, who came to my aid as I sat there—restless, head in my hands, and at a complete loss for what to do.

 

My husband was protective of my daughter and me—perhaps even excessively so. He worked tirelessly to ensure we could live a life of comfort. Between his duties as a feudal lord and the trading business he established to forge a new path for us, he was incredibly busy. When he left the house, he often returned late. Although he tried his best to join us for the evening meal, it was not always possible.

Today, too, word came in the evening that he would be late getting back.

After finishing dinner and ensuring our daughter was asleep, I waited for his return. In the end, we did not see each other until the break of dawn. Upon seeing me—still awake and waiting—he seemed to sense something, for he immediately offered to help without a second thought.

 

Thanks to his wide-ranging business dealings, Evan was well-connected and acquainted with nobles of every rank.

He spent a few days quietly making inquiries. The information he gathered revealed that Ilya was implicated in multiple crimes, all of which had been conclusively proven. Furthermore, while she had not yet been formally convicted of murdering her younger sister, there was solid evidence pointing to her guilt.

 

He also learned that her bodyguard had been imprisoned as an accomplice.

 

“Wasn't Lady Ilya arrested for the murder of her younger sister in the first place...? How come there are other accusations now?”

“Well. I guess the murder charge is the main issue, but since proving that will likely take time, they're probably pursuing other alleged offenses to buy themselves some time.”

“So, are you saying the charges other than murder are fabricated?”

“Hmm. I can't say for certain that's the case.”

 

It was already late at night. The indoor light casted a dim glow over my husband’s face. Shadows settled deep around his eyes, creating a profound darkness within them. He was often called cunning, given his sharp instincts and business acumen.

He had a round face, large eyes, and a small nose and mouth. Because he looked much younger than his actual age, he was frequently underestimated by other men. Yet, he never let that make him feel inferior; he had even grumbled about growing a beard.

When he asked for my opinion, I told him honestly that it wouldn't suit him and he should skip the idea. I was not sure if he was really listening, though—he was still plotting to grow one someday.

It seems that men often misrepresent their age—specifically, by claiming to be older than they actually are—when conducting business.

The impression one’s appearance makes on others carries significant weight, arguably more so than one’s inner self.

That is why women dress up: to project an image of stature and strength, and to bolster their own confidence. Wearing items that are visibly expensive serves to keep others in check within social circles and can even act as a form of intimidation; demonstrating such wealth serves as a shield for self-protection.

 

That being the case, consider this: Ilya—who shuns flamboyant attire—has devoted herself entirely to self-improvement, elevating her status as a noblewoman through knowledge, culture, and wisdom. She is no mere facade.

 

A woman like that... getting involved in a crime?

It’s unthinkable.

 

“I understand why you’d say that. ...I trust you, so if you insist that Lady Ilya is innocent, I want to believe it. But, Marianne... the truth is, how well do you actually know Lady Ilya? As far as I’m aware, I’ve never seen you and Lady Ilya talk together.”

 

Having attended a school in the suburbs to study commerce, Evan has had almost no contact with Ilya. It seemed their paths crossed only a few times in public during their childhood; in other words, he knew her only as the adult she was now.

 

“For that matter, Marianne, you hardly know Lady Ilya, do you? Why are you so concerned about her when you aren't even close?”

“...”

 

I opened my mouth to retort, but fell silent, realizing his words hit the mark all too well.

 

“……But I suppose it can't be helped.”

“Huh?”

“I'll look into it for you. Properly, this time.”

 

Evan smiled. Just a moment ago, he had seemed rather displeased at the idea of ​​me getting involved with Ilya.

“You must be an admirer of Lady Ilya, then,” he said, seemingly satisfied with his own conclusion.

An admirer? That didn't feel quite right—though, at the same time, it was hard to put a name to the feelings I held for her.

But there was one thing I did know.

Perhaps I had wanted to be her all along. I only realized it after I got married.

 

Since I could handle most things with ease from a young age, to put it bluntly, I never truly felt a sense of accomplishment in anything. A bodyguard once remarked that I always looked bored—an observation that was likely spot-on.

Because I never experienced the sensation of overcoming an obstacle, I never felt that deep-seated sense of anticipation when starting something new.

Furthermore, while I was considered bright, I could also see the limits of my own abilities, so I simply wouldn't attempt things that seemed beyond my reach. In short, I was a fool who dismissed any effort that seemed futile as a waste of time. It is only recently that I have realized the very things I cast aside as useless were, in fact, the things that truly mattered.

 

It was merely a guess, but I imagine Ilya overcame countless moments where she might have thought, “I can't do this,” steadily mastering each skill one by one. I was keenly aware that the cumulative weight of those efforts is what had elevated her very being. Such indomitable spirit was not something just anyone could emulate; indeed, that quality itself was a form of talent.

I, on the other hand, never even practiced flying—held back by the ceiling above, ignoring the blue sky that stretched out just beyond it.

Growing from my back are wings that have never once flapped. I do not know how to move them, so I cannot.

Stiff and atrophied, they will eventually fester, tear away, and fall off. Until that day comes, I have no choice but to walk on, dragging these useless wings behind me.

 

As for Ilya... she took flight. Even with her broken, blood-stained wings, she forced them to move and burst right through the ceiling.

I watched it all happen from afar.

 

After I married, my circle of acquaintances expanded far beyond what it had been before, and as I came into contact with a wide variety of people, I realized just how much I had relied on others to get by.

Reflecting on it now, everything I was ever given had been carefully selected by those around me. There were no mistakes in those choices.

Ruby said she chose the flute because she wasn't good at the piano. I was good at the piano, so I wasn't given the flute. I’ve never played one, so I can’t say for sure, but perhaps I would have been bad at it. I wonder how things might have turned out if I’d been handed a flute at the start.

I don't think I would have become any good at the flute, no matter how much I practiced.

 

Even now, it is precisely because Evan was here that I could remain within the safety of the estate while gathering information about Ilya.

 

“Thank you, Lord Evan.”

As I expressed my gratitude to my husband for his cooperation, he nodded.

He was telling me that he loved me—that he will do anything I desire.

 

******

 

“Marianne, how much do you know about Lady Ilya and her younger sister?”

 

Hoping I might learn something from my father, I had contacted my family home and asked the steward to arrange a meeting. As I sat across from my father, I felt a sense of nostalgia returning to the estate after so long.

Being alone together like this was a rarity, which made me feel ill at ease—especially given the gravity of the situation. Although he welcomed me with a smile, the atmosphere remained somewhat tense.

 

Upon entering the reception room, we followed protocol: exchanging pleasantries about each other's well-being before sitting on the sofas facing one another. My father, seated across the low table, maintained a stern expression. He wasted no time in bringing up the subject of Ilya and her late younger sister.

It was difficult to articulate the nature of the relationship between the sisters, but believing they had been close, I stated as much. My father, however, denied it with a grave look on his face.

He revealed that, within a select circle of high society, rumors of a rift between Ilya and her sister—Sylvia—had been whispered as fact.

 

I had never heard such a thing.

 

I stood there, dumbfounded and agape, only to be told that this was not information known to the general public.

It seems most people had dismissed the rumors as the work of malicious individuals intent on dragging Ilya’s name through the mud. I, too, vehemently insisted that this must be the case.

After all, I had seen with my own eyes how deeply Ilya cared for her younger sister—how she treated her as someone truly precious. Yet, my father brushed me off curtly.

“And yet, given how things have turned out... I am forced to admit that it was the truth.”

What I was told next revealed a relationship between Ilya and Soleil that I had never even imagined: a bond that had grown utterly cold.

That couldn't be right. I tried to argue my case, passionately describing the feelings I had sensed in Soleil based on how I’d seen her act at the academy—but my arguments were immediately shot down.

 

Apparently, a friend of Soleil’s testified that he had regarded Ilya with animosity.

 

“The person who gave that testimony... was it Lord Edward, the one with the red hair?”

I recalled the way he looked at Ilya—and the tone he used—which could hardly be described as gentle.

 

My father didn't answer that question, simply concluding, “In any case, it seems the relationship between Lady Soleil and Lady Ilya wasn't exactly a good one.”

A chill ran down my spine at the realization that, even though the true nature of a marriage is something only the couple themselves can know, outsiders would so readily pass judgment based merely on appearances.

But, that aside...

 

“Even considering that Lady Ilya and Lord Soleil were on bad terms... well, I suppose I can't say for sure... but how does that relate to the incident at hand? Surely there is no connection?”

“It seems that isn't the case.”

“What do you mean?”

 

“It appears Lord Soleil was... quite infatuated with Lady Sylvia.”

 

“...Infatuated...? Huh? —————What... exactly do you mean...?”

The sound of my own trembling voice echoed through the room.

Deep down, I understood the meaning of my father's words, yet my heart refused to accept it. Even so, my father ruthlessly laid the truth before me.

 

“According to the servants at the Mathis estate, Lord Soleil frequently came to visit Lady Sylvia.”

“!”

Upon hearing that this had been going on even before their marriage, the blood drained from my body all at once. My face turned cold. I felt as though the blood draining from my very toes was pooling at my feet.

Back when I was attending the academy, I had indeed heard rumors that Soleil was a frequent visitor to Ilya’s estate. So, *this* was where it all led.

 

“The talk is that the two of them were likely lovers.”

“What are you saying?!”

 

Unable to hold back, I raised my voice, cutting right over my father’s words.

What on earth am I listening to right now?

 

As I stood up in a burst of agitation, he gestured for me to sit back down. “Even I don't know what the truth is,” he said, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion—as if he had set his feelings aside somewhere. That was only natural; he was not intimately familiar with the details of the incident. He was merely recounting a story he had heard from others—nothing more than a rumor. He hadn't verified the facts himself.

“...So, is the prevailing story that Lady Ilya committed the crime out of jealousy over the relationship between Lord Soleil and Lady Sylvia?”

Father nodded deeply, then suddenly looked away and crossed his arms. He appeared to be deep in thought.

After a moment, he picked up a stack of documents from the side table, flipped through the pages, and tapped his temple rhythmically with his index finger—a habit of his when organizing his thoughts. I gathered, then, that the matter was not nearly so simple.

 

“That is all just the official story.”

“...The official story?”

 

After mentioning that he had heard a different account from someone in the vigilante corps, Father fell silent.

 

“Father?”

“……Marianne.”

“Yes?”

“I love you. You are very precious to me.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“I see.”

 

And with that, he unilaterally cut the conversation short.

 

“……Father?”

 

My father stood up abruptly and, as he began to walk away, started asking all sorts of questions about his granddaughter—who had just turned three. His eyes crinkled at the corners, giving him the look of a doting, kindly grandfather. He told me he had prepared a birthday gift and instructed me to come back another day with Evan. He had changed the subject—blatantly so.

“Father...!”

I wanted him to continue talking about Ilya, but he simply wouldn't listen.

He rang the bell to summon an attendant and ordered them to fetch Cynthia, saying she, too, had been wanting to see me. Seeing that, I couldn't very well press the issue any further. It was one thing to speak with my father alone, but discussing Ilya in the presence of a third party was, after all, out of the question.

 

She was currently held captive as a criminal.

 

It did not look good to be seen as having a close relationship with her. It was not just a problem for me; it was detrimental to everyone.

I must bear in mind that this was the kind of person Ilya had become. I, too, had things to protect. I must absolutely avoid dragging my daughter into this.

 

In fact, it seemed that anyone believed to have had close ties to Ilya was facing scrutiny from the authorities and was living in a state of constant dread. With each passing day, the situation was proving to be far more serious than I had initially imagined.

If the wife of a marquess's heir had indeed been involved in criminal activity—and even taken the life of a blood relative—it constituted a major scandal capable of shaking not just high society, but the entire nation. Everyone in the country knew the House of Nortis to be one that enjoys the King's deep trust.

It was palpable just how desperate the Nortis family was to bring this matter to a close as quickly as possible.

All I could do was hope that things turn out well for Ilya.

 

If only someone would hurry and prove Ilya's innocence.

It wasn't just the Nortis family; the Mathis family must surely be taking action to save her as well. Although they ranked third among the earldoms, their current head was known for his keen intellect. Perhaps they possessed evidence that could prove her innocence.

 

But what if—as my father suggested—the love triangle surrounding Ilya wasn't the root cause, and there were other motives at play in this incident? Did that mean this wasn't merely a case of robbery-murder? Where did the answer lie? I had no idea.

What was the surface, and what lay beneath?

For now, I took what I heard from my father back and shared it with Evan.

“I see... So that is how the situation stands.”

He had listened in silence, looking even more grave than he had a few days ago; after a long pause, he spoke those words.

 

“It seems that Lady Ilya’s felony charge has been confirmed.”

 

“-----She will probably be sentenced to capital punishment.”

Chapter 73                                                 Chapter 75