Chapter 193

Chapter 193

Deatrice halted in her tracks, and the name that had suddenly surfaced rolled off her lips.

It was the name of Lucius’s biological mother, the one who had appeared so abruptly in the drawing room of the Duke’s estate, revealing Lucius as a bastard before vanishing into the same inexplicable thin air.

The maid had been busy organizing the box containing the letters during this exchange. Deatrice, as if possessed, made her way towards that box.

Here, a collection of letters exchanged between Bella Anise and Count Perry was found. Reading someone else’s letters was undoubtedly immoral, but Deatrice couldn’t help but think that this might be an opportunity, perhaps more than anything else, to heal Lucius’s wounds, wounds that he had never mentioned but that Deatrice could only guess at.

Perhaps he viewed Bella Anise much like others defined her, a woman who had sold her own child to the Duke for money. Deatrice herself had held similar judgments about Bella Anis, but Lucius’s perspective on his birth mother was a realm apart from how others perceived her.

After all, to Lucius, Bella Anise was still his mother. The sense of abandonment he must have felt, knowing his own mother had seemingly discarded him for wealth, was a kind of despair Deatrice couldn’t fathom.

So, if this letter contained any evidence that his mother wasn’t inherently wicked, if it held sentences infused with maternal affection, maybe Lucius’s deeply scarred wounds could begin to heal, even just a little.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Deatrice retrieved the letters.

They were tied together in the order they had been received. A few were missing, but those left behind bore more fingerprints and signs of frequent handling, indicating that they had been taken out not by mistake but to be reread.

As expected, these were love letters.

Presumably exchanged during the period when the Count had left Bella Anis. Each began with

“To C.”

“To C,

The weather is pleasant today. It’s quite surprising that even after you’ve left, I can still feel the beauty of the day. The day you departed, I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe without you. However, even after you’ve gone, the days are beautiful, and I can still feel it.

Humans, as you often said, eventually adapt, even in the face of great disasters. Your words come to mind.

Today, I taught Isabella a new piano piece. She learned it quickly; she seems to have a natural talent for the piano. It’s quite different from me, who struggles to complete a single piece. She might surpass me soon. Thinking about it makes me miss you even more.

There were few songs left to teach Isabella now. Whenever I would exclaim that, you used to sit me down and teach me a new piece. But now that you’re not here, it takes me weeks to learn a new one. Isabella, on the other hand, masters them in a matter of days. Do you realize how precarious my situation is without you? So, if you care about my livelihood, please come back to me soon.”

The tone of the letter was surprisingly mature and affectionate. It contrasted sharply with the theatrical, pretentious demeanor Deatrice had observed in the reception room that day and the subsequent image of a woman who had abandoned her child.

There were passages that were tender and affectionate, ones that were too touching to dismiss entirely. It was filled with literary refinement and obvious devotion, yet it also carried a discomforting reminder of the affair.

However, Deatrice tried her best to put aside her own unease, focusing on her goal of understanding Bella Anise’s perspective.

The content of most of the letters was quite similar. They spoke of missing the departed, of everyday thoughts and activities. Most of them ended with a determined expression of waiting patiently.

But in one of them, written in a moment of unbearable frustration, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of resentment.

“… Am I boring you? I can’t help but think so every time I write. You’re always busy, with problems to solve, so you can’t come to me. I should forgive you because you’re doing your best to resolve the issues you’ve encountered. But every time you say that, I can’t help feeling like I’m just a small part of the problems you have to solve.

Homework is always boring and uninteresting, isn’t it? So, is that why my letters to you have become infrequent? Now I can’t help but think that I’ve become tedious to you.

I keep delaying writing to you like a homework assignment, thinking I’ll forget about it at some point. What if I forget about it altogether? Then, I’ll become a worse entity than an unread book on your desk. I’m in Hastow, after all. There’s no reason for you to even notice me. If you stop writing to me now, what will become of me?

I sincerely hope my love for you never turns into a mistake. There’s nothing in the world that I’ve loved more than you. If the object of my entire devotion becomes a mistake, I won’t be able to bear it.”

However, in the next letter, she began with an apology for having sent such emotional letters before.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. To say that I don’t trust you. I read the last letter you sent and regretted it so much.

Your father falling ill is heartbreaking. Please forgive me. Don’t hold onto any of the things I said. I will pray for you here.”

Reading that passage, Deatrice couldn’t help but recall the tragic events at the Penry estate twenty years ago. The outbreak of the epidemic that had ravaged Penry, claiming the lives of the previous Earl’s father and elder brother. Even the current Earl, Chris Penry, had fallen gravely ill, and Lady Penry had miscarried their child due to her own illness at the time.

Chris Penry, who had served in the Navy as the second-born son of the Penry estate, had inherited the title after losing his father, elder brother, and even his own child due to the outbreak.

Although these events had occurred before Deatrice’s birth, they were widely known, and she had a rough idea of when they had taken place. The epidemic, originating at the Penry estate, had spread to both Woldhaven and the capital. It was a time of darkness and disease, where countless lives were lost.

The letters ended after that time.