Chapter 128
Great Hill
The mistress of Great Hill returns.
At the sudden telegram from Le Montval, both the once-peaceful Great Hill and the bored capital city of Rondon, Leiden, were thrown into uproar.
“Have you heard the news?”
“You mean the rumor that Duke Leopold and Marquis Lancelot fought a duel?”
“That’s right. My brother’s at Le Mont Municipal Hospital. They say the gunshot wound was severe.”
“Heavens! So it was true. How romantic, like the twilight of an era. I’m even jealous. What on earth was so irresistible about that bastard child?”
“Watch your words, madam.”
A middle-aged woman cautioned the younger countess beside her.
“Oh… it’s a bad habit.”
Startled, the young woman covered her mouth with her hand.
That the Rondon high society, which had been idly watching the fire across the sea, now grew tense at Olivia’s return was only natural.
They had seen for themselves that even the most exalted princess, if she caught the wrong glance from Olivia, could spend the rest of her life in a barren exile.
On top of that, there was the duke’s sudden deep affection for her, and her closeness with Princess Irene, the crown princess-to-be.
So while they pretended to sip their tea calmly, each one was secretly trembling, recalling the cruelties they had once inflicted upon the Duchess of Leopold.
It felt like this autumn would be unseasonably cold.
The carriage, having left the winding, gentle hill road, was now running through a dense conifer forest.
Under the setting sun, the forest road bathed in crimson light exuded an air of mystery. Olivia sat quietly, gazing out of the window.
She suddenly recalled the day she had left this place—early spring, when budding branches first began to bloom.
She had never imagined she would return.
As the trees thinned, a driveway lined with evenly spaced spruces appeared. The carriage picked up speed.
The sunset, spreading softly from the western sky, wrapped the distant, massive mansion in a golden glow.
Great Hill.
Let’s go home, Olivia.
A fierce pull and a powerful push collided within her all at once.
Acknowledging her feelings for him and accepting them were two different matters.
Just as she was swept between the urge to flee and an indescribable fullness, the carriage passed out of the tree shade and swiftly entered the wide-open gates of Great Hill.
Olivia let out a sigh without realizing it.
Back to the beginning, after all the circling.
It should have been simple—just not to love him. And when the moment came, to step away quietly. Such an easy thing.
Olivia tightened her clasped hands on her knees.
“What are you thinking?”
Johann’s calm gaze rested on her shadowed eyes.
It had already been an hour since they switched from the train at Leiden Central to this carriage. By now her neck should ache, yet Olivia sat like a statue, staring endlessly outside.
What was she thinking? Whom was she thinking of? Or was it regret?
If it had been Edgar, not him, who appeared in the back alley of Litton Port that night—then who would she be with now? Johann’s throat worked slowly.
For a brief moment in the hospital, he had regained consciousness.
“…Olivia.”
As always, he sought her.
“With Lancelot’s blood. In the garden.”
The voice he heard was not Morris’s, but his grandmother’s.
A faint glimpse of Margaret standing by the window—and then darkness again. Even while hovering between life and death, he had thought it absurd.
Despite the doctors’ and his grandmother’s protests, he had forced himself back on board the ship for that reason.
The furrow in Johann’s brow deepened as he spoke again.
“I asked you, Olivia.”
Olivia turned her head. Their eyes met, drawn together like magnets.
In those silvery gray eyes, flecked with scattered blue, an intensely restrained passion smoldered like fire.
She must not look into those eyes. They turned everything into nothing.
All the time she had spent running to survive, all the vows she had made not to love him—they all became meaningless before that gaze.
“Nothing… just that it’s been a long time.”
Olivia murmured vaguely and turned back to the window.
The carriage slowed, then stopped. As if time had rewound, the door opened. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, then slowly opened them.
“Welcome home, madam.”
The servants, lined up before them, bowed as the two stepped out.
Behind them, Great Hill loomed like a colossal wall of ice.
Anne, following Olivia into the mansion, felt a rush of emotion.
She had thought the memories of those terrible times would remain like stains everywhere, but everything had changed so thoroughly that even faint traces were gone.
“My name is Bessie Floren, madam. Please call me Bessie.”
The head maid bowed. Behind her, other maids with luggage bent politely. All were unfamiliar faces.
So they’ve all been replaced.
Anne breathed easier and silently followed Olivia.
When Olivia returned the greeting with due courtesy, the head maid led her to the second-floor bedroom.
Her manners and expression betrayed not the slightest personal feeling.
Yet Anne could not fully relax. That was the harsh lesson Diana Brooke had taught her.
At first, even Anne had thought Diana an angel. But vigilance was everything.
“We redecorated in preparation for your arrival, but if it displeases you, we’ll call the interior designer again, madam.”
In the bedroom, the head maid spoke respectfully.
From behind Olivia, Anne scanned the unfamiliar room.
It felt as if they had stepped into someone else’s chamber. There was no trace of Diana Brooke.
The ostentatious room, once urged on by Diana to rival even the Queen’s chambers, was now refined, blending classical beauty with modern taste.
“I like it. Thank you for your effort.”
Olivia smiled warmly at the head maid as she glanced over the ornaments atop the mantelpiece.
After thanking her, Olivia passed a large ochre vase filled with pale blue hydrangeas and walked to the balcony doors.
Beside the wide-open windows, the heavy seasonal curtains, neatly tied back, billowed with the incoming breeze.
Climbing out onto the rear balcony, she beheld in the distance a lake nestled in cedar woods, where violet dusk was settling.
For a long moment, Olivia gazed at the lake.
Anne, busy unpacking with the maids, turned to look at her. Her hands froze mid-motion.
“…”
From where she stood, Olivia must be looking at that lake—the ominous lake of death.
That rainy spring night, when the harsh winter chill still lingered, Olivia had disappeared, only to be found by the lake.
In the pitch dark, her white dress, puffed like a magnolia blossom, floated upon the water, glowing in the moonlight. What thoughts filled her now, gazing there again?
My lady.
Anne’s heart sank with a sudden dread.
She is the young lady, yet not the young lady.
What if she were to vanish again, one day, without warning? The fear gripped her. Anne shook her head quickly and ran to Olivia.
“The wind is chilly, my lady. You’ll catch a cold.”
Anne adjusted the shawl draped loosely over her shoulders, following her gaze toward the lake.
From beyond, in the deepening twilight, birds cried out in the forest.
“…My lady.”
Anne called softly. Olivia stood as if entranced, her calm eyes like the dark, fathomless lake itself.
“Ah! Sorry—did you call me?”
Turning to Anne, Olivia smiled as brightly as ever.
“Let’s go in now, my lady.”
At that moment, the head maid, finished with her work, approached.
“We’ll prepare supper downstairs so you may dine with the master, madam.”
“I ate lightly on the train. Tonight I’d rather rest. Thank you.”
“Then allow us to prepare your bath.”
“Anne will help me.”
With a gentle smile, Olivia dismissed the servants.
After leaving polite bows, they withdrew. Fatigue pressed in on her.
“You’ve worked hard. Go and rest, Anne.”
Olivia spoke as Anne tidied the discarded dress.
“I’ll see you to bed first, my lady.”
Anne insisted, but her pale face—still sick from seasickness—made Olivia usher her firmly out of the room.
Finally alone, Olivia headed to the bath.
The ivory tub, already filling with water, shimmered faintly.
Closing the tap, Olivia shed her robe at last.
With a splash, her pale body sank into the lukewarm water, a delicate scent of roses rising.
The gentle warmth spread through her body; her eyes drifted closed.
From the dark forest came the cry of jackals. Reality pressed in again.
Great Hill.
Olivia repeated the truth to herself.
She emerged only when drowsiness threatened to overcome her.
After drying herself, she wrapped her robe, tied the sash.
Droplets slid slowly from the ends of her half-dried hair, but she was too weary to care.
Covering her yawns, Olivia stepped from the bath into her room.
At the faint light of the bedroom ahead, her languid body froze still.
“…”
Johann Leopold was there, leaning back against the headboard, watching her.
Bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, their eyes met.
