BVIB 14

Chapter 14

Rumors in high society traveled faster than feet—faster, even, than horses carrying riders at full gallop, and they inflated far quicker than any balloon.

“A Dangerous Encounter Between Marquis Gueran Wilbred and the Demure Lady of House Bellion!”
“Wilbred Marital Discord: Is the Scandal Finally Here?”
“Marriage on the Brink: Affair or Disaster?”

Roselyn could only let out a wry chuckle as she skimmed the various headlines from the morning papers.

Apparently, the staff at Pluieure Boutique had seen the news too; a letter arrived from them first thing that morning, insisting they had never breathed a word about anything.

Roselyn hadn’t really suspected Pluieure anyway. It was just that there’d been a lot of people out on the street that day—and among them, surely someone was quick to gossip.

The real fuel for these sensational headlines, though, was likely the dozens of dresses that had arrived the day before. Delivering that many required a massive carriage, and of course, plenty of people must have witnessed the spectacle.

A carriage from the suddenly fashionable Pluieure Boutique, pulling up to none other than the Bellion ducal estate—and Roselyn Bellion, who had been seen visiting the boutique in secret with Gueran Wilbred just a week earlier.

All of it combined into the perfect recipe for scandalous rumors.

And now, thanks to the commotion, she’d received an invitation to a formal dinner—specifically because of all this.

…Unbelievable.

That day, her temper had gotten the best of her and she’d just thrown money around at the boutique without a second thought.

She hadn’t expected things to spiral this far.

Then again, maybe it’s for the best, Roselyn mused.
Being engaged to the Imperial family, a scandalous rumor like this would make it much easier to find an excuse to call things off.

“I had something to say, anyway,” she murmured, her expression weary.

That side must be having trouble, too, she thought, recalling how Gueran seemed to be making a real effort to reconcile with the Marchioness.

Not that it’s any of my concern.

Feeling oddly more cheerful, Roselyn made her way toward the garden, where the formal dinner would be held.

By the time she left her secluded room and strolled out into the garden, most of the guests had already arrived.

Heads turned as she entered, eyes settling on her.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace. Thank you for the invitation,” Roselyn greeted politely, straightening her back after a graceful bow.

The Duke of Bellion glanced briefly at her blue-tinged dress before nodding in acknowledgment.

“Take a seat.”

There was a new face at the table today—a man with striking hair, silver streaked with black, and heterochromatic eyes just like the Duke’s. The piercings in his ear and his roguish appearance left no doubt as to his identity, even if he hadn’t been introduced.

It was only the second time Roselyn had actually seen him.

The infamous delinquent who hardly ever comes home… This is unexpected.

Ian Bellion, the notorious second son of the Bellion family.

“What’s this? You don’t look quite as gloomy today,” came a brash, teasing voice.

Roselyn glanced at Ian, then took her seat without replying.

He was the sort of man who made you wonder how someone like him could possibly have been born into the Bellion family. A genius at mischief, sharper than anyone when it came to pranks—a grown man with the heart of a reckless child. A notorious drunk. An utter troublemaker.

There was no shortage of colorful descriptions for Ian Bellion.

In some ways, he was strikingly similar to Roselyn herself.

And, in the end, he died.

He hadn’t escaped the royal purge. Around that time, Ian Bellion had gotten wrapped up in a particularly messy incident. Aegis had been away, the Duke was hardly ever lucid due to illness, and everything had fallen apart.

Roselyn’s gaze drifted from Ian, to her father, then to the Duke, and finally to Aegis, seated beside him.

Now that Carmel’s been driven out, things should be safer.

When her eyes met the Duke’s, she gave him a small, habitual smile. The Duke hesitated, then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, let’s eat.”

Roselyn inwardly winced at the Duke’s sense of style—today, he’d chosen a flamboyant suit patterned with bright flowers.

The meal began in silence.

Or rather, it had been quiet—until halfway through the meal, when Roselyn’s father, Cherti Bellion, suddenly broke the silence.

“I’m against this,” he declared abruptly.

Roselyn, who’d just finished eating and was lightly wetting her lips with wine, looked up in surprise.

Cherti was staring at her with a gloomy, shadowed expression, his jeweled earring swaying slightly.

“What on earth do you lack that you’d go meeting a married man!” he blurted out.

“….”

Roselyn’s eyes narrowed just a little.

“In any case, I disapprove. So—”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Gueran,” she interjected calmly.

“Gueran?” Cherti repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he latched onto her words.

“Marquis Gueran. We just happened to become acquainted, that’s all—it’s nothing like the rumors,” Roselyn explained, her tone even.

“Gueran is a man whose true intentions are impossible to read. I have no idea what you’re thinking, getting involved with someone like him. If you had any sense—”

Roselyn raised a hand, gently cutting him off, her exhaustion showing.

“There’s nothing between me and Marquis Gueran, Father,” she repeated, a bit more firmly.

“…What?”

Cherti’s eyes widened and trembled at her curt reply, as if stung.

Roselyn’s gaze grew sharper under his probing look.

“You don’t have to keep reminding me of your opinion, Father. There’s no need to send any more letters or flowers, either.”

After more than two weeks of endless flower deliveries, Roselyn had finally reached her limit and decided to speak honestly.

Cherti froze, as if turned to stone.

“…What do you mean by that?”

“I’m talking about the notes you’ve been sending,” Roselyn replied, her face drawn with fatigue.

She didn’t know what he meant to accomplish by it, but the daily barrage of flowers—and, more than that, the short notes attached—had become unbearable.

Notes that read, “These are just common flowers,” “They were cheap,” or “Picked them up on the way.” Every message was tinged with a cold indifference.

To make matters worse, Roselyn didn’t even like strong scents, and every bouquet he sent was overwhelmingly fragrant. The first time she’d been unable to throw them out and left them in her room, she’d wondered if it was some kind of torture.

“I know I’m not the daughter you’d hoped for. I know I’m not worthy of those gifts—or of anything more from you,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

It had always been this way.

Her father never loved her. That was one fact that never changed, no matter the world.

In every instance, he was endlessly indifferent, and if she ever made a request, he’d set his jaw and refuse her coldly—sometimes even going so far as to forbid her from coming near him.

There had been a time when she wished, just once, that he would hold her. But every time she tried to approach, he would look at her in horror and distance himself.

So Roselyn had learned to give up.
Just because the world had changed, she felt no desire to chase some fairytale reconciliation.

After all, just as her father had erased her from his heart long ago, she had long since erased him from hers.

So Roselyn decided to make her position clear—something she’d never been able to say before, simply because she could never even get close enough to her father.

“You may not believe me, but I truly am grateful that you raised me this far, Father.”

She meant it.
For an illegitimate child to be cared for at all—she knew that was more than most would have done.

“I don’t expect anything more. I don’t have the right, nor do I wish to ask,” she added with a faint smile.

Before she’d even finished speaking, the Duke of Bellion, Aegis, and even Ian all turned their eyes simultaneously to Cherti.

Cherti remained frozen, staring at Roselyn’s profile without meeting her gaze. His lips moved wordlessly, and his trembling eyes looked almost pitiable.

“It’s only a shame that I could never be the daughter you wanted,” Roselyn said softly.

Cherti parted his lips, wanting to deny it—wanting to say, “That’s not true.” But the words refused to come out.

As he searched desperately for something—anything—to say, the silence was broken once again by Roselyn herself.