Chapter 135
Autumn Guest
From Olivia, nestled in his arms, came the sweet scent of her skin.
It was soft and delicate, like the morning sunlight filtering past the curtains.
Having woken up first, Johann gazed down at his wife, who was sleeping as if she had fainted.
He recalled how, even after spending countless nights together, she had still shaken her head like a frightened child—and absurdly, the memory rekindled the heat inside him.
When she acted so naïve, as if she knew nothing about men, it drove his already thin patience to the brink of madness.
With a hot breath, Johann pulled her soft, pale body firmly against him.
Within that gentle pressure, Olivia slowly opened her eyes.
The faint outline above her grew clear, and soon the owner of the warm breath brushing her cheek came sharply into focus.
In that instant, the burning sensations of the previous night surged back to her.
“Awake?”
Startled, Olivia stammered.
“Ah!”
Trying to wriggle free from Johann’s embrace, she strained her body—only to let out a groan as a dull ache spread from her waist downward.
Her body felt sore all over, as if she had been beaten through the night.
“Just stay like this a little longer.”
Johann pressed his lips against the nape of her neck.
Heat spread from behind her neck, making the fine hairs stand on end.
His hand naturally trailed along her body, slowly moving upward.
“A-ah, I get it. …I get it, so please, just a little distance.”
At her earnest plea, Johann gave a short laugh—and then drew even closer.
With a look of disbelief, Olivia struggled in his arms.
How can he possibly be like this again?
In the sunlight spilling through the curtains, her face flushed red as if it might burst.
Her body throbbed from the torment of the night, her voice hoarse from the cries and moans that had escaped her. And yet again…
“Liar.”
“I don’t recall promising I wouldn’t do anything.”
Johann smiled mischievously.
“You said—just for a moment like this—”
He turned her face toward him, and her protest was once more broken apart against his lips.
Like a parched beast, he swallowed her lips and slowly pulled the blanket away.
The clear morning light illuminated Olivia’s flushed and bruised body.
Another night of passion was beginning.
The duke and his wife shared a late breakfast, almost lunch.
The meal was served in Johann’s chamber.
It was his consideration for a wife he had worn out not just all night, but into the morning hours.
Dismissing the servants, Johann personally attended to her, making it a truly perfect morning.
“If there’s a designer you want, just say so.”
After a sip of coffee, Johann set down his cup and asked.
As Olivia cut into the yolk of her poached egg, she remembered one of the dresses Princess Irene had shown her a few days ago.
But she quickly shook off the thought.
If she dared covet the Queen’s exclusive designer just for a portrait, malicious rumors would inevitably spread.
“I like the designer I have now.”
“Good. Then. The work will begin once the gown is finished. They say it’ll take about three months.”
“Three months?”
Olivia’s face stiffened; she had thought it would take only a month. Johann gave a small nod and continued.
“Arrange the schedule yourself.”
She cut up asparagus and red beans into neat pieces.
Maybe I should have refused after all.
But then… every time Johann said he had an engagement, every time he left on business trips—her blood would surely run dry during those unseen hours.
“Olivia.”
His calm voice called her back. She finally looked up.
A man with tousled platinum hair falling lazily across his forehead was staring at her intently.
Even fresh from the bath, in disarray, he looked stunning.
“Ah… sorry. I was just lost in thought. I’ll do as you say.”
“What thought?”
The light dimmed from Johann’s eyes, narrowing sharply.
“About the dress. What design might be nice. Do you have a style you prefer?”
“Something easy to take off.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Johann’s reply left Olivia dumbfounded.
Compared to the shameless jokes they had traded in bed the night before, it was nothing—but still, her cheeks turned crimson at once.
“Finish eating.”
Resting his chin on one hand, Johann spoke to his wife, who was glaring prettily at him.
In his mind, he was already stripping away each layer she wore, waiting impatiently for her breakfast to end.
“My lady, everything is ready.”
Sitting at her desk in the study, Olivia lifted her head.
“Thank you. Just wait ten minutes, Bessie.”
After finishing the ledger entries, she organized the tax records neatly.
Then, with the head maid, she headed to the atelier and bedchamber that had been prepared for Clara.
The atelier—at the far end of the west wing’s first floor—and the third-floor bedchamber were the very rooms Andreya Nikolai had used three years ago.
It had been Diane Brook who designated the west wing, where the duchess’s chamber also was, as the quarters for a male painter. Even if nothing happened, tongues would wag at such proximity.
Olivia inspected the atelier first.
With curtains and sofa covers changed to suit the season, and unnecessary furniture cleared out, the room was now perfectly suited for work.
Confirming Clara’s requests had been met, Olivia turned.
“Good work.”
She praised the head maid and staff for their efforts, then headed toward the bedchamber.
The maid opened the guestroom door and stepped aside. Sunlight streamed in, flooding the room with brightness.
Olivia followed the light inside.
Crossing the room to the window, she saw the same view from her own balcony—a picturesque scene beneath the clear autumn sky.
The lake, ringed by cedar forest, shimmered quietly as ever.
After gazing at it for a while, she turned slowly.
Facing Clara’s chamber, situated directly above her own, felt strange.
Clara, once a nurse at Hessen City Hospital, had saved Johann when he was attacked. Feeling a strange pull toward her, he had hired Clara as his nurse and brought her back to Greythill.
Back then, she hadn’t stayed here but in the attic with the other maids.
Now, with so much already diverging from the original story, Olivia told herself not to be overly sensitive.
It was the first week of October.
That morning, Johann left on a three-day trip. Around noon, Olivia’s wedding dress was delivered. And by afternoon, Clara had arrived.
“Welcome, Miss Josephine.”
“How have you been?”
Clara, alighting from the carriage, embraced Olivia lightly.
Startled by the sudden intimacy, Olivia steadied herself and placed her hand on Clara’s shoulder, returning the hug calmly.
“The Duke is away, I see.”
“Yes.”
Olivia smiled, adding that he would return in time for the work schedule.
She didn’t forget to study Clara’s expression. But there was nothing beyond polite formality.
“Shall we go to your room first?”
Together they ascended the entrance steps.
Behind them followed the head maid, Clara’s own maid, and servants carrying her luggage.
“Ah! Please move those to the atelier.”
Clara halted to instruct the servants, ensuring her boxes of paints and tools were sent correctly, then resumed walking.
The two women passed through the sunlit central hall.
As they mounted the central staircase landing, Olivia asked a question.
“Do you have any allergies or foods you can’t eat?”
“None at all, madam.”
Walking beside her, Clara turned with a clear smile. It was so open and genuine that it held no trace of falsehood.
Olivia’s eyes darkened.
She hadn’t asked out of ignorance.
Clara was supposed to have a nut allergy.
Olivia Blanchett had once deliberately put finely ground pecans into her food, knowing this.
Her throat had swelled shut in an instant, nearly killing her. If she hadn’t been a nurse herself, quick with first aid, she might have died.
And yet—Clara claimed she had no such allergy.
Olivia felt shaken. How much of what she knew could she still rely on?
From her very first appearance, Clara had undermined her expectations as though mocking her.
“Duchess?”
Clara’s voice pulled Olivia from her daze. They were already at the door.
“Oh! How forgetful of me. This is your room, Miss Josephine. I hope you’ll like it.”
Olivia hid her doubts behind a smile.
After all, even her very origins had changed—so if her constitution had shifted too, it wasn’t unthinkable. But confirmation was necessary.
The guestroom door opened, and Clara crossed the threshold.
“What a splendid room. And that view—positively breathtaking.”
She walked gracefully toward the light streaming in, gazing out the window with admiration.
Beyond the glass, the blazing red leaves met the deep blue sky, painting the perfect image of autumn.
Three months lay ahead.
And afterward… who would be the one to leave Greythill?
Stepping inside, Olivia wondered.
