Garden of May - Chapter 155
“We’ll take care of that ourselves.”
—…Very well. I trust you’ll discuss it and prepare properly. Ah, it’s already this late. I need to prepare for departure, so I’ll end the call here. While I’m away, you’re the head of the household, take good care of your mother and Rosalyn.
“Yes, Father.”
Father. A word he had always spoken so easily now caught on his tongue, grating like gravel, lodging there like a thorn.
The call was about to end. Blair had already begun lowering the receiver when a sudden impulse surged up, tightening his grip.
“Did you know? That we… aren’t your biological children?”
It was just one sentence, yet cold sweat seeped into his palms. His eyes burned, wide and bloodshot, his ears ringing from the strain.
Of course they did. That single truth threatened to overturn the very foundation of his life. And what he had lost because of it…
Blair forced himself to stop thinking. He exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing on him. He had already lost everything.
Now, at the very least, he had to gain something.
His union with the Bronte family, that was the greatest form of respect he could offer to his “father.” Even if he wasn’t truly his son, the man had taken him in and raised him as a Winchester.
So he would dedicate the rest of his life to the family. That was his resolve.
—…Hah.
After a suffocating silence, a cold breath reached his ear.
—Did Louise tell you that?
“…So you already knew.”
—I told them several times not to leave alcohol within her reach. Seems the maids have grown careless again. What exactly did Louise say to you?
Blair bit down on his dry lips before answering.
“She said… she never wanted us. That we were… the result of coercion.”
—…When she’s drunk, Louise has always been reckless. She stirs up trouble she can’t take responsibility for, says whatever comes to mind in the moment. That, at least, is very much like Louise.
At first, it was just a vague sense of unease.
His father—who was obsessively sensitive about anything concerning his wife—
yet spoke of her ‘accident’ with a tone that was far too cold and dismissive.
— Whatever you heard, don’t dwell on it. And don’t expect a woman who spends more than half the year drunk to be in her right mind.
“Father.”
Blair let out a strained breath. A creeping unease slithered up his spine, as though he were missing something crucial. So when he spoke again, his voice was raw.
“I… want to know the truth.”
The longest silence since the call began followed.
His wife’s dignity and the despair of the son he had raised as his heir. It was an impossible contradiction.
Could something so deeply tangled, so poisoned by years of history, really be explained in just a few words?
After a long internal struggle, the marquis swallowed heavily.
And at last, he spoke.
* * *
Mary deftly straightened her crumpled clothes and stood. Her hand moved carefully as she gathered the money left on the table.
Three pounds, seven pence. Far less than what she had been promised, but she didn’t dare make a sound.
Tonight, the count had seemed particularly volatile. Still, she couldn’t leave like this. If she didn’t bring it up now, there was no telling when she’d see him again.
In recent weeks, Wyatt had been absent from the estate more often than not.
“What is it?”
When the maid didn’t leave as usual, the count frowned, looking irritated, and gestured again.
“That’s enough. Leave. I won’t be calling for you again tonight.”
“…M-master.”
Mary clutched her skirt tightly with a pale face. She tried to speak as calmly as she usually did, but it was nearly impossible.
“Do you remember… you once promised to help find my father, who ran away?”
“Ah, that.”
Wyatt looked mildly annoyed, as if it were nonsense, then nodded as the memory returned.
“He fled to the New World. What about it?”
“I don’t think he actually left Ingram. When I accompanied Miss Vanessa to the departure ceremony last time… I saw him on board with my own eyes. I followed him immediately, but I lost him.”
“….”
“If my father is still in Ingram, I want to find him. He took everything—my savings, anything of value from the house. With the debts, my younger sibling’s hospital fees… even rent has become difficult. You have many connections, my lord… so I was hoping you might look into it again….”
“Mary.”
A slow exhale of cigarette smoke accompanied his sigh.
“So are you saying I lied to you about your father’s whereabouts?”
