Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 241

Louise’s face turned red, as if someone had spilled dye all over her.

“What do you mean by that…?”

Bernarda let out a quiet laugh through her nose. The teacup she held in both hands trembled slightly in rhythm with her shoulders.

“……”

Louise bit her lower lip hard. Her face still burned, but whether it was solely due to the shame of having no relations with men for the longest time or for some other reason was unclear.

Bernarda turned her gaze to the fireplace. The embers of the burnt logs were slowly dying out, leaving behind blackened remnants and ash.

At that moment, raindrops began tapping against the window. It was a warm spring rain. Bernarda shifted her eyes to the window, where beads of water clung to the glass.

From the first-floor reception room of the townhouse, the small front garden was visible at a glance. Tulips, crocuses, daffodils, and magnolias—flowers of various colors bloomed, with some fully open while others unfurled at their own pace.

Even in the overcast weather, the petals merely swayed, but the blossoms did not fall. Droplets of rain clung to the flowers like dew, then dripped down, tracing their way to the roots.

“Spring is still spring.”

She murmured softly.

“Even when it’s this cold, it’s spring.”

“You’re sensitive to the cold, Madam, because your body is so delicate.”

“……”

“Shall I tell them to stoke the fire more strongly?”

Bernarda shook her head.

“It’s about time Caroline returned. You should go back to your post now.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“And when you return to the Coffret Manor, there’s no need to continue searching for the item you were looking for.”

“Pardon? Oh… yes, understood.”

Louise obeyed the command and left the reception room.

Bernarda was now alone. She took a sip of her milk tea and closed her eyes.

And then, in a voice too soft for anyone to hear, she murmured,

“If only I can send Cecilia far away…”

Dealing with Lilith would be easy. She might be a favored mistress and a gypsy, but she was a fool who had failed to take advantage of either trait.

Now, Bernarda was thinking. Should she push the rumor about Nigel and Cecilia’s affair toward an engagement—no, toward marriage? It was a profitable move, and convincing Adam would not be difficult.

The only thing left was to pressure the Rosencrantz family.

…And she had the means to do so. Their family owed a debt to hers and Lasphilla.

They seemed to believe the matter was resolved, buried in the past when the evidence was destroyed. But they were gravely mistaken.

She never forgot. Not even the smallest offense, the most unforeseen mistake, or the gravest sin. She documented everything, leaving evidence behind.

Even if there was no tangible proof and only circumstantial evidence remained, she could reconstruct anything.

If Guinevere had destroyed evidence of such existence, Bernarda could fabricate evidence of a non-existent reality.

The poison that woman— Hannah Linfitt—took with her own hands. The suspicious illness that led to her death in prison shortly after appealing and requesting a retrial—no, this could rightly be called murder. A case concluded with the death of the perpetrator.

But it could be reopened.

Everything could be reversed.

Because she was…

“This chill is nothing compared to before.”

…a gypsy.

***

“Welcome back, Lady Caroline. It was drizzling—did you get caught in the rain?”

“Can’t you tell just by looking?”

Caroline, returning from an outing, flung her short-brimmed hat toward the maid. Although surprised by her mistress’s uncharacteristic behavior, the maid, seasoned in her service, didn’t show it.

“Your clothes are wet, Milady. It would be terrible if you caught a cold before your next journey. Please change into dry clothes.”

“There’s no need.”

“Shall I prepare a warm tea for you?”

“No, that’s not necessary either.”

Any further attempt to care for the clearly irritated lady would only backfire. The maid bowed lightly and returned to her post.

As soon as Caroline entered her room, she flung the shawl draped over her shoulders and her gloves onto a chair by the table.

The gloves were difficult to remove, and the ends of the shawl, damp and clammy, felt unpleasant to touch. Moisture lingered on her right arm and ankles.

Caroline searched for a towel. But no maid was there to hand her one—she had dismissed them herself.

She wiped off the water with her hands and eventually picked up the discarded shawl.

“……”

It still felt clammy.

She threw the shawl to the floor.

Then, suddenly, she lifted her foot.

Stomp! She pressed down hard on the shawl with her shoe. One side of the linen flattened, causing the other side to bulge upward. Stomp, stomp. She mercilessly stepped on that side as well.

“I’m angry.”

She muttered as she continued to stomp.

“I’m furious.”

Her flushed cheeks, tinged with both makeup and natural heat, twitched with emotion.

“I hate it.”

Exhausted from her tantrum, she collapsed to the floor and buried her face into the bedspread.

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