To My First Love, With Regret - 56

—Major Fairchild, there is one thing I am curious about.

Eve addressed him formally, as befitted a mere guest, and let a sharp edge of sarcasm enter her voice.

—For what reason would the military send a hero—one so indispensable to Mercia’s victory—away from the front lines and here, to the peaceful home front?

Ethan’s gaze dropped to the hands of the man and woman intertwined on the table. He looked like an arrogant conqueror who had just discovered a filthy invader’s flag planted in the middle of his own territory. When he finally lifted his head, the eyes that met Eve’s were several degrees colder.

—That is classified.

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I had intended to scold Tony as soon as dinner ended. As usual, Chantal’s meddling interference rendered that plan a failure.

Today’s distraction was somewhat novel. She dragged me into the drawing room under the guise of conversation, only to immediately launch into a hysterical fit, demanding that I throw out all the officers.

—I believe I told you: either sacrifice my husband to the military, or quietly let me house the officers. Which will it be?

It had only been two days since the officers moved in. Far from being a nuisance, they were barely even visible. Yet, her behavior—acting like someone who had been victimized by a soldier—was entirely due to one person.

—Then at least kick Ethan Fairchild out.

None of the three of us in this room took pleasure in that man staying under the same roof. In fact, Chantal had seemed to welcome his arrival at first, relishing the sight of my reputation being dragged through the mud—right up until Tony suddenly began to admire and follow Ethan.

Is there any rival more threatening than a biological father to snatch away her sole source of power and wealth? Chantal had become terrified of Ethan Fairchild.

—I will. When the time is right.

—The right time? What on earth are you waiting for? Do you honestly still have some foolish lingering attachment to the man who abandoned you?

Faced with such an absurd accusation, I felt a surge of fury as if I’d been slapped.

—The only one here blinded by a man is you. Do you think I don’t know you’re only throwing this tantrum because the Doctor and I held hands to keep up appearances?

Chantal couldn’t deny it. Instead, she shot a venomous glare at the man standing like a sentry by the door.

—Then go ahead and slap your own cheeks. When you sold your lover to be my husband, you should have been prepared for this level of theater.

The talk of a marriage between Dr. Kallas and me had actually begun a long time ago. Unilaterally, of course.

Robert Kallas hadn’t been satisfied with stealing my child and seizing control of Cantrell. Legally, Tony was the child of the late Duke and Chantal, and Robert himself was officially nothing more than the family lawyer.

His ultimate ambition was to marry me—the one with the right of succession—to his son, thereby producing an heir. His plan was to swallow the Sherwood name and replace it with Kallas.

However, Chantal’s rebellion turned his ambition to ash. That woman, who had always been Robert’s loyal accomplice, went into a murderous frenzy at the thought of losing her lover, determined that if she couldn’t have him, no one would. It was the first and last time those two accomplices engaged in a fierce power struggle.

But once Robert Kallas was dead and I reclaimed the family’s practical power, Chantal found herself in the same corner. She realized that if I married into another family and handed over the Duchy—or if Tony met an untimely end—there would be no one to stop me from throwing her out.

The shackle Chantal found at the edge of that cliff was, ironically, the very method of Robert Kallas she had once so violently opposed. Of course, her goal was slightly different.

She wanted to marry me off to a puppet under her control to ensure I would never produce another heir.

Chantal must have felt triumphant when her demand that I marry Dr. Kallas was met. She likely still doesn’t realize that I didn’t marry him because I was forced; I chose him.

—Your personal circumstances are none of my concern. Use whatever means necessary to get Ethan Fairchild out of here immediately.

The fool, deluded into thinking she had regained her power, brandished her old, hidden threat like a weapon now that she felt her precarious position.

—If you don’t kick him out, I’ll expose everything. That you bore the child of the murderer who killed your brother and father, and then stole the family by deceiving your dying father into thinking it was his son.

—Then expose it.

I had always backed down whenever she aimed that fatal secret at me. But today, Chantal faltered as I stepped toward the blade instead.

—Ah, so now that your reputation has been thoroughly defiled by your first husband’s tongue, you have nothing left to fear?

Chantal laughed mockingly, attempting to lecture me.

—Then you’ll go to prison. Don’t you even know that?

—Foolish Chantal. I won’t be going to prison.

I had spent a long time carefully gathering evidence that I was a victim of blackmail and coercion.

—You’re the only one going to prison. And Tony—your only lifeline—will abandon you the moment he finds out you aren’t his biological mother. What affection could that boy possibly have for a stupid woman who made him lose his title and reduced him to a bastard? I would reclaim my son, and the Dukedom would eventually go to another son of my future. I have nothing to lose. So please, by all means, expose it.

A woman so stupid she doesn’t even recognize her own stupidity. Her face finally registered the truth.

If I had thrown her out like the other servants when her only backing, Robert Kallas, died, I wouldn’t have to face that disgusting face any longer.

—Chantal, remember this clearly. The only reason you are still clinging to Cantrell is because Tony believes you are his mother. That is the one and only reason.

The mouth that had been prattling on without knowing its place finally shut. I gave Chantal’s ashen face one last look of disdain and turned away without regret.

—I truly don’t understand why you’d consider suicide just because a single snake entered the house. I’ve survived a house infested with three parasites.

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The clever child had already retreated to bed. Late that night, sitting alone in the study, Eve reopened the work she had been forced to set aside while searching for Tony. But it wasn’t long before a knock at the door interrupted her once more.

Please, let it not be Ethan Fairchild.

But Eve already knew. At this hour, there was only one uninvited guest who would come knocking. Like someone facing a predator, she tensed every nerve in her body and opened the door. However, the moment her eyes met the man standing there, her tension dissipated in a wave of sheer confusion.

—…Dr. Kallas?

The man standing before her had no reason to seek her out unless it concerned Tony’s lessons or health issues.

—What is it?

The doctor didn’t answer immediately. He adjusted his glasses and hesitated. When he finally opened his mouth as if he had made a great resolution, he couldn’t endure Eve’s steady gaze and looked away.

—I have something to tell you. Please, allow me to step inside for a moment.

Suddenly, Dr. Kallas felt like a stranger. Eve did not invite him into her space but asked instead:

—Does Chantal know you’ve come to see me?

—She doesn’t. If you permit it, Chantal’s permission is no longer necessary.

At that moment, an instinctive chill ran down Eve’s spine.

What on earth is this man planning that he talks of permission?

Eve looked closely into his eyes, which no longer avoided her. The emotion within them certainly resembled love, yet it was distant; it was too strangely reverent to be dismissed as mere lust.

—Doctor, I hope you haven’t come here to suggest making this marriage a reality.

—How could a lowly sinner like myself dare to take the Lady I respect as a wife?

At least he knows his place…

—I wish to serve you as my Queen.

—…What nonsense is this now?

Was he drunk again, spiraling into those deranged ramblings? But as the doctor glanced anxiously up and down the empty hallway, he didn’t carry the telltale stench of a drunkard.

—It is a long story. May I come in and explain?

—Come in. But leave the door open.

Eve was curious—would this conversation benefit her, or had he simply lost his mind?

She sat behind her desk, within reach of both the call bell and her revolver, and kept her eyes fixed on the doctor as he entered, leaving the door ajar as instructed.

—Sit.

The doctor sat in the chair opposite her, nervously clasping his hands together. He looked at Eve and made his confession.

—I am not like ordinary men.

Eve’s intuition told her this was already turning into a nonsensical conversation with no profit to be found.

—A man is supposed to conquer and reign, but my desires are different. I… I crave to be dominated. I long to obey.

Why was he giving her such an incredibly private confession? Eve was so taken aback she found herself speechless.

Yet, his confession perfectly explained his behavior over the years—his acting like a brainless puppet—. To think that this was the life he actually wanted was staggering.