The Divorced Duchess

Chapter 16.1: OATH AND DISMAY

COUNT Darvan, a father with a caring demeanor, stood outside Thalia’s bedroom. He could barely hear the muffled sobs and the heartbreaking sniffles from behind the closed door, and he knew he needed to be there for her. He took a deep breath to steady himself and gently knocked on the door.

“Thally? Would you like me to come in?” He said. “I know you’re hurting, sweetheart. But I want you to know that I am always here for you, always.”

It broke him that he couldn’t do anything about the situation. If he had known that his daughter would suffer from marrying the Duke, he could have prevented the marriage, even if he broke his promise. The tranquil atmosphere was shattered the day Thalia and Aston crossed the threshold. No one saw it coming that the two young masters of Psycheberg's house would come back to the mansion with a somber countenance.

The butler and the maids, who had been busy attending to their tasks, froze in their tracks as they witnessed the unexpected entrance of the two young masters. Panic and astonishment rippled through their faces. The Duchess, Thalia, who was known for grace and sophistication, suddenly showed up with dullness while the dignified Aston Psycheberg, the next Count’s heir, was unrecognizable.

Count Darvan almost lost his equanimity upon seeing his children being subjected to humiliation. From that day, Aston took time to recuperate from the bruises and injuries of a physical altercation; at the same time, Thalia had never gone out of her room.

Disappointedly, his daughter didn’t answer him. He had been worried about her health since the day she locked herself up in the bedroom. Count Darvan’s consistency and perseverance in visiting Thalia never failed. However, the only thing he could do was order the servants to deliver the meal in the cart and leave it in front of her room, yet she would never bother to touch the meal until it became cold.

Count Darvan left with the weight of disappointment and sadness. His gaze, typically lively and engaged, had dimmed into a distant stare as he was lost in the recesses of his thoughts. He had been thinking of sending a letter to Senior Qurique about the issue and coming up with a decision regarding Chauverthier’s relationship scandal, but still, he wasn’t in a position to act recklessly. Besides, he needs Thalia’s permission for them to intervene in their marital matters.

Unconsciously, Count Darvan found himself in his deceased wife’s bedroom. He slowly pushed open the door to his beloved wife’s room. His steps were measured, and his heart was heavy with memories. The air was filled with a sense of nostalgia, and the room was exactly as she had left it, frozen in time. The bed was neatly made, as she liked it, with the same floral-patterned quilt she’d had for decades. A few lively paintings adorned the walls, which his wife collected in every art museum they had visited. Count Darvan took a few steps, his eyes locked onto a framed picture of his wife. The younger self of the Countess was smiling brightly. He reached out with trembling fingers, his touch barely grazing the glass. The tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he blinked them back.

“My dear Margareth, it’s been so long since you left me,” he said in a cracking voice. “Tell me, my dear, did I fail as a husband and father to my family? I don’t know what I should do to correct these mistakes. I am scared to face our children because I failed them.”

He silently broke down in his wife’s old haven. After a few moments, he turned to leave the room. He knew that his beloved Margareth might be gone, but her memories of supporting him like in the past were the only strength he would have.

As Count Darvan came down to the foyer, his butler met his gaze with uneasiness.

“What’s the matter, Gabe?” He asked Gabe, the butler.

“Senior Qurique wanted to have an audience with you, My Lord.”

Without any hesitation, Count Darvan let the guest meet him in the receiving chamber. The old friend strode with his cane, they didn’t greet each other like what an old friend usually does when they meet, or like a guest with a sense of formality as a convention. There was seriousness in both parties, no more guessing what to expect, since they had one thing to discuss about the recent issue.

“It’s been a while since I met an old friend,” Senior Qurique said.

“Wish you the same,” Count Darvan replied.

They both sat down on sofas while Gabe served hot tea, then left them alone.

“What a tragedy, isn’t it?” Senior Qurique commented as he sipped the tea in his cup. Count Darvan was hardly finding a word to say without delivering it with contempt. He was still resentful of Senior Qurique for not attending his daughter’s wedding.

“I guess the news of their relationship and marriage has spread throughout the Empire,” Count Darvan remarked.

“This might be a huge scandal in our family, but I am also wondering why you haven’t taken action to solve this matter, Count?”

Showing a glum and tensed forehead, Count Darvan was dismayed at what he had heard from the man in front of him.

“Your words don't sit with me, Qurique. I have been careful about everything that will lead to my daughter’s humiliation.”

“Excuse me for criticizing you. Well, I found out last night about the news after Esmeralda showed me the newspaper with their names on it,” Senior Qurique sighed with dismay.

Their family names were really in the headlines of newspapers. Different variations and nonsensical opinions were written in the news editorial. Some of it came from the people working at the Chauverthier mansion. The nobles also shared their opinions, but none of these were true. Gossip really needs no carriage.

“It was also somewhat my mistake for not listening to the Duchess’s request to divorce my nephew,” Senior Qurique sighed audibly.

“I regretted telling her to conceive an heir before she could have the divorce freedom.”

Count Darvan took a deep breath, still trying to maintain his composure, but his frustration grew. “Did you request it from my daughter, for goodness' sake?!” His voice wasn't loud, but fury was visible in his tone.

“Have you not felt my daughter’s frustration about living in that hellish marriage? Is it because I promised your twin brother?”

Sternness washed Senior Qurique’s face. “Yes.”

“Do you know what my daughter’s condition is right now?” Count Darvan stated.

The man fell silent.

“If only I could break the promise I made twenty years ago with Quadir, I would have to, but I can’t.”

Count Darvan regretted the fact that they had made a promise in front of Goddess Enah’s shrine. A sealed epistle with their blood as a seal and a divine scepter as a witness of their friendship's promise.

“Do you think that interfering with the Duke’s problem will change anything?” Senior Qurique said.

“If the divorce is the only answer, I will do everything to make it void and null in Psycheberg's name.”

“Then,” Senior Qurique uttered as if he was giving up the thought of saving Duke Chauverthier's marital affair. “Under my authority, I will order to banishment of the Duke’s mistress as soon as possible if the two of them still want to save their marriage.”

“That’s easy for you to tell, but knowing that woman was conceiving the Duke’s child, I doubt you could chase her away without reaching the Duke’s grasp.”

“What?” Senior Qurique was appalled to hear the news. He could not expect to find out. “That shouldn't have happened!”

Senior Qurique stood up and was ready to leave Count Darvan’s manor. As for the Count, he didn't regret telling him the truth.

“For the love I have for my daughter and respect for the current Duchess, I can lend my authority to free her from humiliation caused by the Duke.”

Senior Qurique thereupon left Psycheberg’s mansion without saying an ethical salutation.