It was very rare for Ludmila to personally enter and exit the hospital. Typically, if a doctor was needed, she would summon them.

Some described it as a benefit of power, but it was an essential choice to conceal unnecessary speculation and rumors.

This was especially true for sensitive medical conditions like obstetrics and gynecology.

“Are you truly alright?”

Even before exiting the carriage, Emma had already asked the question five times.

Ludmila, holding a frilled parasol, blocked Emma’s question with a brief nod.

If she entered the obstetrics department like this today, the rumors would likely spiral out of control.

Many were suspicious of the couple who had no news related to an heir for over three years.

Ludmila made no effort to respond to this gossip because it was a rumor that did her no harm.

The more unable she was to bear a child, the happier Kedilen would be.

What mattered to him were not these private rumors, but larger ones related to his own advancement.

In that sense, playing the role of a husband with a barren wife was quite useful for Kedilen.

He could receive sympathy and maintain the image of sincerely cherishing and loving such a wife.

For a noble who needed to continue the lineage, a wife unable to bear children was a major disqualification.

Many who took an interest in him, at the forefront of the nouveau riche, did not miss the opportunity this presented.

Regardless of daughters or cousins, they all vied for the position of Kedilen’s concubine.

The moment Ludmila could not bear a child, it didn’t matter if they were a concubine or a rightful wife.

The instant a child was born between Kedilen and a concubine, Ludmila would no longer be the rightful wife.

Kedilen, with his cunning mind, clearly understood this situation and position.

Sowing proper opportunities, he curried people’s interest and favor. What could be easier to exploit than this?

Ludmila distinctly understood that his attitude benefited her as well.

At the very least, she could avoid unpleasant conjugal visits with Kedilen.

But Kedilen changed his stance.

After meeting with Chairman Bex, he judged there was nothing more to gain by selling Ludmila’s rumors.

That decision was tantamount to a death sentence for Ludmila’s character.

“Marchioness, just one last time…”

“Nanny.”

Even as Ludmila drew a resolute line, Emma, not knowing when to give up, opened her mouth again.

Her voice, dropping sharply in that moment, blocked Emma’s wrinkled mouth.

Ludmila shook her head slightly, gave a bright smile, then opened the carriage door.

The sound of Emma grumbling, “Oh, that stubborn mule!” as she followed was audible, but Ludmila had no intention of denying it.

That stubbornness was the reason she personally set foot here. Ludmila needed certainty, not rumors.

An incident to definitively punctuate her own rumor-riddled reputation. An opportunity to ensure Kedilen had no need to touch her.

Ludmila wanted to turn the circulating gossip from mere false rumors into reality.

“Thank you for visiting our hospital, Marchioness Erdi.”

As soon as the door opened, greeting her at the entrance was a middle-aged man with a neat impression.

Is he the director of this hospital? Ludmila, having exited the carriage, gave a picture-perfect smile as she approached.

At the same time, she rolled her eyes to observe those taking interest in the commotion in front of the large hospital building.

Ludmila, who appeared in newspapers several times a day, was well-known.

Those who recognized her alternated between examining the signboard at the top of the 4-story building and Ludmila herself.

Not too displeased by that reaction, Ludmila followed the director guiding her inside with a measure of satisfaction.

Emma, following behind, let out an anxious voice, “What to do…” but it was already water under the bridge.

And this was what Ludmila wanted. Like spreading a plague, she hoped they would spread her story to others with those mouths.

Even better if it made the news.

“This way, please.”

They passed the main entrance and headed straight to the patient waiting room.

As it was a rather renowned hospital in the capital, the waiting room was already filled with numerous women.

Befitting the capital’s women, sensitive to gossip and keen on rumors, they instantly recognized who Ludmila was the moment they saw her face.

Some speculated with surprised eyes as to why Ludmila had come here, while others made expressions as if they had truly made the right choice in selecting this hospital.

That meant they were ready and willing to spread everything that happened here today.

“Now, if you sit here…”

The neat director personally showed her to a seat after entering the room. Though rumored to be arrogant, his skills were acknowledged.

Even with many complaints about the service, the reason there were still many patients was likely because there was value in that. In some sense.

“Uh, Marchioness? Shall we…”

As Ludmila took her seat, the director sitting in the chair opposite her eyes lit up.

Ludmila, looking at the director wearing an affable smile, rolled her eyes.

This space was excessively luxurious for a hospital consultation room.

Tasteless ceramics that only the nouveau riche would enjoy, meaningless famous paintings, and unnecessarily expensive furniture made of white pine all attested to that.

He must love money quite a bit. Normally, he would be an unwelcome counterpart, but not today.

Ludmila rolled her wandering eyes back to focus on the director.

“I heard you are the most skilled obstetrician in the capital.”

“Ha ha! That story reached the Marchioness’s ears? How embarrassing.”

“And that you consider humility as much a virtue as your skill.”

Though he called boasting about his own achievements the height of ugliness, the way he immediately recited his own praises was quite unsightly.

But Ludmila found that point welcome. That boastful mouth was the very reason she had come here.

“Ah, I’ve rambled on too much. So, what ails you? The examination…”

“No need for an examination.”

“Pardon?”

At the director’s surprised reaction, Ludmila took out a small pouch and held it out.

The clinking sound filled the director’s eyes with a glint. Ludmila gave a neat smile and gestured with her eyes.

Even a simple glance exuded nobility.

The director carefully opened the pouch, mindful of Ludmila’s gaze. Inside were platinum coins.

“This is…”

“The figure on those coins, Neopald II, died of a chronic illness despite winning his final battle. Worried that news of his illness would dampen the army’s morale, he ordered the doctor to give a clean bill of health.”

Her emotionless voice, steadily continuing, seemed dry as if a doll was reciting, but it induced a tension that made the listener gulp.

The director, wetting his drying lips with his tongue, carefully opened his mouth.

“That story…”

“I’m glad you’re quick on the uptake. Give me the diagnosis I want. That much money should make it possible, no?”

“But, but…”

“If you refuse, please say so. I have many other hospitals in mind besides this one. Meaning there are many who would take that money.”

Ludmila, who had been looking at the director biting his lip, slowly rose from her seat.

Nothing good would come from a long conversation. Leaving before the other party could properly judge was the way to gain the upper hand in a deal.

“I need your opinion that I am infertile. You can make a lot of money with that single opinion.”

“…”

“I hope you’ll make a wise choice.”

There was no further conversation. Now she just had to return home and wait. It would be over.

The opinion would arrive by tomorrow evening at the latest, and once confirmed, she could wrap up this bothersome play.

Ludmila, giving a finishing smile to the dumbfounded director, twisted her body and exited the room.

The sound of the latch drew the women’s gazes.

Ludmila stood at the door, sweeping the crowd once with an intentionally sorrowful face before moving on.

“Ludmila?”

It was then. A sharp voice calling her name penetrated Ludmila’s ears.

Splendid brown hair and familiar hazel eyes.

“…Countess von Vyrn.”

Celia von Vyrn. The eldest daughter of the Erdi family and Kedilen’s sister was approaching with arms crossed.

Celia, placing the teacup on the coaster with a rather elegant gesture, leisurely crossed her legs.

Her appearance, settled in the luxurious tearoom, suited this atmosphere very well.

Ludmila silently observed Celia, dressed as if it were a lively spring day despite being early winter.

Meeting her was unpleasant for Ludmila.

Celia was very proud of the fact that she was the eldest daughter of the Erdi family.

As such, perhaps hoping her younger brother Kedilen would find a better match than Ludmila, she constantly brought up Ludmila’s status as a bastard child.

It was nothing new, having heard it from Kedilen many times, but whenever Celia came and went, Kedilen’s face was always that of a house in mourning.

And that anger fell squarely on Ludmila.

“I was surprised. I didn’t expect to see you coming out of there.”

“I heard that doctor was skilled, so I went for an examination.”

“As you said, his skill isn’t too bad. However, it’s unexpected for you to personally frequent that place.”

Celia, grinning, crossed her legs and gently straightened her upper body.

“By the way, I was shocked. You didn’t seem to have any thoughts of a child, then suddenly visited the hospital.”

“…”

“I suppose you’ve finally made up your mind?”

Celia, who had been observing Ludmila with narrowed eyes, gently rested her chin on her palm.

“To spread that filthy blood in the Erdi family, that is.”