The Secret Affairs of the Fake Duke Couple - Chapter 31

When the carriage had traversed about half of the garden, Cain stopped it. Then he swiftly alighted.

“Going for an evening stroll?”

As Nathan tried to follow him out, Cain stopped him.

“You head home.”

Without waiting for Nathan’s response, he said a few words to the coachman and vanished into the garden.

“Why suddenly take an evening stroll when you never do?”

Nathan couldn’t make sense of his master’s mind these days. Something seemed off. It felt like dealing with a rebellious teenage son. And he wasn’t even married.

“Well, at least he’s certain about work.”

As Nathan muttered, the coachman changed direction and headed back the way they came. It was to take Nathan home. The reason the driver of Cain’s personal carriage was helping Nathan return home was simple.

“How kind of him.”

It must have been at Cain’s request.

“It’s about time he got a bit twisted. He’s been through so much until now.”

Having become infinitely more lenient, Nathan thought he would accept any of Cain’s whims and leaned back comfortably in the carriage.

* * *

Cain had just stepped into the rear garden.

Suddenly, he felt an urge to check on the white bench.

There was no way to explain why he now wanted to see the bench he hadn’t visited in 7 years.

Other than the word ‘impulse’.

The path to the white bench was complex enough for a young child like Joseph to get lost, but for Cain it was easier than eating cold soup.

His feet moved without conscious thought. His body remembered.

Cain pushed aside the branches obstructing his view.

The white bench was right in front of him.

The white bench was in the same place as before. Both in the past and now.

Placed on a circular patch of manicured grass, the white bench stood out as if under a spotlight.

Cain leaned crookedly against a tree, arms folded across his chest.

As he stared blankly at the bench, a shadowy figure appeared on it.

It was an illusion.

Back then, Jane had thrown her arms around Cain’s neck and laughed brightly. Her radiant smile was as bright as the midday sun, and her laughter was as clear as a lark’s song.

But everything had changed. Since Jane let go of Cain’s hand, he no longer cared who he danced with, and her smile became lukewarm like the sun just before setting.

Cain closed his eyes as if to erase the illusion. Useless memories surfaced because of Jane preparing for her debutante.

It would be better to remove that bench after all.

Just as he made that decision and was about to turn away.

Click, the sound of a window opening. His head turned towards the sound as if flowing with water.

Jane was on the balcony.

She leaned her arms on the railing and looked down.

Though she wouldn’t be able to see him hidden by the trees, Cain stepped back and pressed himself against a tree.

This was his own home and it wouldn’t matter if he was seen, but his feet moved first.

Once he hid like that, it became awkward to step forward. If he moved, Jane would surely notice. Then Cain would have to explain his actions.

But he had no explanation.

So Cain pressed the back of his head against the tree and waited for Jane to go inside.

Feeling the night breeze, listening to the rustling of leaves, he let time pass.

But Jane didn’t move easily.

What are you doing out there in such thin clothes?

Cain’s gaze lifted upward.

Jane was leaning her arms on the railing, resting her chin on them, looking down.

As Cain followed Jane’s gaze to see what she was looking at so intently, he paused.

What she was staring at, as if entranced, was the bench. She gazed at the bench endlessly, not even noticing her shawl slipping off.

Her blank eyes seemed lifeless. Yet they still shone like jewels, perhaps due to their vivid color.

Objectively, she was quite an eye-catching woman.

With skin as smooth as porcelain and features so distinct even from afar, she was beautiful enough to believe God himself had sculpted her.

But what she hid behind that innocent face was unknowable.

Was there anyone who truly knew the inner thoughts of this woman who could change masks at will?

Jane was unaffected by words meant to hurt her, flared up over trivial matters, acted as if she would give everything only to take it away instead.

Jane had never once been sincere with Cain. She always wore a mask.

That belief had never wavered, and yet.

Cain lowered his eyes, then raised them. At some point, complete night had fallen.

The lamps set up in the garden began to light up one by one.

The yellow light cast its glow evenly on the white bench as well.

Even though she’d looked long enough, Jane was still in the same spot.

Due to the position of the lights, Jane’s face was darkened. Curious about her expression, Cain took a step forward.

Cain stood at the boundary of light and shadow, looking up at Jane. At that moment, the wind blew. Jane brushed back her disheveled hair. Her face was hidden by her hand.

Suddenly, he felt an urge to push her hand away. Since he couldn’t stop the wind.

Annoyingly, the wind didn’t stop but blew even stronger. Jane kept brushing back her hair before straightening up.

Was she going inside?

He still hadn’t seen her expression.

Unaware of his feelings, Jane turned towards the room. She moved away exactly as much as Cain had stepped forward.

Jane took another step. Just as Cain unconsciously extended his foot, Jane turned her head.

Jane’s face was revealed.

“……!”

Jane’s expression, glimpsed for an instant, was guilt itself.

It was her bare face. She was suffering in guilt.

For what?

But it was truly just an instant.

Cain wondered if he had seen wrong.

Jane, donning her impassive mask as if she had never turned back, went into the room.

Cain hid himself back in the shadows. And he stood still, looking up at the empty balcony.

Until the sound of the window closing was heard, and the wind died down.

Though he had seen Jane’s bare face, he didn’t feel relieved. Rather, his insides felt like they had been dragged through a mudflat.

* * *

The day of the debutante ball dawned. Though she greeted a morning no different from any other, Jane was on edge.

“What about Cain?”

“The Duke will come directly to the ballroom in the evening.”

Jane nodded impassively, not having expected him to escort her anyway.

But she felt a little disappointed. She thought he would at least show his face in the morning, given it was her debutante ball.

Suddenly, words Cain had spoken in the past came to mind. He had insisted on getting that promise even though Jane’s debutante was still far off.

He was so handsome then, somewhere between boy and man. Unlike now, he was uninhibited in expressing affection, and his expressions were rich.

His red lips would curve prettily every time he called, “Jane.”

He must have forgotten all the promises made in the past. Jane lowered her head and stirred her soup bowl with a spoon.

“After breakfast, you’ll take a brief walk, then have a bath. We’ll pour in lots of fragrant oils that are good for the skin. Afterwards, we’ll massage you with a mixture of pearl powder and milk. Then…”

There was so much to do for just a few hours. Jane let Mary’s recitation of the schedule go in one ear and out the other.

“…And in the afternoon, you’ll greet Mrs. Burnett. Mrs. Burnett has agreed to be your chaperone.”

“Chaperone?”

That word stuck in Jane’s ear. A chaperone was someone who helped a young woman adjust when she first entered society.

Usually, the mother took on this role, but in cases like Jane’s where there was no mother, or when circumstances prevented her from fulfilling the role, it was customary for a respectable lady to take on the role instead.

Most often, a chaperone was found among relatives, so it was natural for Cain’s aunt, Mrs. Burnett, to be Jane’s chaperone.

“The Duke must have contacted her right after your debutante date was set. Our Duke is so thoughtful.”

Mary’s distinctive chuckle followed.

Jane pondered over Cain’s aunt Burnett. There was a faint but memorable face that came to mind.

She remembered thick eyebrows, light brown hair, and an aquiline nose that created a fierce impression.

She had met her at Cain’s 18th birthday celebration. Though it was said to be a busy time, Jane’s sweet demeanor was met only with brusque responses, leaving a cold memory.

“You’ve met her before, haven’t you?”

It was a memory too vague to say yes or no to.

“What kind of person is she?”

Jane thought it would be good to know about her, even though she wouldn’t need to spend much time with her chaperone since she didn’t need to find a husband.

“She’s very interested in what’s going on around her.”

She’s nosy.

“She loves the Duke.”

She’s obsessed with Cain.

“She’s proud of the Hastings family.”

She must be an arrogant person.

Jane discerned the hidden meanings in Mary’s words by observing her expression.

“She’s a difficult person to get close to.”

Mary drove the final nail into Jane’s thoughts.

“Is she difficult for you too, Mary?”

“Indeed she is.”

If even someone as good-natured and amiable as Mary found her difficult, how much more challenging would she be for Jane?

“And she probably won’t approve of you, miss. So don’t try too hard to get close to her.”

Jane could understand what Mary was worried about.

Mary was concerned that Jane might get hurt if she tried to act friendly just because she was Cain’s aunt.

Mrs. Burnett’s animosity towards the Whitney family was beyond imagination.

She openly claimed that the previous Duke and Duchess of Hastings had died because of the Whitney family.

Even though Mary saw no connection at all.

‘What could the Duke be thinking?’

Even when Mary suggested finding another chaperone, Cain insisted on Mrs. Burnett as Jane’s chaperone.

“I understand. I’ll keep your advice in mind, Mary.”

Jane spoke cheerfully on purpose as Mary’s expression grew increasingly gloomy.

Mary’s advice could be summed up simply.

Just don’t provoke Mrs. Burnett. That didn’t seem difficult.

Jane had learned over the past 7 years how to exist as if she didn’t exist.

So she thought she could get along well with Mrs. Burnett without major issues.

But her thoughts were wrong. From the very first meeting.