Do You Intend To Insult My Wife?

“I’m very sorry, Lucien-sama…”

After the introductions and greetings ended, the guests gathered around Isabella, happily chatting among themselves. They cast only occasional, suggestive glances toward Lucien and Marguerite, who were supposed to be the special guests.

Left behind, the two drifted toward the food table and stood side by side, doing nothing in particular.

It was then that Marguerite, her shoulders slumped, voiced her apology.

In Marguerite’s mind resurfaced the memory of the banquet at House de Broy, back when there had been no trust at all between the two of them.

Since then, Marguerite had found her place within House de Broy, and her daily life had become filled with happiness.

Yet the moment she stepped outside House de Broy, the situation seemed to worsen instead.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

Though curt, those words reflected Lucien’s true feelings.

By now, he had begun to understand, little by little, what kind of people Isabella—and Maurice, who allowed her free rein—really were. And what sort of treatment Marguerite had endured at her family home, the very thing she had kept silent about whenever Lucien asked.

Lucien’s anger burned more fiercely over the way Marguerite had been treated in the past than over the rudeness of the present situation.

Meanwhile, Marguerite remained downcast, untouched food and drink before her.

Even after being told she didn’t need to worry, Marguerite still believed that she herself bore some responsibility for having nurtured Isabella’s selfishness.

‘It’s because I never resisted.’

Suddenly, a shrill “Eek!” rang out from the group around Isabella. Meaningful glances, as if mocking Marguerite, flickered toward her.

Mixed in with them was Isabella’s voice, making no effort to hide itself.

“Lucien-sama and my sister married for the sake of the family. They even sleep in separate bedrooms.”

“W-What!? Isabella!”

Marguerite hurried to stop her, but the surrounding young ladies gently blocked her path, preventing her from reaching Isabella.

“That’s what nobles do, after all. Even if you don’t love each other, you still have to marry.”

“Oh my. Then does that mean Lucien-sama sleeps alone, even though he has a wife?”

“Don’t great nobles keep mistresses? That’s what I’ve heard.”

“A mistress? I’d volunteer for that.”

Low, suppressed giggles filled the air.

One young lady stepped out of the circle and took Lucien’s arm, idly playing with her glossy red hair.

“What about me, Lucien-sama…?”

She cast a provocative glance at Marguerite and whispered to Lucien.

“My name is Collette. If it’s only a marriage in name, surely a little fun wouldn’t be a problem, would it?”

“—…”

Marguerite felt her heart leap, confusion washing over her.

What the woman said wasn’t wrong. In public, they were ordered to appear “affectionate,” but their private conduct was not regulated.

Lucien had retracted his words about not loving her, but they had never vowed to love each other.

Even if Lucien chose to love another lady, Marguerite was in no position to interfere.

Thump, thump—her heartbeat grew louder.

Marguerite clenched the bodice of her dress tightly.

‘Huh…? Why is this…? I didn’t care about this at the last banquet…’

As Marguerite fell silent, Collette wore a sneer very much like Isabella’s—a smile of intoxication at belittling another.

“Lady Marguerite’s dress… Your neck and shoulders are completely covered. Are you so lacking in confidence about your own skin?”

She remarked casually, glancing sideways.

As Collette said, Marguerite’s dress kept exposure to a minimum. Her neck, shoulders, and arms were all covered in lace—a dress that even Marguerite, who had been confined at home and never entered high society, could wear without discomfort.

By contrast, Collette’s dress exposed her chest, and her sharp features and accentuating makeup were the complete opposite of Marguerite.

She had never cared about such things before.

Unlike Isabella, she had never been ashamed of her plain appearance.

And yet, for some reason, tonight alone, the thought made her feel unbearably small and sad.

As Collette’s painted lips parted, ready to press the attack—

“Do you intend to insult my wife?”

Lucien’s cold voice fell over the room at that very moment.