To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 10

Deirdre wasn’t the type to cruelly remind someone of the harsh reality when they were crying in front of her. However, in her mind, the answer was already clear: “Yes, but still.”

Rosina still didn’t understand how terrifying it was to become a criminal’s family.

Deirdre could still vividly recall the events from five years ago.

The sound of military boots marching.

The still-burning Aspen beech forest in the dark.

The Havisham mansion, half reduced to ashes…

Unlike Dorian, who was in the capital at the time, Deirdre had watched as her childhood home, the forest where she had played, was attacked by the military police and turned to rubble.

She had also witnessed her father, who used to call her ‘Dee’ and dote on her, collapse from shock in front of the soldiers.

Had someone not stopped her carriage on its way home that day and pulled her out, Deirdre would have been caught up in the attack and either injured or in far worse circumstances. She had been seventeen, coming back from a harvest festival in a nearby village. The person who saved her had been wearing a masquerade mask.

The only thing she had been able to see of her rescuer were the golden hair that shone red in the reflection of the flames and his dark eyes, the color of which she couldn’t quite discern. He was tall and strong. No matter how much Deirdre struggled, he wouldn’t release her from his arms, keeping her hidden and preventing her from running away.

Later, whenever Deirdre saw Lysander Cottenham’s reddish-gold hair and dark eyes, she naturally recalled that day. Well, Lysander Cottenham wasn’t exactly a man of high moral character.

The charge against Marquis Havisham had been treason. Fortunately, the King had soon realized his ‘mistake’ and cleared his name. Although the charge had been falsely imposed, Havisham’s honor had never truly been tarnished, but the dead and the burned mansion could never return.

Had Christian not declared Havisham’s innocence, Deirdre would have never become Countess Fairchild. Instead, she might have been publicly executed or stripped of her noble title, left to fall into an lowly life. The thought made her shiver slightly, thinking of the fate that might still await Rosina.

‘Please, may Viscount Darnell be a wise man…’

If he were wise, he would never have engaged in something like running an anti-government newspaper in the first place. She sighed.

A gloved hand knocked on the carriage window. It was Kingsley.

“Lady Rochepolie, Lady Rosina, hot chocolate is ready.”

* * *

When they arrived at Rochepolie, Deirdre was greeted by what seemed to be a larger herd of snow deer than before. These animals, which were rare and even designated as a protected species across the kingdom, were an exception at the Count’s residence.

Deirdre pushed through the encroaching deer and headed toward the annex. Behind her, Kingsley called out, flustered.

“Lady Rochepolie, where are you going? You should go inside and warm up.”

Trudging through snow up to her ankles, Deirdre gave up on walking and called for her attendants.

“Rex, carry me. And Bertha, you and Kingsley go ahead.”

“Madam, the annex is still under construction—”

Kingsley started to speak again, but Deirdre, already in Rex’s arms, lightly tapped his broad shoulders.

“Take me to the annex.”

Rex and Bertha had served her since the Havishams so they obeyed without question. The burly attendant carried the Countess effortlessly as they moved quickly, leaving the elderly Kingsley struggling to keep up.

The annex was located about a ten-minute walk past a small forest in the garden.

Rex set her down at the entrance to the annex.

The rumor about construction wasn’t a lie; all the furniture had been cleared out, and pipes and tiles were stacked in one corner of an empty hall.

Deirdre looked at her surroundings with sharp eyes.

Though she wasn’t sure what she was searching for, Deirdre found herself peering into the fireplace. It was spotless, with not a speck of ash inside. The pale light of the winter afternoon sun filtered through the window, casting a soft glow on the floor.

“Madam, you’ll catch a cold at this rate.”

The butler appeared in the doorway, panting slightly, his voice echoing through the hall.

Deirdre touched each item in the room— the lamp on the wall, the wooden floor, the picture frames— carefully, one by one. Not finding anything of particular note, she moved to the next room.

The two small rooms were usually used as rest areas during banquets. They had been excluded from the construction work and showed few signs of being touched. Yet, she still scrutinized them, looking for any changes since her departure. The dust-free couch, console, and display cabinet… Everything was exactly where it should be.

It wasn’t until she approached the small sink with a lion’s head faucet that she found what she had been looking for.

Something was glinting beneath the drain.

Deirdre quickly retrieved it from the drain.

It was a necklace with a delicate chain and a heavy pendant.

She pocketed it, wiped her damp hands on her skirt, and crossed over to the bathroom. The tiles had been completely removed, and the bathroom was covered in dust and bits of stone.

She glanced back at the butler, who had followed her.

“…Sorry. I heard the construction was ongoing, and I was curious about the progress.”

“It seems the cold weather has delayed things these past few days. We’ll finish it as soon as we can.”

She was soon carried by Rex back to the main hall.

After enduring the elaborate welcome from the staff and the lengthy reports from the deputy butler and head maid, Deirdre was finally alone. As soon as she entered her room, she took the necklace out.

What she had thought was a pendant was actually a finely crafted locket with hinges, adorned with ruby decorations on the lid. It was not something one could buy from a store. Noticing that one side of the chain was broken, she could understand why the owner might have dropped it.

When she opened the lid, one side revealed a portrait of a young girl, while the other side showed what appeared to be a lock of golden hair, likely belonging to the same girl.

Deirdre recognized the girl in the portrait.

The name came to her lips.

“…Rosina.”