To the Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: My Adorable Wife

As Frederick began to breathe slowly and evenly, Deirdre quietly rose and headed to her room. Though her room had been empty for some time, it was still warm, with the fire burning day and night.

She sat at her desk and picked up a pen.

[Dorian,

I’ve decided to leave for Strascheburg soon, so I won’t be able to attend the Haversham family banquet this week. Frederick will likely stay in Swinton a little longer.

I hope you understand that I’m only sending this news by letter because it was a last-minute decision.

Also, there’s something I’d like you to look into for me…]

It was a quiet night, so still that she could hear the sound of snow falling from the tree branches. The sound caused her pen to pause. Deirdre reread what she had written.

Whether the Earl of Fairchild was a spy for Freuden or a parliamentarian in disguise, if he stood on the king’s opposing side, Dorian might change his opinion of his brother-in-law. But beyond that, Dorian would never forgive an earl who endangered his only sister.

So, she couldn’t ask her brother to investigate her husband. After losing both their father and brother suddenly, Dorian had become overly protective of his sister. At times, it was as though he forgot she was even married.

“Deirdre, even though you’re married, you’ll always be a Haversham. If anything happens, it’s not the Fairchilds but me who’ll take responsibility for you. So, tell me first if anything ever happens,” Dorian had said, gripping his sister’s hand tightly on her wedding day.

“I’m about to become the finest lady in Swinton. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Your husband is Leonhart’s dog.”

“…When was it that you said it was better to be a coward than to be falsely accused like Father?”

“Anyone involved with that man ends up unhappy.”

Dorian hadn’t meant the Earl of Fairchild but Christian Leonhart. And he had been right. Anyone entangled with the power-hungry king ended up miserable.

The former second queen and the two princes—all members of the Leonhart family except for Sabrina—had met tragic deaths. King Christian had ruthlessly silenced anyone who opposed him. The nobility had split into royalist and parliamentary factions because of the king’s oppression of the parliament.

If you wanted to survive, you couldn’t defy Christian.

That was the undeniable reality for Antwerp’s nobility.

Deirdre truly didn’t want to be involved with the royal family again. She wanted to believe she was just letting her imagination run wild, suspecting her innocent husband. If she told Dorian hastily, it would only complicate matters.

‘I’ll think about it after I return to Strascheburg,’ she decided.

Only after watching the flames consume the letter did Deirdre rise from her chair.

There was no sign of movement beyond the door.

***

Christian was a suspicious king. Even after killing his brothers to ascend the throne, his paranoia never abated.

Especially worrisome to him was the parliament, which continually stirred his fears that the nobles would unite and weaken his royal power. As a result, the king frequently dissolved the parliament whenever he became uneasy and found other ways to limit the authority of the nobles.

One particularly irksome regulation for the nobility was the mandatory reporting of any entry into or departure from the capital. Nobles and their families were required to notify the royal palace whenever they traveled to or from the city.

This had put Deirdre on edge all morning.

“Did you sleep well, Deirdre?”

As she finished her morning tea, Frederick entered the morning room, dressed to the nines. No one wore a satin morning coat with narrow lace cravat embroidery as well as he did. Deirdre narrowed her eyes, observing her husband.

Occasionally, she would jokingly tell her friends in social circles, “Lord Rochefolley is not as amusing as he looks,” and her friends would respond, “At least he’s nice to look at!” Watching him now, she thought they might be right.

He seemed to have something to say. She decided to speak first.

“I’ll be visiting Swinton Palace this afternoon, then leaving for Rochefolley before sunset. I’m glad to see you awake.”

Her final comment was a jab at him for not showing up until almost noon, though the oblivious Frederick didn’t catch on.

“About that… How about going to Rochefolley next week? It’s much colder there than here in Swinton… Oh, Kingsley! Bring more scones, with plenty of jam and butter.”

The last part was directed at the butler, who had just brought in fresh tea.

Despite her best efforts, Deirdre found herself looking at her husband with suspicion again. Frederick had a sweet tooth. He needed dessert with every meal and sometimes even replaced meals with sweets.

She had never questioned it before, but now she wondered: how could a lazy, sweets-loving man stay so slim? It wasn’t his well-tailored clothes that gave him such a figure—she knew that better than anyone, having seen his body in the bedroom. If she didn’t view him as a man, his body would seem like something beautiful to touch freely.

As Kingsley set down the plate of scones and disappeared, Frederick offered, “Would you like some?”

Deirdre shook her thoughts away and returned to the earlier topic.

“It won’t suddenly warm up next week, so I’m leaving today.”

“I received a letter from the estate manager two days ago. Apparently, the repairs on the annex plumbing aren’t finished yet, so it might be uncomfortable…”

“And why would we even need to use the annex in this weather?”

Perhaps it was just her mood, but he now seemed nervous.

“You’re right. There are no garden parties or balls in Rochefolley in the middle of winter. Swinton’s social scene will need you.”

When it came to Rochefolley in winter, his words were true. The northern estate, located in the kingdom’s coldest region, was stunningly beautiful but also bitterly cold. Snow piled so high that carriages could hardly move, and many days would be spent trapped indoors.

Still, she wasn’t convinced.

“It seems like there’s some reason you don’t want me to go to Rochefolley.”

“Of course not,” he replied, spreading butter on a scone. “If I could, I’d go with you. But there are matters I need to finish here…”

“Then it’s perfect. I won’t be in your way.”

“You wouldn’t be in the way, Deirdre.”

She set her teacup down. “Yes, I don’t want to be a bother to you. Let’s end this discussion. If you’d like, I’ll leave Kingsley behind.”

It wasn’t as though they couldn’t afford to hire more staff, but the Fairchild family only had Kingsley as the head butler. Kingsley always accompanied them, whether they were in the capital or the estate. It was another thing Deirdre had found odd.

Until now, she had simply assumed her husband was extremely particular about the people he employed.

Frederick didn’t argue further. “Of course, you should take Kingsley with you. Charles, you heard that, didn’t you? The Countess is leaving for Rochefolley this afternoon. See that everything is in order.”

The butler bowed.

***

“Hartley.”

Mark Hartley, Frederick’s aide, was a deeply conscientious man.

He found it troubling that he knew more about his employer than the employer’s own wife. Consequently, Hartley always had a somewhat martyr-like expression on his face, as though burdened with the weight of the secrets he carried.

His employer, however, cared little for Hartley’s troubled conscience.

When the Earl of Fairchild burst into Hartley’s office without knocking, the aide had been hard at work.

“My lord, if you need me to review the orders, I still need more time—”

Frederick cut him off. “Have you spoken to Deirdre recently?”

Hartley felt a pang of guilt. Knowing what the countess didn’t, he always kept his distance from her. On the rare occasions they crossed paths, he only engaged in superficial conversations as his employer had instructed.

Despite that, the countess was always so kind, often misinterpreting his reserved behavior.

“Sir Hartley, are you overworked lately? Should I ask Lord Rochefolley to reduce your workload a bit?” she would ask sweetly.

“Uh… I just greeted her briefly the day before yesterday when I saw her in the hall.”

Frederick rarely frowned, given his elegant features. However, he didn’t need to frown to express his feelings—his eyes could convey all he needed. Right now, his eyes clearly showed displeasure.

Frederick walked over to the window, slightly pulling back the curtain to look outside.

In the courtyard, Deirdre was preparing for her journey.

“My wife is starting to get suspicious.”

“Ah, finally…!” Hartley blurted out but quickly shrank back. “How do you know?”

“She suddenly said she wants to go back to Rochefolley on her own.”

Hartley looked at him in surprise. “The Countess is going to Rochefolley? Not Randike?”

Randike was located across the Marylebone River from Rochefolley, part of the Campbell Marquisate. The Marchioness of Campbell had taken a great liking to Deirdre, often inviting her over. Frederick had been pleased that his wife was building connections with nobles from neighboring estates.

That was, until the news of the Campbell daughter’s engagement to the second son of the Cotnam family.

“What? Why would Deirdre go to Randike?”

“The Marchioness is planning to send Lady Rosina—her engaged daughter—there. Since Randike is just as dull as Rochefolley, I thought the Countess might be going to keep Lady Rosina company,” Hartley replied, relaying the rumors he’d heard.

Though not short, Hartley’s thin and pale appearance made him almost invisible in a crowd. He had taken advantage of this to quietly gather the information his employer needed.

“Why would the Marchioness do that? If she wants to spread news of the Cotnam engagement around Swinton, she should keep Rosina by her side.”

“She’s worried the young lady might get any strange ideas. Someone broke Lady Rosina’s lover out of prison, filling her with false hope.”

The man who had been rescued from the natural fortress of the prison on the rock island was none other than Viscount Ian Denel, imprisoned two years ago for publishing a newspaper critical of the royal family. It was Captain Lysander Cotnam, Frederick’s rival, who had arrested Denel back then.

Frederick had needed Viscount Denel to accomplish his goal, so he had taken the risk of rescuing him. Unfortunately, Denel had been Lady Rosina Campbell’s secret lover.

The Cotnam family now enjoyed the king’s greatest favor, so it made sense that the Marquis would want to form an alliance through marriage. But for Rosina, it was the family of the man who had imprisoned her lover without a proper trial. Now that the lover, who she thought would spend the rest of his life in prison, had escaped, she must be torn apart inside.

The problem was…

“The Marchioness is making a mistake… Rosina shouldn’t go to Randike. It’s too close to Rochefolley.”

“And the Marylebone River is frozen solid. Even a child could walk across it.”

Frederick responded, still looking out the window. “Next to Deirdre going to Rochefolley, the last thing I want is for that to happen.”

Surveillance, investigation, reconnaissance, disguises, bribery, and, of course, a life-threatening challenge…

Rescuing Viscount Denel had been an ordeal, and both Frederick and Denel had been injured in the process. While Frederick’s injury was limited to his arm, Denel’s wounds had been much more severe.

At the moment, the viscount was recovering at the Fairchild estate in Rochefolley, under Frederick’s protection. The annex, which was rarely used during the winter, was the perfect place to hide an injured man.

Therefore, the Countess must not go to Rochefolley now. If Viscount Denel found out that Lady Rosina was at Randike, he would undoubtedly try to see her. Lady Rosina, too, should not go to Randike.

“Is there a way to keep both Lady Rosina and the Countess in Swinton? Or should we contact someone in Rochefolley?”

“……”

“Lord Rochefolley…?”

Though Hartley couldn’t see from where he was seated, Frederick, standing behind the curtain, had a clear view of the courtyard.

The state-of-the-art carriage, equipped with a heating brazier, was being loaded with the Countess’s luggage, a task Frederick had ordered Kingsley to handle. Frederick’s sharp eyes noticed that one of the horses hitched to the carriage was none other than the wild Parth.

He also saw Deirdre walking out, assisted by a footman and her maid. Coming from southern Aspen, Deirdre wasn’t used to the cold. She was bundled up in layer after layer: a chemise, corset, petticoat, another light petticoat made of yarn, a wool overdress, a coat, and a sable mantle. She was so over-layered that she waddled a bit.

Hartley caught a glimpse of a soft smile crossing Frederick’s face—a look the earl rarely showed when conducting his “work.”

“…My God, she’s really adorable,” Frederick muttered.