This Marriage Must End In Tragedy Chapter 12
Chapter 12 — She Was Just a Maid
Trish blushed timidly. The young noble ladies exchanged glances, silently reading one another’s thoughts. They understood. Trish was still too young and unaware of the way things really worked. To spare her from heartache, they decided to gently nudge her toward reality.
“Um… there will be a great many gentlemen attending today,” one of them said carefully. “It’s always wise to keep your options open and consider everyone.”
That was her reply, but in truth, Trish had no doubts about the time she would spend with Damion.
And why would she? After all, it was Damion who had gone to great lengths to ensure she was invited to this party.
The invitations had been sent out long ago. Yet just three days prior, the Baelis household had suddenly called.
They said a certain gentleman had requested her presence, that he had not forgotten their meeting on the beach, and asked her to attend if she remembered it too.
Trish had to stifle the smile tugging at her lips.
The day Damion had come all the way to the South to see her — what a delightful conversation they’d shared!
“What do you like most about the South, my lord?”
“Ah, so you have a sweet tooth! I do too. Not just chocolate, but chocolate cake here is divine. The head chef of House Ziden is also a skilled pâtissier. Would you like to try some now?”
“No. I can’t stand sweets.”
The conversation had gone a little off course, true, but perhaps it was just fatigue.
After all, Rain — that woman — had suddenly quit her job not long ago, and her father had been especially mindful, asking the household to help him go out in peace. All of it had left Trish rather irritated.
But no sooner had that woman left than fortune had smiled upon her. Perhaps she had been the source of all that bad luck.
Trish had spent countless nights wide awake, her mind filled with thoughts of him. Just the mere memory of him left her cheeks flushed with warmth.
“Did you hear? Apparently, Ansi de Rubelsa is on today’s guest list.”
A voice snagged Trish’s attention mid-thought.
Ansi de Rubelsa? That girl from the ruined house?
It wasn’t a subject she cared much about. She’d rather be the topic of discussion herself. But the other young ladies were already abuzz with excitement, so Trish only half-listened, feigning interest.
Lady Nyze asked with a glint of curiosity, “Really? Where has she been hiding all this time?”
“She must be unbelievably shameless to show her face again.”
“Exactly. She probably thought everyone had forgotten by now. How bold…”
“But honestly, I always thought she was a bit pitiful.”
Lady Henzie suddenly shifted the tone of the conversation. The others widened their eyes in disbelief, but Henzie continued, undeterred.
“Even if it was her father’s fault, the consequences must’ve fallen on Lady Rubelsa like a bolt from the blue.”
She shook her head in sincere sympathy.
The reason behind Henzie’s sudden shift in attitude soon became clear.
“Thank you for coming,” came a warm voice, bright and gentle as spring.
A woman walked past them, her white gown adorned with exquisite blush-pink lace.
It was Elise de Baelis, the hostess of the party.
“Wasn’t Miss Elise closest to Lady Ansi?”
“Oh… that’s why she was invited today?”
As Elise walked away, the girls lowered their voices.
Trish, meanwhile, paid them no mind. All she could think about was Damion’s arrival.
“I wonder how many men will ask Lady Rubelsa to dance tonight?”
“Only fools who care too much about appearances. I heard a story from my cousin’s club. They were betting on whether the woman who hadn’t shown her face at a ball for an entire year would step on their feet if they danced with her.”
The girls burst into peals of laughter. Nyze waved a hand as if it were nothing.
“Surely she won’t catch the major’s eye?”
“Oh, please, she’s hardly one to be linked to a ducal house.”
“What? When you say ‘the Major,’ do you mean Sir Damion?”
Trish, who had been quiet all along, blurted the question out in surprise.
“Is that woman really that beautiful?”
“Well, she’s easy on the eyes.”
“Yes, that’s true. But it’s been a year—she might have changed a lot since then.”
“Oh my! Damn it, she’s still beautiful.”
Henzie covered her face with her fan and peeked toward the main entrance.
Startled, Trish immediately turned toward the entrance too—and dropped her fan.
The woman was entering the ballroom.
The line of her exposed shoulders was delicate and graceful.
Her skin was as white as jade, and in contrast, her hair was black as polished onyx.
Her nose was high and defined, her lips full and shapely. But above all, those eyes, blue and translucent, like glass beads.
Trish’s expression grew increasingly grim.
Strangely, a woman surfaced in her mind.
But that couldn’t be. Rain’s hair had been brown. Besides, she had only been a servant. It simply couldn’t be her, and yet...
That calm face, those composed eyes.
The dignified stride, poised and unshaken.
“She’s Lady Rubelsa.”
Ansi de Rubelsa—there was no mistake. She had once been Rain, the maid who worked in the House of Ziden.
“The daughter of Count Rubelsa in the society? The gall of that woman!”
“After devouring her father and brother, is she here now to hunt for a husband?”
As she entered the ballroom, a storm of sharp gazes and whispered slander swept toward her. Ansi’s lashes quivered faintly.
Though the soft notes of the piano filled the air and the whispers were no doubt hushed to keep her from hearing, the voices reached her with startling clarity, as if they were speaking right beside her.
Ansi slowly scanned the ballroom.
Wherever her gaze landed, people turned their heads, almost as if on cue. Which, of course, meant that they had been watching her.
She had expected this. Here, she was the most conspicuous anomaly. They all scrutinized her with curious eyes, but none dared approach.
Unconsciously, Ansi lowered her gaze.
Once upon a time, idle gossip like this would not have fazed her. She had been able to distinguish between sound criticism and baseless condemnation, and she had known well that there was no use in paying attention to the latter.
But one year ago, she had realized something.
That such composure was a luxury afforded only to those who possessed something—status, dignity, a firm sense of self-worth. Those thoughts—the resilience, the detachment—they had only been possible because she had once possessed the luxury to feel above it.
Now, when she herself appraised her own value so poorly, their words struck much deeper, like blades, sharp and unrelenting, stabbing straight into her heart.
To say she had devoured her father and brother—what an outrageous thing to say. And yet, knowing it was absurd did not stop her from wondering. Could it really be true?
Still, Ansi forced herself to remain impassive. Feigning deafness, she controlled her expression and moved forward. Thankfully, without any overt obstruction, she made her way to a modest corner.
She constantly checked her posture and expression.
She could not look miserable. Not now, not when she was stepping out again under the name Rubelsa after a year. At least tonight, in this hall, she must not appear defeated.
As she steadied herself, her eyes met those of the party’s host, Elise. Ansi took a step forward.
“Thank you for the invitation—”
Elise cut her off sharply, turning away before Ansi could even finish.
Watching her retreat, Ansi forced the corners of her lips to rise, swallowing the bitterness.
Then it happened. A group of women by the windows, flushed with excitement, drifted toward the entrance. The men who had been conversing among themselves hastily dispersed and began asking the ladies to dance.
Ansi followed their gaze toward the doors.
The moment it opened, she felt her stiffened body relax, almost in relief.
She whispered the name softly.
His deep navy suit, pressed to perfection without a single wrinkle, accentuated his fair skin and striking features.
All eyes in the ballroom turned to him.
For whatever reason, like her, he too became the instant center of attention the moment he entered.
The crowd parted at his, following his gaze.
There was only one path. And at its end stood Ansi de Rubelsa.
He walked toward her with unwavering steps, as if, in this vast hall, she was the only person who existed.
Ironically, in a space where everyone treated her as an unwelcome guest, the only one walking toward her was the younger brother of her greatest enemy.
“Had I known you’d be here, I would’ve arrived earlier.”
“You’ve come at just the right time.”
“That dress suits you beautifully.”
“You have good taste. Thank you for the gift.”
Damion bent low, gently pressing his lips to the back of her gloved hand, then lifted only his eyes to meet hers.
“May I have the honor of your first dance?”
His soft voice carried with it the faintest tickle through the glove.
Since no one else had dared ask her to dance, it was only natural that Ansi nodded.
With a faint smile, Damion straightened his back.
The onlookers watched in stunned fascination and intrigue.
Damion de Orphe, currently the Empire’s most sought-after bachelor, had asked Ansi de Rubelsa, whose family had collapsed long ago, for a dance.
It was a moment no one could look away from. A moment one dared not look away from.
And then, someone did the unthinkable—interrupted it directly.
Trish, her face flushed with outrage, stormed toward them.
She looked between Damion and Ansi with disbelief, as though unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
“Why would you, Your Grace, choose her over me...?”
Damion’s voice turned cold, slicing through Trish’s words. He stepped forward, shielding Ansi.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Trish looked as though she might burst into tears as she glared at Rain—no, Ansi.
But Ansi merely tilted her head in faint bemusement. Her raven-black hair, tinged with blue, spilled gently to one side.
“I beg your pardon, but who are you?”
“What do you mean by who? I’m the one you served!”
“That can’t be. I’m quite sure this is the first time I’ve seen you.”
Ansi replied with her usual unshakable calm.
“Hic—” Trish began to hiccup, but her tongue didn’t stop.
“Y-You were the maid! Hic- the maid who worked in hic my house!”