The Search for the Duchess’s Husband

A steaming cup of tea was in her hands in an instant, and Artia looked confused.

 “I don’t feel like I have a cold or anything…” “Have you forgotten that when you were seven years old, you came in after playing in the snow and said your ears itched, and then you caught a cold and had it for a whole month, so drink up.” 

The woman’s eagerness made it impossible to say no.

 

Taking a sip of tea, Artia exclaimed to herself.

 

‘Too sweet!’

 

It was a terrible taste for her sweet tooth.

 

If it weren’t for the subtle bitterness of the ginger, she wouldn’t have been able to drink it.

 

But Artia emptied her teacup without showing her distress.

 

Only then did the woman’s expression relax, as if relieved.

 “You used to say you didn’t like the taste of ginger, no matter how much honey I added, but now you drink it well. My daughter must have grown up.” 

‘I’m not your daughter, Julie.’

 

Artia smiled and thought back to a few days ago.

  

* * *

 

 

One dark night, Artia left Duke Edenberg’s estate.

 

Vivi and Penelope were the only ones who knew. Even Catherine thought that Artia was sick in her room.

 

The reason for all the secrecy was Shylock.

 

He’s preventing me from getting help from anyone, and I’m not going to let that happen this time.

 

So, she asked Penelope for help.

 

She asked her to spread the word that Artia, who was about to be forced into marriage, was heartbroken and had locked herself in her room.

 

If Penelope’s words reached Shylock’s ears, he would not suspect Artia’s absence.

 

After finishing the groundwork, Artia arrives at a mansion in the countryside, far from the capital.

 

The hooded Artia spoke to the soldier guarding the door.

 “Take this to Count Blührens. Artia von Edenberg, daughter of Sylvia and niece of the count, is here to see him.” 

The soldier returned shortly after and led Artia into the drawing room.

 

In the darkened room, with the curtains drawn to keep out the sun even though it was still daylight, sat Count Humphrey von Blührens, an elderly gentleman with graying hair and a walking stick.

 

Artia bowed to the man, who exuded a sickly melancholy.

 “It’s been a long time, Uncle.” “…….” 

Humphrey was the cousin of Artia’s birth mother, Sylvia.

 

Humphrey and Sylvia had gotten along well despite the huge age difference. However, after Sylvia got married, they lost touch.

 

Of course, she rarely saw Artia either.

 

The last time Humphrey saw her was at Sylvia’s funeral.

 

Humphrey was devastated to see his young cousin sobbing over the loss of her mother.

 

Without saying a word, Humphrey pulled Artia into his arms.

 

After that day, the two never spoke again, not even to say hello.

 

It was as if they had never met.

 

Humphrey opened his mouth, his face showing no sign of joy.

 “What brings you to me so suddenly?” 

Artia clasped her hands.

 “I need to borrow some money.” 

Humphrey’s lifeless eyes flickered, but only for a moment.

 

He asked in a monotone voice.

 “How much?” “Two billion gold.”  

* * *

  “……!” 

The Counts of B

lühre

ns were an ordinary noble family, neither particularly rich nor poor.

 

Still, two billion gold was a lot of money to ask for, especially from an exotic virgin he hadn’t seen in over a decade.

 

Artia knew it, but she couldn’t help it. The only person who could help her was her uncle in front of her.

 

Humphrey sighed tiredly.

 “I’ll give you the 100 million gold in the vault and you can go home. You don’t have to pay it back, so don’t come back.” 

His dry tone suggests he doesn’t want to have any part in Artia’s affairs.

 

But instead of kicking her out, he offered to give her the money, and he didn’t try to bait her into lending her money.

 “The money I need is not 100 million gold, it’s 2 billion gold, and I’m not asking you to lend it to me just for the sake of it. If you lend me the money, I will do my best to help my uncle.”

Artia said, feeling hopeful at that.

 “I have no interest in power or goods. How can you help someone who wants nothing in return?” “I have heard that my aunt is ill.”

Artia interrupted; her voice clear.

 “……!” 

At that moment, Humphrey’s eyes, which had been as grim as a sick man’s, changed.

 

Humphrey’s wife, Helen, had been ill for a long time.

 

Humphrey had tried everything to cure her.

 

He brought home a supposedly skilled physician to examine her, and he procured a precious herb that even royalty could not easily get.

 

As word spread, people came from all over the kingdom to heal Helen, but no one could cure her.

 

Humphrey shouted angrily.

 “How are you going to help her? Have you come with a potion to cure her or to break the curse on her?” “…….” “I have greeted you politely as Sylvia’s daughter, but you have come to deceive me. I cannot give you a fairy tale, so leave the mansion immediately!” 

If she stayed in the room, he was ready to swing his cane at her. But Artia didn’t move.

 “No, Uncle. I don’t know a cure for my aunt’s illness, but I can help make her more comfortable in her advanced state.” 

As if to deny Artia’s words, Humphrey let out an exasperated cry.

 “How!” 

Artia answered in a calm voice.

 “As you know, Uncle, my mother has been ill since I was born, and I have always been by her side, so I know how to take care of the sick.” 

That was true, but there were plenty of people who were good at taking care of the sick.

 

Before Humphrey could point it out, Artia removed the hood she was wearing.

 

Her hair was no longer the silver he had seen so long ago, but black as the dawn sky.

 

Humphrey gasped at the sight.

 “Juliet?!” 

But he quickly regained his composure.

 

The woman before him was not his daughter of twenty years ago, but the daughter of his dead cousin’s sister.

 

Humphrey’s voice trembled.

 “What the hell is that look, is that my daughter Julie?” “Yes.” “……!” 

A month ago, Artia had received a letter of rejection from the elders, she thought.

 “It’s hard to get money in the name of the Dukes of Edenberg because of my uncles’ interference, but I have another line of blood.” 

It was the Count of Blührens, on her mother’s side.

 

He hadn’t spoken to her since her mother’s death, and she had kept to herself, so Shylock hadn’t thought to reach out until now.

 

“Gather any information you can about the Count of Blührens. Anything, even the tiniest bit.”

 

At Artia’s command, Vivi spurred her horse to lightning speed and headed for the Blührens estate.

 

A few days later, she had a pile of information about the Blührens family in front of her.

 

Artia’s eyes stopped as she read through the documents without taking a breath.

 

“Juliette von Blührens, daughter of a count. Died in an accident at the age of twenty. “

 

The accompanying portrait of Juliette in life bore a striking resemblance to Artia.

 

Though it was not easy to recognize her at first glance, with her silver and black hair in stark contrast.

 

It’s just a coincidence that they share the same ancestor. But for Artia, it felt like a gift from her ancestors.

 

A way out of her predicament.

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