At the very least, when it came to appearances, Cordelia had never felt a sense of defeat to anyone. She had always been the center of every conversation and monopolized people's attention.
But not today. A single rose that had bloomed dazzlingly was the protagonist of this gathering.
'Why.'
The Dane Schmaichel she knew was a man who wouldn't care in the slightest about what dress his wife wore or where she went.
'Nothing in this household was ever permitted to the wife.'
Dresses, carriages—let alone support, he wouldn't have shown even a shred of interest. Just as he had done with her.
That was why Cordelia had expected to see Rose with a gloomy face today. She had thought she would sympathize with Rose, thinking, "You're just like me. I went through the same thing."
But that...
"Oh my. It seems His Lordship Schmaichel is desperate to win his wife's favor?"
"When a man falls in love, he doesn't distinguish between fire and water."
"Look at that necklace. That alone could buy several dresses and then some."
The noblewomen seemed to have noticed it too, whispering in tones of disbelief.
'That can't be.'
That man could never be affectionate to anyone.
So that sight—Rose Schmaichel must have used her position as the Duchess to freely squander the family's wealth. There was no other explanation.
Cordelia's mind raced in the face of the unbelievable reality. She tried to fabricate a plausible reason to convince herself.
What shattered Cordelia's self-rationalization was the noblewomen beside her.
"What is that dress? I've never seen that design before..."
"Good heavens. I think I know what that is. That's a dress from Lucy's atelier!"
"What?"
A few sharp-eyed noblewomen recognized it immediately.
Lucy left a mark on his atelier's designs that made them identifiable. Sometimes it was a signature pattern, other times it was a color combination.
Today it was the pattern. Gold thread embroidered delicately along the neckline glittered every time it caught the light.
"Hasn't Lucy's atelier's new season design not come out yet? I haven't received mine."
"Then does that mean it's a new winter arrival?"
The only one wearing a dress from Lucy's atelier at this gathering was Rose.
Lucy was a proudly aloof and busy artisan who wouldn't come simply because anyone summoned him. Unless you happened to be the master of the Schmaichel family, perhaps.
Grip.
Cordelia unknowingly clutched her dress. Wrinkles formed in the carefully ironed fabric, but she couldn't afford to care.
She forced her eyes away from Rose's figure, which seemed to scream "This woman is mine" at the top of Dane's lungs.
"Please, have a seat here."
Countess Holland guided Rose to her seat.
The central table where the fireplace burned warmly—and right next to herself.
She was seating Rose in the highest seat of honor.
"May the blessings of winter be with you all."
And with that, the tea party began.
"The longer the nights grow, the more we need each other's warmth, don't you think?"
The maids of the Holland count's household began bringing out warm tea, honey-glazed nuts, lightly baked biscuits, and other refreshments.
"......"
The noblewomen exchanged glances, gauging the situation.
Who exactly would take the lead and steer this tea party?
The one who brought up the next topic was none other than Rose Schmaichel.
"How is everyone's estate situation this winter?"
"We've decided to share bread with the monastery this winter. This year's harvest wasn't bad, so the grain storerooms are relatively well-stocked."
And it was the hostess, Countess Holland, who responded.
"......!"
"Oh my."
The noblewomen at the table exchanged meaningful glances.
Until now, no wife who clearly bore the Schmaichel name had ever engaged in social activities.
That this first step was the Holland family was tantamount to acknowledging the Holland family, who had long been allies of the Schmaichel household.
"It feels like it got colder earlier than last year. I had to secure firewood for the stove ahead of time."
"I thought it best to finish road repairs in advance. It looks like we'll be getting a lot of snow."
The other ladies seated at the same table tactfully picked up the conversation. They were women who had long circulated in high society and were seasoned veterans.
Noblewomen's social activities inevitably followed their husbands' political factional alignments.
The true reason these wives had come to this gathering today was to confirm the Schmaichel family's direction.
"Could this perhaps be Lord Schmaichel's intention?"
"I should inform my husband right away."
If the one who had just appeared were Rose Vikander, she would have been easy prey for them.
A young lady who appeared alone without any family's protection—and one with improper conduct at that—was an easy target to attack.
But this was Rose Schmaichel. Moreover, Countess Holland, the hostess, sat right beside her as if to protect her.
"Almost all Magical Device distribution in the kingdom is managed by the Holland count's family, isn't it? This must mean they intend to lend even more support going forward."
"It would be nice if our family were given an opportunity too. Has anyone heard any rumors?"
The noblewomen whispered cautiously among themselves, but not a single one dared make a disparaging remark about Rose.
Since their ranks were lower than Rose's, it would have been rude for them to speak to her first. Above all, an atmosphere pervaded that made it difficult to act carelessly around Rose Schmaichel.
They simply kept their ears wide open toward the central table.
"I understand that the Schmaichel family is also active in charitable donations."
At Countess Holland's words, Rose formed an enigmatic smile.
"We recently added one more donation recipient. We've decided to sponsor the children at an orphanage."
"How generous. That is the compassion of a duchess."
And so the tea party revolved entirely around the table where Rose sat.
"My husband succeeded in the winter hunt, so I'm having a scarf made from pine marten fur."
"Oh, roast lark. That's truly a delicacy."
The main conversation wound down, and the atmosphere shifted to casual chatting. The topic naturally moved to recent daily life, dresses, food, and the like.
"I'm gradually getting used to the food culture at the Schmaichel estate. The head chef's skills are truly wonderful."
At Rose's words, the Viscountess Edvard spoke in a meaningful tone.
"His Lordship must be dining with you as well, of course? How wonderful that must be."
It sounded like a natural response, but in truth it was a barb concealing venomous intent.
Everyone knew that the previous Schmaichel wives had dined alone. That was why, when faced with such a question, they had all struggled to hide their surging emotions.
"......"
The Viscountess Edvard's peculiarly gleaming eyes spoke volumes.
Go on, say it. Say you eat alone too, just like me. Say that what you just said was a lie to pretend you're a beloved wife.
However.
"Of course. We always have dinner together. He keeps telling me to eat more, to the point where it's actually become a bit troublesome."
Rose's answer veered completely off from the Viscountess Edvard's expectations. Her expression was so peaceful there was no hint of deception.
"...Is that so."
The Viscountess Edvard struggled to maintain her composure.
The sense of defeat that the other had obtained what she herself could not. The anxiety of watching someone who appeared so insignificant pull ahead of her.
From the moment Rose Schmaichel had entered this room with a dazzlingly radiant, perfect appearance, her insides had been boiling over—until finally, they reached their limit.
"Then of course you must also share the bedroom together, don't you?"
An instant silence fell over the table.
Asking about someone's private life at a gathering like this was a grave rudeness. No—it was tantamount to openly picking a fight.
The Schmaichel family was situated in a politically sensitive position. Everyone knew that Dane Schmaichel had suffered numerous assassination attempts.
Yet the Viscountess Edvard's eyes were so clouded that she threw such a question regardless.
"......"
People looked at Rose with faces mixing shock and fascination. Their gazes crisscrossed busily over their teacups.
It was an open secret that Dane had never shared a bedroom with any wife.
The nights with one's husband were like raging rapids to a wife, and every previous Schmaichel wife had ultimately broken down in tears when faced with this question.
"......"
Rose neither burst into tears nor showed anger.
She merely gazed calmly at the Viscountess Edvard with an expressionless face.
She did not reprimand or scold the rudeness, but that serene gaze possessed the power to make the other person shrink back.
A few seconds of silence tightened everyone's breath at the table.
"...Ugh."
The Viscountess Edvard flushed red with shame.
The other ladies' tacit agreement with the Duchess's silence, and the oppressive atmosphere created by that alone, was humiliating enough.
She felt that she had been completely overpowered.
"I don't believe there's any need to answer that."
Finally, Rose opened her mouth.
"Rising from bed together with one's husband is a perfectly ordinary daily routine, after all."
The corners of Rose's lips traced a gentle curve, but her eyes sank cold enough to be terrifying.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that question. Because I know the reason behind it."
Rose briefly lowered her eyes.
An indescribable light flickered across her pupils. It was a sense of kinship that only someone who had endured the same experience could possess.
"...But there won't be a second time."
That single phrase struck the table like a judge's gavel.
"Ah..."
The Viscountess Edvard's face went pale as she realized what she had done.
"I—I'm so sorry."
The business attacks that would befall the Edvard family, her husband's wrath—they only then began to surface in her mind.
"Please, please forgive my rudeness."
The Viscountess Edvard trembled to a pitiful degree.
Rose said nothing more.
Swish.
She merely cast a brief glance at the hostess, Countess Holland. That alone was enough.
"Madam Edvard, you don't seem to be feeling well."
Countess Holland said in a soft but firm tone.
"Perhaps you should take your leave?"
It was an unmistakable dismissal. The sharp gazes of the others pierced the Viscountess Edvard from every direction.
"...Yes."
The Viscountess Edvard couldn't offer a single word of protest.
With a face as white as a ghost, she shakily rose to her feet and left the gathering. Her panic-stricken maid hastily followed behind her.