The Perks of Being a Villainess

Chapter 5

Deborah was spotted digging in the rose garden? “She dared to make a mess in my wife’s garden, of all places? Where is she now?” Duke Seymour hollered.

How dare she touch that garden! No doubt she was taking her anger about being confined to her room out on the innocent roses. She’s such a pathetic creature.

He wondered when she would start behaving like a normal human being. Blood rushed to his head and an ache settled in the back of his neck from the sheer stress. He’d thought he’d seen the worst of what his daughter could do, but apparently, she was capable of even lower depravities.

“I asked you where she is, damn it!”

“She’s still in the rose garden right now. I’m told she only damaged a very small portion of the flowerbed. You need not be so angry, my lord—”

“Get out of my way!” The duke shoved the anxious aide aside and immediately stormed toward the flower garden his wife had diligently tended before her passing.

The magically preserved garden was located right next to his office. Though he often gazed through the window at it, he didn’t frequent the inside, since it only served to remind him of his wife’s absence. Under normal circumstances, he would have hesitated to enter the garden, but he was too furious to even consider his usual reluctance.

Fuming, Duke Seymour stomped right up to his daughter, who was still standing in the middle of the garden. “You!” he cried.

“Oh, there you are, Father,” Deborah said as if she’d been expecting him. The duke prepared to scream at her but then hesitated—his daughter’s resemblance to his wife was stronger than usual today, with her long hair tied loosely and draped over one shoulder.

That wasn’t even where the resemblance ended. She was also wearing a bunch of white roses in her hair. His wife had often woven white roses in young Deborah’s hair. He’d expected to see her dripping in jewels, but not like this. Her appearance stirred old memories in him, summoning a hazy feeling of paternal love, and the duke found himself confused by the resulting cognitive dissonance.

“What are you doing here?” the duke finally managed to say sternly, gathering his wits. His earlier fury had already died down somewhat.

“I was taking a walk, just enjoying the roses. They don’t usually bloom at this time of year,” Deborah said, making bold eye contact and stroking one of the pink roses that reminded him of his wife.

Did she dress like this on purpose to remind me of her mother? Perhaps because she knew that I’d be angry? If so, it was very crafty of her. The duke smirked at her coldly. “And what drove you to come see the flowers all of a sudden? All you care about is jewels, isn’t that right? Those disgusting jewels!”

“How are these flowers any different from diamonds?” Deborah asked.

Duke Seymour furrowed his brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“They have no scent, they don’t wilt, and no insects can harm them. Diamonds are the same, unaffected by the passage of time. In my eyes, they are the same.”

Duke Seymour stared at his daughter, taken aback. Deborah was right—on paper, the roses in this garden were identical to diamonds, right up to their lack of color and scent. But his pride wouldn’t allow him to just accept his daughter’s logic under the circumstances.

“Your jewels are mere luxury trinkets, but these are the roses that your mother grew with her own hands. Have care of how you speak,” the duke spat coldly.

“My mother didn’t grow roses like this,” Deborah said, gazing down at the roses, touching the petals gently. Her eyelashes appeared slightly purple in the light.

“What?”

“Flowers wilt in the winter, but then they bloom again when the warmer seasons return. Isn’t that what makes flowers so beautiful?”

“You keep talking nonsense and avoiding admitting what you did. You spoiled child.” The duke’s scowl deepened. She seemed to be trying to get away without suffering any consequences for her actions by talking in circles, but her little tricks wouldn’t work on him.

Though she seems to actually be using her wits, for a change…

He couldn’t forgive her for digging up the garden that his wife had left him.

“I’m not talking nonsense,” Deborah said, producing something from within her shawl. “This was written by my mother. Read it for yourself.”

Duke Seymour’s eyes went wide when he caught sight of the light purple paper Deborah was holding. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the same paper his wife had always used to write her letters. Even the design around the borders, decorated with butterflies, was the same.

“It’s a letter written by my mother,” she said.

The duke’s hands quivered as he accepted it.

“From Marienne Seymour to Georgeois Seymour.”

The letter was clean and well-preserved, and the handwriting sprawled across the page was a sight he had sorely missed.

“Where… where did you find this?” he choked out suddenly.

“Here,” Deborah said, pointing at the rose bush she’d dug up. The duke quickly skimmed the letter. He felt as though he’d been transported to the past as he read the letter from Marienne he hadn’t even known existed.

* * *

I silently let out the breath I’d been holding in. Duke Seymour, who’d been hissing at me coldly, had immediately softened as soon as he saw his wife’s letter.

Gosh, I was so frightened, I almost cried. How could a father be so scary? It was a good thing Deborah was such a headstrong girl. If I had been occupying my own body in this same scenario, my knees would have given out much earlier.

To think I have to risk my life just to deliver my father a letter! Deborah must have been such a troublemaker… I lamented to myself. The duke now deeply immersed in his letter, I quietly turned to leave. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He was so busy reading the letter, he barely noticed as I rushed from the garden. I tried to calm my racing heart. It’s a good thing I found the letter. It had been dangerous taking a shovel to the duke’s treasured garden, even though I’d done it in pursuit of the duchess’ letter, which had been buried below one of the rose bushes.

In the novel, the female protagonist discovered it in the center of the garden, under a bush next to the greenhouse, after she was kidnapped by the twins. I remembered reading the details clearly.

“Mia, why are you trying to run away? If you’d just stay by my side, even this lovely garden would be all yours.”

Rozard had dragged the female protagonist to the rose garden—his dead mother’s legacy.

“Please don’t do this, Lord Rozard.”

“Why are you backing yourself into that thorny bush when you could have these roses that never wilt? Are you just stupid, or are you trying to excite me?”

Rozard had been furious with the female protagonist for refusing him and had forced his face close to hers, not caring that Mia was being hurt by the thorns she was trying to back away into.

With a blush, I cleared my throat quietly just thinking about it. In the novel, she had felt the corner of a box pressing against her from under the bush, and realized that something was buried there.

That evening, Mia went out, saying she wanted to take a walk alone in the garden. Hoping to find something, anything, to help her out of her difficult situation, she’d dug up the ground under the bush. She’d determined that whatever was buried in the magical garden must have been important.

There the female protagonist had discovered a box full of letters that the duchess had written to the duke while she’d still been alive.

“Duke Seymour. I’ll give you the letters that the duchess left for you. In exchange, please let me leave.”

Mia had struck a deal with the duke who loved his wife dearly, using the letters as leverage to free herself from the sadistic twins’ clutches. The letters were an important element in the story, but I can’t worry about other people at the moment…

Though I was stealing an important item to the story, I’d resolved to myself that I would do my best to help the female protagonist avoid being kidnapped in the first place as I’d bravely entered the garden.

I’d been surprised at just how big the garden was. Rozard had tried to push Mia up against the greenhouse wall and she’d fallen into the rose bush as she tried to run away... I felt a blush coloring my cheeks again. I knew exactly where I needed to look. In addition, I’d decided that there must be some sort of visible indicator on top if something had been buried in the dirt.

That was why, over the span of the past few days, I’d rooted around under the rose bushes near the greenhouse, examining the soil. The thorns stabbed me too many times to count, but it was all worth it in the end. I’d noticed a strange patch of soil between some of the bushes, and had therefore been able to get my hands on the box from the novel.

That’s good and all, but there’s one thing I can’t quite understand… In the novel, Mia had bargained to escape the mansion using only the letters, but inside the chest that I’d found, there had also been a diary. Based on the handwriting, it was clear it had belonged to the duchess as well. Why had Mia only offered the letters to the duke?

I don’t know why she hid the diary, but this isn’t a terrible situation for me. Thanks to an entry toward the front of the journal, I’d learned that the duchess had often woven a bunch of white roses into Deborah’s hair when she was a child.

There might be more information I can use inside. The hairstyle and clothing I’d copied from old portraits of the duchess. The cold-blooded duke had only put up with Deborah’s foolishness until now because she was a perfect copy of his late wife.

It’s a useful detail. I’m going to take advantage of it. It was an obvious ploy, however, and I figured using it too often might have unpleasant consequences. It must have worked this time, though.

Exiting the maze-like flower garden, I encountered the duke’s aide, who’d been waiting for him nearby.

“My lady, I trust all is well?”

“Yes, just so. I have a request to make of you, though.”

“Of course, my lady.” The aide’s thick eyebrows twitched upon hearing what I wanted. He probably found it to be very random.

“It’s nothing all that important, so please don’t tell Father.”

Though I suppose it doesn’t matter, even if you do. I walked back to the annex, leaving the suspicious aide behind.

* * *

Duke Seymour rubbed at his chin as he read his wife’s letter. So Deborah was quoting part of her letter.

“…As I watched the winter garden, with its bare branches, I told myself that flowers are more beautiful and glorious because they wilt.”

The duke, having finished a huge pile of his work, was taking a moment to rest and read his wife’s letter. He had read the letter that his daughter had suddenly handed him hundreds of times over the past two days. It made him feel as though he had been reunited with her. The letter was written in a light, casual tone, and thanks to the quirks of speech and phrases that she used often, he felt as though she were speaking in his ear.

“After I met you, even my unfortunate past started to feel like it had meaning.”

He read the words, wanting to engrave them in his mind. He glanced out over the garden.

“Isn’t it beautiful, the way the flowers overcome the cold and bloom again?”

The entrance of the garden, which had been full of blooming roses, was now barren—he had withdrawn the preservation spell. He intended to let the flowers bloom and wilt with the seasons from now on. The artificially preserved garden that he’d created probably wasn’t the sort that his wife would have appreciated.

If I hadn’t cast that spell on the garden, I’d have found this letter already when it came time to clear away the dead flowers and tend to the soil.

He felt like such a fool. Rubbing his eyes, he read the rest of the letter.

“Of course, you are all about your complicated magical equations, and you probably don’t understand all these soft emotions.”

“I’d like to drink some hot chocolate. I’ll end this letter here.”

He bit at his pipe, feeling disappointed whenever he reached the end of the letter once more. Marienne had always written letters so formally, including only what details she considered necessary. He had no other letters like this that contained her unhindered thoughts, except for the few that they’d exchanged while they were courting.

I read it too quickly. Perhaps he should have read it slowly, bit by bit. Telling himself that it was probably a childish notion, he tucked the letter away in his drawer again and reassumed his cold demeanor, returning to his work.

Darkness fell quickly outside since it was winter. Even though it was late at night, he still had a large pile of documents left to sign. He pulled a bell, calling for an attendant to bring him some tea.

“Come in,” he replied coldly when someone knocked on his door.

Huh?

Instead of an attendant carrying tea, it was Deborah who came in accompanied by the aide.