"There is nothing in the world like the devotion of a married woman. It is a thing no married man knows anything about."

Oscar Wilde

“I see from your face that you have something interesting for me.” I say, sitting down in the visitors' chair.”

“Yes and no,” Safie responds, sinking into the seat across from me. “As I expected, I failed to gather any dirt on the Marquis. Nothing the least bit serious.”

“Clean as a whistle?” I quip. “Downright perfect — an ideal groom.”

“He certainly is not perfect,” Says Safie, who surely picks up on the irony in my words. ”Frankly speaking, he is no angel. Rather, just an ordinary person. Not too ambitious, some would even say lazy. Not willing to take a risk in order to reach greater heights. Luckily for him he was born far from the bottom of the social hierarchy. He has more than enough faults, but only those that society usually condones. So I do not think that you will find anything helpful in this direction.”

“But you have found something else? “ I ask hopefully.

“I have,” Safie confirms. He snaps his fingers, stretches his arms and pushes away from the table, forcing the chair to move back a little. “You see, it's compromising for the Duke, rather than for the Marquis. But I think the information will be useful to you, because if used correctly it could contribute to the termination of the engagement.”

“I'm all ears.”

I am prepared to memorize every word uttered by Safie.

“Did you know that a few years ago Duke Almikonte lived in the capital for three months? There he met the father of the current Marquis Dorion, Benjamin. But most importantly, he not only met the Marquis, but also his wife. Gustave Dorion is his son from his first marriage. By the time that we are speaking about with you, Benjamin had remarried. His wife was young, much younger than he. As often happens in such cases, she was not very faithful to her husband. In short, she and the Duke had an affair, and as far as I can tell from the fragmentary information that I managed to gather, it was quite passionate. However, the lovers were careful, and this affair never became public knowledge.”

“So?” I frown, translating the information into something I can use. “You mean that the Duke...”

“...Has cuckolded the father of the current Marquis Dorion,” Safie finishes for me. “Of course, we do not know how Gustave would react to this revelation. Perhaps Lady Almikonte's dowry draws him so much that he would turn a blind eye to such a minor matter. Nor can we rule out the possibility that Gustave already knows. However, if it became known to the public, the Marquis would have no choice. His family honor would be at stake.”

“Mr. Safie, you are brilliant!” I declare. “I knew that I could count on you.”

“Well, in this case the merit is not mine, but rather the Duke's” smirks Safie.

“But this is not everything!?” I half-ask, half-state, while looking curiously at him.

“Unfounded rumors do not help the cause. People can yap about anything. We need evidence that would back up these rumors. Although I can hardly imagine what it could be, since such a long time has passed.”

“And yet, such evidence exists.” Safie grinned. “Leaving such evidence was extremely careless on a certain someone's part. But believe me, as a man with a wealth of experience: in such matters people very often act carelessly.”

“So?”

“As I said, the affair was short, but passionate. Before parting, the Marquis' wife gave the Duke her portrait as a keepsake.”

“Portrait of a married woman, kept by a single man… It is certainly not much, really.” I drawl in disappointment “In my opinion, it's not exactly incriminating evidence. In the end, you can never know how the portrait ended up in the Duke's possession.”

Safie smiles in such a way that I realize not all is lost.

“There are a few lines written on the back of the portrait,” he explains. “Of a fairly… special content. In the marchioness' handwriting.”

I breath in loudly through my nose. Needless to say, this turn of events is proving to be quite fortunate.

“As I understand it, you do not have this portrait?” I ask.

I should have expected that nothing in real life would ever be so easy.

“No,” with a smile, Safie shook his head. “You know the rules of my job. Information only.”

“But I think you can inform me where I should look for this portrait?”

“Approximately. As far as I know, the Duke still has the portrait,” Safie tells me in a business-like tone. “Where exactly, I cannot guarantee, but with a very high level of confidence I can assume that it is in the private office of Conrad Almikonte. That's where the Duke keeps these kinds of things. More precisely I cannot say. He has many safes, so in which one he keeps the portrait, I cannot guess.”

“Understandable,” I nod, feeling slightly gloomier.

Whichever way you slice it, the task has become more complicated. Retrieving evidence from the study of the Duke will not be an easy task, to put it mildly, and will be a risky one. The incident with the seal is still fresh in my memory. And then there's the hiding place, finding which will not be easy. Especially if there are a lot of hiding places. While I search all of them, both the Duke and Estley will have time to look into the room a hundred times over.

“Thank you, Mr. Safie.”

My companion, any way you look at it, has done his job well. I put the promised sum on the table, fair and square.

“Lady Antego, if I may, I would give you one piece of advice,” he says, collecting the coins in his hand. “Be very careful. If you are going to distribute this information, make sure that these rumors are not associated with your name. The Duke is not someone with whom one can afford an outright war.

“Thank you — I value your advice,” I smile. “You can be sure I will act very cautiously. My goal is to disrupt the wedding, not to quarrel with the Duke. Although this is not to say that today we are the best of friends.”

“Well, good luck to you, and come again.”

Safie beams like a person talking to a regular customer.

I smile in return, like a customer who is very satisfied with services rendered.

“I'll be back, with pleasure. You can be sure of it.”

On the way to the palace, I hardly notice anything around me, I am so intensely contemplating the situation at hand. I cannot help but draw a comparison between the intended theft of the portrait and the recent incident with the ducal seal. At the time, I refused to participate in that risky enterprise. Although in the end I was sucked in. But now something has changed. First: stealing the seal is a crime against the state, while stealing a portrait is a private matter. If the King found out about the first incident, he could have allowed the Duke to punish the noblewoman with the utmost severity. With the portrait there is no need to fear that. In that case the Duke would do everything in his power to hush up the situation. (However, he would try to take revenge anyway, so it's best not to get caught). Second: then it was about money, now Mireya's future is at stake. In this situation, I am ready to take a much greater risk. Just to help her get rid of the dubious advantage of the excessively lustful and improvident Marquis Dorion. Well, and, third: now I have in mind a reliable person for the job. But more about that later.

By the time I return to the palace, it is already dark outside. After going into my room to freshen up a bit, I go into to the familiar, half-empty, and rarely used room. I light a candle and hold my hand out as usual, summoning the ghost.

“Who hath sent thee to beg a boon of me?” Maya asks, yawning.

This greeting causes me to cough so hard that I almost blow out the candle. The ghost is quite pleased with the effect it has on me.

“Why does everyone think that ghosts can only scare people?” She drawls philosophically. “We can play jokes on people as well.”

“It's just a little difficult for people to associate ghosts with a sense of humor,” I say, clearing my throat.

Today she is dressed in traditional white. From beneath a wide dress with many ruffles, seductive stockings are peeking. Her hair is covered with a lace veil, but it does not hide her face.

“Nonsense,” snorts the ghost. “A sense of humor is a constant trait. If a person has one when they're alive, it won't disappear after they die.”

“You know, this is actually encouraging,” I say sincerely.

“There, you see! Ghosts can be useful too!” Maya announces in a moralistic tone, quite giddily circling the room. Obviously, without her feet touching the floor.

These words set me on a business footing.

“Maya, I have a request for you,” I proceed bluntly. “I really am uncomfortable. I know that you ghosts would prefer to lead a parallel existence to living people and not to interfere in our lives. I understand all that very well, but... Please, help me!” I clasp my hands imploringly. “I will do anything in return, whatever you say! If you want, I will bring down here all the jewelry of the ladies in waiting, or for a week without a break I will retell you the palace gossip, and describe in detail who wore what to the last ball. If you want, I will go to the cemetery at night and dig up someone dead. Or, conversely, bury someone alive...”

I don't know if I manage to convince her, but I succeed in amusing her.

“If you are ready to gossip for a week, then it's definitely something serious,” she states.

I note to myself that she did not consider the proposal to bury someone alive in the cemetery to be a convincing argument.

“Very,” I admit.

“What happened?”

I tell her about the latest developments. The Duke's plan to marry off his sister, my acquaintance with the Marquis and the portrait Conrad kept that we could use as a bargaining chip in this struggle.

“But you know much as I would like to, I won't be able to bring you this picture?” Maya reminds me. “We cannot touch the physical world.”

“I know. But you would do me an enormous favor if you could simply figure out where the portrait is. After all, walls and castles are no obstacles to you. You can look inside any safe. Then I will deal on my own with retrieving the portrait from there.”

I am holding my breath, waiting for her answer.

“Of course, it's against the rules, but I think I can help you,” the girl says finally. ”Although unspoken restrictions exist, they are mostly theoretical. In practice, almost none of us can talk to people, and almost none of you can hear us – aside from random rustles and eerie howling. Therefore, the intervention in human life usually just doesn't come up... Yes, I'll try to help,” she continues, thinking a little more. “I am in favor of your plan. We women need to support each other, even after death. This is the only way to survive in a man's world. I do not wish Mireya such a fate, marrying a man completely unattractive to her, whose sole interest is her dowry. It reminds me of a very unpleasant story that happened once upon a time to Elvira Almikonte.”

“Elvira Almikonte?” I frown.

No matter how I strain my memory, the name does not ring a bell.

“It happened during my life time, not yours,” Maya smiles. “So do not strain yourself. Elvira Almikonte was a relative of Mireya. I think her three times removed great-grandmother or something like that... Frankly, I'm not very well versed in all these family trees. All in all, a woman from the Almikonte family who lived in my time. She was older than I. At that time her story had all of high society in turmoil.”

“What happened to her?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“She was engaged.” Maya says with sudden harsh laugh, which sends a cold shiver down my spine. “To a man from a good family, by the way, also a Marquis, approved by all her relatives. Then it turned out that he had a permanent mistress, and that he had married Elvira just to get her impressive dowry.”

“So what happened next?”

“The wedding took place. He received her dowry. Then he got rid of Elvira, so he could be married again, this time to his mistress. His plan failed because of some minor error on his part. Now I don't even remember the details anymore. Some evidence came to light, he was suspected of the murder, and then, of course, there was an uproar, they organized a serious investigation... He was eventually executed.”

“But it did not bring Elvira back…” I mutter.

“That's right,” Maya nods. “It’s all history now, of course; it happened a long time ago — moreover, Elvira did not belong to the main branch of the Almikonte family. It was her cousin who inherited the title of the Duke, not her brother. As you know, in general aristocratic families prefer to forget the unpleasant past, especially when it does not reflect positively on the victim's relatives. So do not be surprised if now the details are all but forgotten.”

I contemplate this. Maybe they've been forgotten; it really is quite likely. I, in any case, have never heard even a hint of anything like that. It would be even more absurd to fear that Marquis Dorion, with all my dislike for him, would even think of repeating the crime that Elvira's husband once committed. Yet I keep thinking: maybe Mireya knows this story! And remembers it from the beginning, from the moment that the Duke showed up with his announcement. But she just might not be willing, or not consider it necessary to talk about it out loud. True, Mireya is usually not a secretive and reserved person. But we often are silent about things we fear the most.

Maya does not delay fulfillment of her promise. I wait in the room while she leaves for the office of the Duke, and then returns fifteen minutes later, looking quite happy with the result.

“The portrait is there,” she says, seeing that I am in a state of extreme impatience. I sigh with relief. “Hidden simply, behind a picture. To the right of the entrance, there is some landscape painting, I could not see it properly. I cannot touch it, but I think you just have to tilt it a little, it usually works that way. Inside is an empty space — that's where the portrait is kept. There's nothing else there, everything else is in the other hiding place. Oh, and there are so many of them there, let me tell you!” Maya shakes her head enthusiastically. “Simply unbelievable. Either your Duke is a great politician, or just a maniac, afraid of his own shadow, or maybe an amateur collector. But he has safes scattered throughout the office, every possible kind, with and without locks, with different tricks... In general, it was a very interesting excursion. But I won't tell you any more details: even if I am already breaking the rules, I'd like to keep it to a minimum.”

It does not even occur to me to object, as she has found exactly what I need. All I have left to do now is to somehow retrieve the portrait from the office.

I assign this task to Samantha. The thing is that shortly before the aforementioned events took place, the palace maid staff was expanded and the maids' responsibilities were redistributed in a certain way. As a result, some of the women who previously exclusively cleaned the quarters of Mireya and the ladies in waiting were transferred into "male territory". That meant, among other things, that they were closer to the Duke's chamber. We — how should I put it — fruitfully collaborated with one of the maids — this very Samantha. A maid can sometimes find a way in where a lady in waiting cannot enter, and hear what does not reach the ears of the noble ladies. For a noble lady like myself it can be extremely useful to be aware of everything ignoble, so as not to eat my cake as the first lady-in-waiting for nothing.

So I explain to Samantha what is required of her and where the sought-after item is, and wait for her in my chambers. I pace from corner to corner. After reminding myself that I have to be more calm, I sit down, but almost immediately get up and continue pacing. This cycle repeats several times. After about ten minutes I finally break down and decide to take a walk through the corridors, in order to intercept Samantha on her way back. The main thing is not to get too close to the territory of the Duke or, God forbid, attract any unnecessary attention to this fact.

Mentally limiting the promenade area, I walk back and forth, when I hear a noise from the direction I am interested in. I turn around (at that moment I am walking towards my own chambers) and wait tensely. The stomping steps are approaching. When those responsible for the ruckus emerge from around the corner, I barely restrain myself so as not to grind my teeth, and feign a naive expression of bewilderment.

Lord Estley is descending to the level of a lowly maid, and is marching by, personally holding Samantha's arm. It looks nothing like a gallant courtship. Even from a distance it is obvious that he is holding her tightly; the same is confirmed by the way the maid time and again clenches her teeth in pain.

“Oh, Lady Antego!” he exclaims, in his own way delighted to see me. However, his joy does not bode well for me, which is quite obvious not only from his angry gaze, but also from the way the Count addresses me. He rarely calls me by my surname. “I was going to hand off this girl to the butler, but I think you are an even more suitable candidate. Is she a maid from your staff?”

“She's from Lady Mireya's staff,” I correct. “What happened?”

“What happened?” repeats Lord Cameron, giving me a look that clearly states that I am a hypocrite, and he knows it. I make my conclusions and begin playing even harder, batting my eyes in amazement. “This woman,” Samantha winces as he tightens his fingers on her arm. “Was snooping around the Duke's office. Would you be so kind as to tell me what were you doing there this time? I'm warning you outright: the seal is no longer kept in its previous place.”

The astonishment in my stare changes to understanding. I sternly frown.

“Samantha, how dare you look for something in the office of Duke Almikonte?” I ask coldly.

“I just wanted to wipe the dust from the pictures!” the maid pitifully whines.

“Nonsense,” Estley cuts her off. “The dust was wiped from the frame as recently as yesterday. Besides, a different girl cleans the Duke's room. And do not try to lie, saying she was ill, and you were replacing her. These things are very easy to check.”

“Yes, Samantha, lies will not save you!” I second angrily. “You're fired!”

“But, Madame...”

“This conversation is over! You'll get the settlement from the treasurer. I'll write you the appropriate document. This is all. Get packing.”

I look away from Samantha to Lord Cameron, making it clear that my conversation with the girl is over. The maid slumps her shoulders and walks away, dragging her feet. Estley squints, then nods, not bothering to hide his irony.

“When you fire her, make sure not to overdo it with the generosity,” he suggests tartly. “It's just that I have a feeling that the poor thing will receive a tidy sum of money all of a sudden that will enable her to live comfortably in some village.”

“I do not know what you mean,” I shrug. “Although people do sometimes suddenly become rich. For example, receive an inheritance. You understand that I cannot keep track of such things. By your leave.”

I curtsy and return to my room.

It is dark in the Small Library, and I hurriedly light a candle. After listening to what is going on in the hallway and making sure no one is there, I lock the door. Taking the candlestick, I pass between the bookshelves. However, the books are not what interest me today.

Reaching the window, I put the candlestick on the windowsill and hastily take off my coat. I do not need it any longer; rather it would hinder me, so I fold it as tightly as I can and hide it on one of the lower shelves. Well, everything seems to be ready. Now, the window.

The Small Library is suitable from all standpoints. The books selected with excellent taste, comfortable armchairs, and the atmosphere of peace and tranquility. But this evening its main attraction for me is the location of its windows: next to the window of Duke Almikonte's office. I intend to take advantage of this fact, although this method of travel is new to me.

I open the window and lean out. Fortunately, the moon is full and the wind has dispersed the clouds. Otherwise, I could easily fall off and break my neck. Then again, what am I thinking? I can still easily fall off and break my neck. But there is no other way. If I try to enter through the door into the office, I have no doubt I will be turned around, just as Samantha was recently. Moreover, I would be lucky to get off as lightly as she.

Taking a deep breath, I climb up on the windowsill. I wonder who will receive my inheritance in case of my untimely and ignominious demise beneath the windows of the palace? Probably my parents. However, what inheritance am I even thinking about? Since I severed my relationship with my father and mother, I don’t really have an inheritance worth mentioning. I wouldn't be surprised if they had cut me out of their wills. So, what kind of stupid thoughts are running through my head? It must be the full moon, no doubt about it.

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Climbing on the ledge and walking on it in conventional palace clothes would be completely crazy, so I am wearing a simple house dress. The bodice is in the form of a vest, the skirt is not too wide, and does not constrain movement. I am not wearing any petticoats at all. I know, I know, it is highly scandalous, but it increases my chances of not falling to my death. In the palace wearing a negligee is frowned upon, and these dresses are usually worn by housewives at home, which is why I wear the cloak to hide the inappropriate attire on the way. It is late: on the way here I encounter very few people; one could hope that I might be as lucky on the way back from the library.

Sighing heavily for the second time, I feel that the phase "you never know what you can do," may be considered over with and I can with a clear conscience move to the "until you try" phase. I look out into the garden that the window overlooks to make sure nobody is out taking a walk in it, and climb out onto the ledge.

It is terrifying. The ledge turns out to be narrow, slippery and generally uncomfortable. What were these builders thinking, for gods' sake?! But, fortunately, the journey is short. So, after almost falling a couple of times, I open the window and smoothly enter the forbidden office.

A solid half of the moon looking through the window lights the room, not allowing it to drown completely in darkness. Just in case, I have brought a candle with me: I don't want to light the ones in the office, in case somebody would notice that they have burned longer than usual. But for now I prefer to do without additional light altogether. So, what do we have here? The door is to the right of the window. Two paintings hang on the opposite wall: a portrait and a landscape. Apparently, the second one is exactly the one I need.

Trying not to make any noise, I move towards the landscape and gently take hold of the narrow frame. An attempt to rotate the picture to the left fails, but it turns to the right easily. My heart is beating very fast as I slip my hand into the hole. No, not because I suddenly realize the gravity of my actions. It is just because at moments like this for some reason I always imagine that there is a snake or some nasty insect inside. Which is going to bite my hand as soon as I reach within. However, it is necessary to ridicule and possibly overcome one's own irrational fears. I, at least, adhere to this view. Therefore, with a malicious smile on my lips, I start working.. I begin to feel around the hiding place, and almost immediately find the corner of a thick sheet of paper.

I bring my find to the window and examine it against the light. It is the right one! Finally, fortune has smiled on me.

But as soon as I think that, I hear footsteps outside. My quick reflexes are what save me. I rush back to the wall, put the landscape painting back in its original position (in any case, I very much hope so) and quickly rush back to the window. Unfortunately there is no time to climb out: someone is already turning the doorknob from the outside. So I just duck behind the curtain, which luckily reaches the floor, and is made of very dense fabric. I hope that no one would think to draw it back. But this is, frankly, very unlikely.

The door swings open, and again I hear the sound of footsteps, this time sounding much closer and therefore louder. I hold my breath, hoping desperately that that it just feels like the curtains are still barely noticeably swaying. Good thing I had the sense not to light a candle!

“For this purpose you can spend a tenth of tax proceeds,” states the voice, the sound of which sends a pang of nervous ache through my stomach. I wonder if Lord Cameron would be pleased should he learn of my reaction to his appearance? “Perhaps even a twelfth”.

He comes very close to the window, and I clasp my hands tightly, in an attempt to stop my nervous shudders.

“Do not forget that last month we held back part of the taxes.” The Duke is a little further away; it seems near the desk. “So this time we will have to send more than the normal amount to the capital.”

“You think we might be short of money?”

Estley looks out the window, as if the money they are discussing is spread out in handfuls in the garden, and he could count right there whether there is enough of it or not to achieve their goals. I clench my teeth, unable to decide what curse would fit the Count more. But fortunately, a few moments later, he moves back into the room. I allow myself to exhale slowly.

“We shouldn't rule out that possibility. What do you think?”

“I'll see to it that it is examined thoroughly. In any case, we can afford to wait another month. During this time, nothing fundamental is going to change.”

With a loud thud some drawer is slammed shut. I hear steps again, this time heading toward the door. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part? For a few seconds I hold my breath in tense anticipation. I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat on my forehead. Finally, the door opens — and closes. The key turns in the lock. A few minutes later I hear the muffled steps fading away down the corridor.

I carefully, very slowly, peek out from behind the curtains and look around the room. No one is there. Leaning against the wall, I breathe deeply and exhale noisily through my mouth, pursing my lips. My hands are noticeably shaking and my knees feel weak. Untimely, I must say. I cannot allow myself to relax yet. It would be a shame after a successful outcome to such a venture to fall off the ledge so mundanely.

That was close! I reach the library safely. Just in case, I pick up a book, and after a moment of deliberation hide the portrait between its pages. Hurrying to the door, I realize that I left evidence behind, and dart back to the shelves to take my cloak. I wrap myself in it, so as not to show my outfit to everyone I might meet. Finally, I hasten back.

I reach my bedroom without incident. I unlock the door with my key (just a precaution against people who like to rummage around other people's chambers; there are quite a few of those in the palace!), turn the key in the lock again, and only then close my eyes in relief. I stand there for half a minute. Then I take off my coat and pull out the elusive portrait out of the book. I then throw the book carelessly onto a nearby chair. I start looking for the best place to hide the trophy for the time being.

“Bravo, Lady Inessa. To be honest: this I did not expect, even from you.”

I shudder and nearly stumble over nothing, when I suddenly hear his voice in the nighttime darkness of the room, which I previously thought was empty. Lord Cameron steps away from the wall and comes out of the darkest corner, like a ghost materializing out of nowhere. Only a ghost could never scare me like that.

“No, really.” Estley continues, while I am unable say a word, slowly recollecting myself from the shock. “Even I almost fell on my way here.”

He glances at the open window. The wind plays with the curtain. So that's how he managed to enter the locked room! Well, if I were to keep standing still with my eyes bulging, Estley might decide, gods forbid, that I had turned to stone and became a monument to myself. No need to provide him such joy! I firmly step to the table, planning to light a candle. But then I stop, realizing that the damned portrait is still in my hand!

“I can't even imagine how you managed to do it in all these skirts!” Lord Cameron continues to pour forth his admiration.

Well, there is really only one skirt, but I was certainly not going to make such an indecent confession. God forbid, he'd want to check.

“To what do you I owe the pleasure of such a peculiar visit?” I ask dryly, inwardly rejoicing that I have finally regained my voice.

“This item which you hold in your hand.” The Count readily responds. . “Yes, the one you just hid behind your back. Be so kind as to give it to me.”

I grit my teeth, but realize that any attempts to deny or resist would be futile this time. Thus under duress I hand the hard-won portrait to Estley.

“That's better,” he says contentedly, making me feel a strong bout of hatred towards him. Then, shaking his head, he adds: “How did you even find out about this story?”

“I know how to gather information,” I reply coldly, and this time do light the candle. I do not stop at just one candle, and light all five in the chandelier. There is no need to remain in an intimate setting with this monster.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Estley nods, looking at me with frank interest. “Interesting dress,” he says, and I blush, realizing that maybe I have gotten ahead of myself with the lighting. However, I am not going to give him the satisfaction of exposing my embarrassment.

“Do you like it?” I twirl around with demonstrative arrogance. “It was made by a very good seamstress. She managed perfectly straight stitches.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I meant.” Lord Cameron nods, looking at my chest, unrestricted by a corset, and at my legs, which can be seen through the fabric, due to the lack of hoops. “The stitches.”

That's it. Enough is enough.

“Lord Cameron, why the Hell are you bothering Lady Mireya?” I ask angrily, putting my hands on my hips for emphasis.

“I? Lady Mireya? May the gods protect me from that!”

“Do not pretend you do not know what I'm talking about. Why do you care so vehemently about her marriage? Just leave her alone! And then,” I pointedly glance at the portrait, “there would be no need for all of this!”

“Lady Inessa,” Estley says with fake weariness. “I have already told you, nothing unusual or bad is happening to Lady Mireya for a woman of her status. It is a normal engagement, a normal marriage.”

"Normal," I snort. “This is just like you! You have very strange ideas about what constitutes normal. Are you at least aware that she is a living person, not a toy and not an image from some history book?”

“Lady Inessa,” Estley sighs. “I have made inquiries into how you came into the service of Mrs. Almikonte. I realize now that you are comparing her engagement to the episode from your own past. But you have to understand: those two cases have virtually nothing in common.”

He needn't have bothered saying the last couple of sentences. About the comparison, about the difference between me and Mireya. All that does not matter, because I simply am not listening to a word he is saying. The beginning is more than enough for me. My fists clench painfully, and colored spots swim before my eyes, I am so furious.

“Oh, you made inquiries.” I hiss like a snake. I do not know how I manage to restrain myself from scratching his face with my manicured fingernails. “I warn you that this is none of your business! Do you enjoy digging through other people's dirty laundry, huh? Did you dig through mine? Did you like it? Or is there something I need to correct? Some spots need to be washed? Some hair needs to be shaved?” The encompassing rage makes me completely forget about decency; moreover, I receive some kind of morbid satisfaction from treading on it. As if I were treading upon the lifeless body of my interlocutor instead. “Don't be embarrassed, you can tell me! I'll take it all under advisement!”

“You should not react so painfully to my words.” Judging by his tone my tirade doesn't really impress him. “This story does not in any way besmirch your reputation. Yes, it casts a shadow on people from your surroundings, but not on you. I can perfectly understand your reluctance to remain in contact with your parents. By the way, I also made inquiries and found out that your suspicions were more than justified. It seems as though already back then you had mastered the extraordinary ability to collect information.”

“Life left me no choice,” I snap.

“Rubbish,” Estley frowns. “Life leaves many no choice, but all the same very few do the right thing.”

“Maybe we should leave alone my humble person and return to talking about Lady Mireya?”

I am still extremely angry. His small compliment on my detective abilities could not extinguish the conflagration of anger that overwhelms me.

“Very well." Estley, unlike me, is still impervious. “I just want to say that Lady Mireya's situation is completely different from yours. Marquis Dorion is not a maniac, nor a pervert, nor a murderer.”

“Well he's not a ray of light in the realm of darkness either,” I say.

“None of us are,” Estley says, showing some modesty.

Oh, on that I was ready to agree with him, more than anyone else!

“Certainly not you, Lord Cameron.”

“You see, one point in favor of the Duke: he didn't choose me as a husband for his sister.”

I'm not sure that's a point in his favor. Well, quite frankly, I think Estley is still a better candidate than the Marquis. But I would rather eat my own hat than say it to his face.

“You see, Lord Estley, even the Duke understands what kind of person you are," I snap, still downright angry with him for digging into my past. "The only reason he keeps you around is because he finds it useful. You after all, unlike the Marquis, do know how to kill, and are very creative at that. Would you kindly tell me how you drove the unfortunate Count Kroyton to suicide?"

Estley’s eyes narrow and darken, as though all the night's darkness is seeping from the corners of the room into his eyes. Such a radical change in the demeanor of the usually unflappable Lord Cameron makes me back away. But that does not stop him from catching up with me in two steps, grabbing my shoulders and shaking them.

"Do not talk about what you do not understand," he hisses, and then drops his hands, regaining control.

I step away and Estley sharply turns and takes a few steps around the room. When he looks back at me, his gaze is still gloomy, but no more than that.

"You know how people addicted to the purple dust die?" he asks in a hollow voice, but does not wait for an answer. "I will spare you the details. I'll only say that by the end those people lose half their body weight, and only a faint echo remains of their minds. You, Lady Inessa, have faced the dirty side of life only once. I am not denying that the danger passed you by a hair's breadth. But there are still a lot of horrible things out there, that you — living in the palace and weaving intrigues for the Duke's sister — cannot even imagine."

Completely bewildered, I watch him dashing about the room — and just in case, try to remain as still as possible. What has come over him, and how was it triggered by my mention of the suicide?

"Count Kroyton established an entire network of production and distribution of purple dust across the Duchy," Estley says, apparently reading the unspoken question in my eyes. "At the time, a person close to me became addicted to this stuff. Just do not romanticize this: we are not talking about a relative or my lover. Just a good friend. By the time I found out about everything, he was beyond help. But I could find the person distributing the powder. That is what I did, and believe me, with great zeal. By the way, that was when I began to actively cooperate with the Duke. We wove an intricate spider's web which unexpectedly led us to the very top. To a hereditary Count, no less."

"So you decided to make him commit suicide, to hush it up?"

Estley looks closer to me, trying to understand the motive behind the question. But in the expression on my face, as well as in my intonation, there is no condemnation, no fear, and no sarcasm. I don't feel the least bit sorry for Kroyton.

“Not at all."

This response surprises me.

"His suicide had nothing to do with you?" I am surprised.

"Not nothing, of course. He chose it when he realized how soon I was going to catch him. And that he could not escape unpunished. But I did not want him to commit suicide. I wanted him to be held accountable according to the law: and this, believe me, would have been a much more painful death. And then, since it happened, and there was no chance for a public execution anyway, the Duke decided not to make public Kroyton's involvement in this case, so as not to denigrate the title of Count."

I grin wryly. It was in Almikonte's style, and indeed our whole aristocracy's. Take for example the story of the late Elvira, which everybody preferred to forget. However, Estley, it seems, was not so happy with that resolution either.

"Both of us encountered the dirty side of life very early on, Lady Inessa," he says. «But Mireya Almikonte is one of those people who do not see this side at all. That is why it is typical of her to blow altogether petty problems out of proportion.

"An unwanted marriage is a petty problem?!"

The short truce tacitly established between us under the influence of Lord Cameron's story is again at risk.

"I generally understand your devotion to Lady Mireya," he continues, as if he hadn't heard my words. "But don't you think, Lady Inessa, that for the sake of this devotion you are willing to run a risk that is too great? First, during your years of service at the court you have fully repaid Lady Almikonte for her help. Second, her behavior was certainly commendable, but not exceptional. Many people in her place would have done the same."

"But in reality she was the only one to help me," I snap.

"Because those were the circumstances."

Have I imagined it, or do I hear regret in his voice that it had not been him instead of Mireya at the time? No, I am probably imagining it.

"Look, Lord Cameron!" The shock has passed and I have regained the desire to act. I take a step closer to Estley, showing him the beauty of a negligee dress and looking ingratiatingly into his eyes. This technique is called "the look of a hungry but charming puppy." "Give me the portrait. I promise you that Lady Mireya will not disclose the secret of the Duke. She will just threaten him inside the family, so that he no longer insists on this wedding. Well, really, won't you meet me halfway?"

And now – the look of a very hopeful puppy, eager to be patted on the back and taken home.

"You are incorrigible, Lady Inessa." Judging by the fact that Estley takes a step back, the negligee had a chance to break through his armor, but, alas, in the end cold reason prevails over instinct. "You will not get this portrait. It belongs to the Duke, not to Lady Mireya. Moreover, allow me to doubt that in such a tempting situation she would choose the honorable path."

"So, you are not going to give me the portrait?" I conclude.

"No."

My gaze turns from that of a puppy to that of a cat. The look of a wild cat, with its claws out and ready to pounce. However, ready to wait as long as is necessary, before attacking its prey at the right moment.

"I will have it in any case," I promise, unkindly squinting. "No matter what you do."

Estley gives me a measuring look.

"That is true," he concludes.

Unfortunately, I do not understand right away what he has in mind. It becomes clear only when, coming to the table, he brings the corner of the portrait to the candle flame. I rush for the trophy, but it is too late. Estley steps back and holds his hand up, blocking me from reaching the paper being rapidly devoured by the flames. Very soon he throws the piece of paper, wrinkled and ready to crumble to ash, into an empty thick glass vase.

"The Duke will never forgive you," I growl.

"We'll find a way to come to an agreement," Estley counters.

"You are a real scumbag!" There is nothing to negotiate, so I don't consider it necessary to hide my feelings any longer. "Get out of my quarters!"

"As you wish."

Lord Cameron steps to the door.

"Oh no." I move, blocking his path. "You'll go the way you came!"

I pointedly look at the open window.

Estley impressively arches an eyebrow, and then bows his head composedly.

"As you say."

Without hesitation, he turns and walks to the window.

"I hope you fall and break your neck!" I venomously yell at his back when he climbs out onto the ledge. Then for a long time I listen to what is happening outside. Of course, he does not fall.

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The whole book is available here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88