"Where is William's letter?" The Duchess asked eagerly as soon as Mike left.
"Who told you about it?" Vincent countered.
"Why didn't you tell me?" The Duchess demanded, her tone fierce. "I am his mother. I have a right to know about him."
"Silence!"
Vincent's voice was harsh. "It's because of your loose tongue that you were driven out of London."
The Duchess wanted to argue, but Vincent's face darkened. He pulled William's letter from a drawer and slammed it on the table.
"Take it, if you must know so badly," he said coldly. "Some things are better left unknown."
The Duchess quickly grabbed the letter, ignoring her son's words. She read the lines with joy, but that joy soon vanished from her face.
"No!!"
She let out a sharp cry, pressing the letter to her chest as if she couldn't bear it, then slowly sank to her knees.
Vincent watched her coldly, making no move to help.
"How could this be..." The Duchess's face was filled with shock and disappointment. She mumbled to herself, refusing to believe the words on the letter. Suddenly, she looked at Vincent. "Is it you... Is it you!"
Thinking she had found the cause, she sneered. "Ha, it's you. You've been living quite comfortably in this countryside... How many times have you slept with that one just now? ...Ha..."
Vincent's face contorted in anger. "What nonsense are you spouting? Where is your decorum?"
"There's no going back, why care about decorum!"
The Duchess screamed hysterically, her neatly combed hair now in disarray, her twisted features resembling a madwoman in the marketplace.
Vincent rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
When the Duchess was a young woman, she became the King's mistress. Her son was taken by the barren Queen and raised as a Prince. Later, she married a Duke but continued her physical relationship with the King, making it impossible to tell whose child Vincent was.
She possessed unparalleled beauty but lacked the intellect to match. Vincent had to discipline her carefully to prevent her from causing trouble.
"Please, calm down. You don't want the servants to hear."
He spoke more gently.
Despite her claims of disregarding decorum, the Duchess still cared about her reputation. She barely managed to suppress her emotions and stood up, adjusting the drape of her dress.
Vincent looked at his mother's angry face, wishing he could send her back to London and let William handle her. But he couldn't do that. William's letter had ordered them not to return to London. While this was inconceivable to the Duchess, Vincent had known it would be the case since they left London.
The King was gravely ill, and it was only a matter of time before William, as the heir, would ascend the throne. Although the Duchess still dreamt of becoming the most esteemed woman in the land, Vincent knew they were William's scandalous secret that had to be kept far away.
A country's king couldn't bear the stigma of being a bastard.
Such an obvious matter was difficult to explain to the Duchess. She had lived a smooth life, favored by the King and married to a wealthy Duke, with even the Queen treating her politely. In London, she could freely enter the palace, not for William's sake but to enjoy its luxury and the flattery of noblewomen.
In reality, William's feelings for the Queen were much deeper than those for his biological mother. The Queen, uninterested in which woman's bed the King slept in, focused solely on raising the children. She didn't oppose William's contact with Vincent and even sent snacks and tea for the two boys.
Vincent rang a bell, and a servant brought brandy.
The Duchess drank an entire glass.
"My Lady," Vincent began, changing the topic, "didn't you say you wanted new jewelry? There's a new collection from Paris. You can choose any you like."
"...About time." The Duchess paused before responding, "But London..."
"We can discuss that later," Vincent said. "Don't you want to see the jewelry now?"
The Duchess hesitated longer. Returning to London was naturally more important than new jewelry. However, she would need to plead with William and write several letters for that. For now, the jewelry was more tempting.
"...Alright." She nodded slightly.
Meanwhile, Mike, who had fled in a hurry, ran into the returning Duke at the castle.
"Oh, Mr. Rorscha," the Duke was startled, pausing his steps. He greeted Edward warmly, "Are you leaving already?"
Mike felt embarrassed by his rudeness. "I apologize." His face reddened, making him look younger than he was.
"Are you leaving? The snowy roads are slippery; I'll have someone take you back." The Duke said.
His tone remained polite, but his attitude was suggestive.
Mike's heart sank. Forcing a smile, he said, "Yes, I've overstayed my welcome. It's time to leave."
Though he hadn't considered leaving before, letting himself be consumed by the situation, the Duke's words made Mike realize he wasn't truly welcome to stay. For various reasons, the Duke hadn't directly expelled Mike but subtly hinted he should leave.
Vincent must have kept their relationship from his father, but a noble who had experienced the King's scandalous court and married his mistress was observant and discreet.
Mike left hastily, not even packing his things, and was put in a carriage. The Duke assured him that his belongings would be sent to the Rorscha estate.
Once again, Mike felt a deep sense of shame.
"Thank you."
The horse's hooves clattered, and the carriage door closed. Mike resisted the urge to look back. He clutched his hands in dismay, feeling lost about the future and nostalgic for the past, much like the first time he left home for school in Paris.
But this time, he didn't even get to say goodbye to his beloved.
Vincent, having dealt with his mother, went to find Mike, only to learn he had already left.
"What happened?" His anger was no longer concealed as he sharply questioned the servant.
"Did you fail to serve him properly? Mr. Rorscha is my dear friend. How dare you neglect him and make him angry?!"
The young footman, only twenty, had never seen the usually kind heir so furious and was trembling, unable to speak.
"Oh, Master." The butler hurried over. "You, get out!" He scolded the bewildered footman away.
Vincent looked at him with a grim expression.
"Master, it was the master's orders." The butler explained nervously. "You instructed us to treat Mr. Rorscha as an honored guest. We wouldn't dare neglect him."
"My father is back?" Vincent raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Yes, the master personally ordered us to prepare a carriage to take Mr. Rorscha home."
Vincent's expression darkened.
"Alright, I understand." He dismissed the butler curtly, then suddenly called him back, "Where is he?"
"The master is in the small drawing-room on the second floor."
Vincent turned to go upstairs but then slowed his steps. His father wasn't as easy to appease as his mother. The Duke had risen to become the King's confidant by marrying his mistress, holding the royal family's secrets while enjoying wealth and honor. Yet, he seemed indifferent to it all, spending a lot of time and effort on Vincent, educating and accompanying him. Thus, their bond was deep, and Vincent didn't want to yell at his father.
Besides, the Duke had ignored Vincent and Mike's relationship until now, indicating there must be a reason for his sudden action.
Vincent rubbed his temples.
Events were happening one after another, making it hard to breathe. The surging waves swept him towards an unknown direction.