rsed through her body, as she had walked longer than expected.

When she changed from her gown, which was droopy with moisture, into her indoor gown, Marie realized that Anne was cold and prepared tea to warm her body.

Rubbing her frozen hands, her gaze strayed to Marie, who brewed the tea.
She looked down at the droopy corners of Marie’s eyes, creating a gentle impression.

“If Madam says so, Master will order us to manage the greenhouse right away.”

Marie, who had scooped a spoonful of cinnamon powder— said to warm the body— spoke in a quiet voice.

Master?

Marie was not a maid, why would she call Daymond master? The more Anne thought about it, the more strange it was.

Obviously, Marie is His Grace’s mistress .
.
.

Anne suddenly realized something.
The Grand Duke visited her without missing a single night from the moment Anne entered the castle.
Even if she admitted that it was unavoidable on the first night, she was somewhat suspicious as the visits continued.

He comes to my bedroom every night .
.
.
When does he sleep with Marie?

The war of nerves between the legal wife and the mistress occurred a lot during tea parties.
They did not interfere with each other or quarrel openly, but they were subtly conscious and alert.
Among them, the factor with the most weight was their bedroom lives.
They judged each other’s superiority based on whose bedroom the man went to that night.

When she heard those ladies’ innermost thoughts, Anne clicked her tongue, saying that it was a pity.
Human life was too short for women to live their entire lives competing for one man.
In other words, it was a waste of time.

So, she paid little attention to the relationship between the two and moved on.
She never even thought about when they slept together.

But those doubts, once started, kept biting her in the back and encouraged her to keep asking questions.

“Since when did you and the Grand Duke become lovers?”

“.
.
.
It’s been less than half a year now.”

Marie’s head lowered.
Such a conversation was obviously quite difficult.

It was always like this.
Marie had always acted like that, unconsciously avoiding questions related to the Grand Duke.
At first she thought it would be better not to ask Marie, so she didn’t, but she kept having strange feelings, so she didn’t back down this time.

“The Grand Duke .
.
.”

Anne pondered what to ask, and said again.

“He seems to like Marie a lot.”

“That .
.
.
that’s .
.
.
not true .
.
.
!”

Marie jumped and shook her head violently.
Was it just a humble, polite denial? Or was it a complete denial? She could not make a proper judgment.

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