Chapter 335: A Summons from Allan

Margaret’s face was stiff, her grip tightening around the silk handkerchief in her hand. Agnes, visibly enraged, scoffed, “Mother, did you hear her? She just married in and already acts like she doesn’t answer to you!”

Margaret slowly stood, casting Cristina a cold glance. “Enough. Stop making a scene. It won’t do you any good.”

Agnes hesitated, frowning. “What do you mean, Mother? Are you saying Cristina becoming a concubine is just wishful thinking?”

Margaret’s gaze darkened with disappointment as she looked at Agnes. “I warned you before—stay out of household matters. If you meddle again, don’t expect your maiden home to welcome you back.”

Cristina suddenly snapped, her voice chilling. “What are you saying?” She looked shaken, as though it had never occurred to her that Margaret wouldn’t take her side.

Margaret sighed, her tone carrying the weight of exhaustion. “Cristina, what you did tonight was reckless. Even if you had actually died, you’d be the only one who suffered. Isolde just married into the family. Attempting suicide on her wedding night—no matter the reason—looks like coercion. If word spreads, it won’t be her reputation that suffers. It will be yours.”

With that, Margaret turned and walked away. Cristina stared at Agnes, letting out a hollow, bitter laugh as tears welled in her eyes. “So this was your brilliant plan?”

Agnes exhaled slowly. “Who could have predicted this outcome?” She glanced at the few drops of blood staining the floor and muttered, “That’s all?”

Cristina shot her a cold glare. “What, did you actually want me dead?”

“Of course not,” Agnes murmured. Then, looking at Cristina’s disheveled, feverish face, she shook her head. “Forget it. Get some rest. We’ll think of something else.”

As she stepped outside, her expression twisted with frustration. “What a useless fool,” she spat under her breath.

Mell, her trusted maid from the Felton family, followed closely. “What happened?”

Agnes scowled. “I told her to stage a convincing suicide, but look at her. She’s full of energy—probably has more strength than I do! Who’s going to believe she actually tried to kill herself? She made such a half-hearted mess of it that it accomplished nothing. If she’d caused a big enough stir, Allan might have been forced to intervene. He values his reputation, after all. There was a real chance he’d have declared her a concubine just to avoid scandal. Now all we’ve done is irritate Mother, and for what?”

Agnes suddenly stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing. “Did you hear what Isolde said? So sharp-tongued, so unshaken. She knew Cristina was faking it. She must…”

Mell hesitated. “But Lady Cristina would never truly take her own life. You said yourself—she barely lost any blood.”

Agnes’ lips curled into a sinister smirk. “Mell,” she whispered, leaning in, “go and fetch some arsenic.”

Mell stiffened, her face draining of color. “This late at night? Where am I supposed to find arsenic?”

“Go to the apothecary,” Agnes said, her voice low and smooth. She whispered further instructions in Mell’s ear. After a moment’s hesitation, the maid gave a sharp nod and hurried off.

Back at Ningser Pavilion, Isolde returned to find Oliver waiting for her. “Well?” he asked.

“She really did cut her wrist,” Isolde replied, “but it was all for show. The real goal was to force her way in as a concubine. You once told me Cristina had tried to cozy up to you. Was that true?”

“I don’t know if she meant it, but she certainly acted like it,” Oliver said grimly. “Regardless, even if she were gifted to me on a silver platter, I wouldn’t take her. I’ll speak to Arthur about sending her back home. If she values her dignity, I can even arrange for a formal apology from a senior member of the family.”

Isolde exhaled. “I had assumed she still held the same old grudge against you. But if she’s truly fallen for you, she won’t leave willingly.” She gave a wry smile. Rosemary really had a way of attracting trouble—first herself, and now Cristina.

Oliver’s expression darkened. “I don’t care what she wants. She was never meant to be my concubine in the first place. If it comes to it, I’ll petition the palace for an official decree.”

“We can discuss that another time,” Isolde murmured. “Talking about concubines on our wedding night really kills the mood.”

Oliver’s tense shoulders relaxed. He took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “You’re right. We’ll deal with it later.” He pulled her down to sit beside him. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I had dinner with Hattie.”

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I should have been the one to eat with you tonight. But with both families hosting the banquet, I had to keep drinking. It wasn’t long before I was already half-drunk. And then, people kept coming over for toasts… I finally understand why my grandfather always insisted on drinking with me. I thought he just wanted a drinking partner—turns out he was training my tolerance.”

Isolde laughed. “Not just you. I also thought he was just looking for someone to drink with. Do you feel better now? Still have a headache?”

“It’s mostly gone,” Oliver admitted.

“Have Miniro bring another bowl of sobering soup.” She studied his face, noting the redness in his eyes and the pale tinge of post-drunken exhaustion.

“That sounds good,” he admitted. “I don’t want to waste tonight.”

Isolde stepped out and ordered Miniro to fetch the soup. After drinking it, Oliver sat on the bed and practiced controlled breathing, clearing the last traces of alcohol from his system.

Isolde handed him a cup of coffee. “Here, drink this.”

Oliver accepted it, drinking it straight from her hand. When he finished, he gazed at her intently. She set the cup aside and met his eyes.

Oliver gently brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Tired?”

“Not really. Even if I were, it’d be worth it.”

Oliver wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close so that she lay against his chest. He toyed with her hair absentmindedly.

“Isolde,” he murmured, “we’re finally married.”

She listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. “Yes, we are.”

“I’m happy,” he said, his voice low and warm. “More than happy. It’s a feeling I can’t even put into words.”

Isolde chuckled. “At a loss for words? That’s rare for you!”

He kissed the top of her head. “It’s like I’ve found something rare, something precious. And I want to treasure it forever.”

She laughed softly. “Like a priceless artifact?”

Oliver thought for a moment, then nodded firmly. “Exactly. You are my greatest treasure. And in this moment, I’m grateful for everything that brought me here.”

Isolde sighed in quiet contentment, shifting slightly to get more comfortable against him. No, she thought. You are my greatest treasure.

Then a sharp knock at the door interrupted the moment. Outside, a voice called, “Lord Oliver, Lady Isolde—Lord Allan requests your presence.”

Both of them froze. Allan? On their wedding night? Why is he summoning us now?