Lady Class - Chapter 37

At the mention of the southern villa, the first thing that came to Rackley’s mind was Kahn. Her heart sank.

“…What?”

“I just overheard something shocking. It can’t be true, right? A dignified young lady like you behaving so disgracefully with the Solomon family’s eldest son? That doesn’t even make sense, does it? It’s not true, is it?”

“Oh my, what are you talking about?”

Harvey Viscountess’s eyes widened, and her voice grew louder at the prospect of a new scandal. Nearby nobles stopped their conversations and turned their attention toward them.

“Oh, now that you mention it, I recall Rowinda telling me something… Rackley, didn’t you say you had been to the Solomon family’s southern villa?”

“I overheard something earlier—apparently, you and Bowil Solomon passed through the same capital security checkpoint on the same day, around the same time. You took separate carriages, but witnesses saw you both coming from the same direction.”

Viscountess Harvey and Will Winner’s wife pressed Rackley for answers. Some of the things they mentioned were completely new to her.

“Wait a moment—I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but—”

“Rackley Winner!”

Before she could explain, Will Winner bellowed.

When Rackley’s mother had left the estate for medical treatment, Will Winner had volunteered to manage the estate on her behalf.

However, despite being young, Rackley had insisted on taking charge herself, pushing Will Winner aside. Ever since then, he had harbored resentment toward her, treating his niece with relentless strictness, seizing every opportunity to reprimand her over the smallest matters.

“Rackley Winner, what kind of disgraceful behavior have you been engaging in?”

All eyes turned to her. The protagonists of this banquet were supposed to be the Winner Count and his wife, not her. She didn’t want to upset Rowinda by drawing unnecessary attention.

“Irina lent me the Solomon family’s southern villa for a visit, but the young master of the Solomon family was not there.”

“So, you were at the villa alone?”

“Well…”

She hesitated for a moment. The truth was, she hadn’t been alone.

The person she had been with was different, but as Will Winner’s wife had implied, Rackley had indeed spent a rather improper time there.

The memory of that time flashed in her mind, making her bite her lip. She knew Bowil Solomon’s face—no matter how much he changed his hair, she wouldn’t have failed to recognize him. Bowil Solomon and Kahn were not the same person.

For just a brief moment, hesitation flickered across Rackley’s face, but Harvey Viscountess caught it instantly. She gasped dramatically and covered her mouth.

“Oh my, Rackley! Is it true? Did you really have a secret affair with Bowil Solomon?”

“No! That’s not true!”

She denied it, but it was useless.

“What kind of conduct is this? How could you behave in such a way that would lead to such rumors?”

Will Winner’s expression darkened.

The people eager to tear into Rackley’s misfortune widened their eyes in anticipation. They weren’t concerned about propriety; they wanted to back her into a corner and expose her disgrace right then and there.

And the people who should have been defending her—her own family—were the cruelest.

Just then, Irina approached and grabbed Rackley’s wrist, pulling her away.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

“Wait, we’re in the middle of a conversation!”

“This is urgent.”

“Oh my…”

Rather than chase after them, the three of them dispersed, eager to gather more information about the rumors spreading.

Irina led Rackley to the balcony.

Rackley could still feel the gazes of the others on her—curious, judgmental stares that felt like blows against her body.

Once they were hidden behind the curtains of the balcony, Irina urgently spoke.

“This is bad, Rackley. Strange rumors about you are spreading.”

“Why is your brother’s name involved? Why are they saying he was at the southern villa? I never even saw him there.”

“Rackley, are you sure you actually went to our villa?”

“…What?”

Rackley blinked in confusion.

Irina had arranged for her stay there—she had spent time at the villa comfortably, thanks to her generosity. And now Irina was asking if it was really the Solomon family’s villa?

Irina keenly observed Rackley’s expression. Her grip tightened around Rackley’s forearm.

“My brother definitely went to that villa. He even met the caretaker, but they said you weren’t there. The caretaker said you never arrived. What is going on?”

After pressing her for an answer, Irina lowered her voice and asked confidentially.

“You even attended the ‘Lady Class’ I arranged, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yes. I definitely…”

When Rackley affirmed it, Irina’s eyes widened. But Rackley was too lost in thought to notice her reaction.

She recalled Brand greeting her at the villa after she had walked along an unpaved road to get there.

“It definitely had a blue roof…”

Had she ever actually confirmed it was the Solomon family’s villa?

Brand hadn’t asked who she was. He had simply welcomed her and led her to a room, so she had assumed that Irina had informed them of her arrival in advance. They had never mentioned the owner of the estate either.

She hadn’t confirmed that it was the Solomon family’s villa.

“…My God.”

Rackley covered her mouth with her trembling hand.

What if it had been a different villa?

If the place she had stayed in wasn’t the Solomon family’s villa, then who had she been with?

She had already sent a letter to Maggie at the villa, asking for opinions on recipes and business. The villa’s address didn’t indicate which family it belonged to.

Rackley tried to recall the address Irina had given her before she left for the villa. She had written Blue Roof Villa, 22 Carilla Street when sending the letter to Maggie, but the address Irina had provided was—

“Wait. It was Blue Roof Villa, 23 Carilla Street.”

Rackley’s face turned pale.

The numbers were different.

If it wasn’t the Solomon family’s villa, then who was the man she had spent time with?

Who was the man who had held her, calling himself a gigolo?

Had she been deceived by someone else’s lies?

Her legs felt weak, and she staggered, gripping the balcony railing for support.

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest tightened, her vision spun. Stumbling backward, she clung to the balcony curtain.

“Yes, it is true.”

A clear male voice cut through her daze, pulling Rackley’s consciousness back.

His voice, as crisp as that of a trained actor, echoed through the hall, reaching even the balcony where Rackley stood.

“Oh… brother?”

Irina muttered as she looked toward the hall.

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the center.

There stood the Count of Winner, Rowinda, and Bowil Solomon. With the weight of everyone’s gaze upon him, Bowil placed a hand elegantly over his chest and bowed respectfully to the Count.

“I will take responsibility for the unpleasant rumors.”

He spoke with the dignity of a knight awaiting the king’s approval, exuding sincerity and solemnity.

Rackley, her face ghostly pale, stared at Bowil.

“This is not how I wished to make this announcement,” he continued, “but since the rumors have already spread, there is no other choice. Yes, the Young Lady of Winner and I traveled together to the southern villa.”

The murmuring in the banquet hall ceased entirely. The silence was so profound that one might hear the footsteps of a passing ant.

That suffocating silence closed in around Rackley like a vice.

As Bowil scanned the room, he offered a gentle smile before bowing to the Count of Winner.

“I will marry the young lady.”

The sight of a nobleman proposing publicly made the hearts of many women flutter. Moreover, with strange rumors already circulating, the fact that the nobleman himself stepped forward to clarify the situation made it clear—it was an act to save the young lady.

“Oh my!”

“Rackley and him?”

Rackley took a step back, shaking her head. She couldn’t understand why Bowil was doing this.

Her body trembled, and she barely managed to open her lips to deny it.

“No, absolutely not. The person I was with at the villa wasn’t the young master. Irina, I never even saw his face.”

“Then who was it?”

Shocked, Rackley slowly turned to look at Irina, who coldly repeated her question.

“Who was the man you spent time with at the villa?”

“…What?”

“If you just name him, everything will be explained. Who was it, Rackley? The one who taught you the Lady Class?”

“That person was…”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

She couldn’t say it. No, she mustn’t say it.

The man with black hair—the gigolo whose true identity she didn’t even know.

“Aah…”

But even if she did know who he was, it wouldn’t make a difference.

If she told the truth and denied meeting Bowil, what would happen?

Would this situation improve at all?

If she confessed that she had taken Lady Class lessons from a gigolo, she would only be admitting to scandalous behavior herself. If that happened, she wouldn’t even be able to remain in the capital.

As Rackley swayed and leaned against the curtain, Irina supported her, whispering in her ear. Her eyes, visible through strands of loose hair, gleamed chillingly.

“Now that things have come to this, this is for the best, Rackley. Marry my brother.”

“…What?”

“To refute my brother’s words in front of everyone, you’d have to admit that you spent an indecent time with another man in a different villa. Is that what you want?”

“Irina! But if I—”

“What else could you say in front of everyone? Even if you deny it, my brother is standing up for you like this. Do you think anyone will believe you over him?”

Irina’s sly whisper left Rackley with no escape. She was backed further into a corner.

“Fine. Let’s say you get through this moment. What about tomorrow, when this story spreads through the social circles? You know how much people love gossip. The rumors will grow and grow, until one of them inevitably becomes the truth.”

“That’s…”

“Before that happens, you have to take control of the situation. Instead of being seen as a scandalous woman, you need to be known as the noble lady who received a public proposal.”

Rackley’s mind went blank. She was frozen, unable to think. Her body trembled, and a hot pressure built up behind her eyes.

Rational judgment was impossible. Instinctively, she knew—she was at a dead end.

Breathing felt impossible.

“Rackley Winner! Where are you? Come out at once! Rackley!”

The Count of Winner’s furious voice rang through the banquet hall. The guests, knowing exactly where she was, silently stepped aside, opening a path to the balcony.