The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 78: A Bit Of A Problem

When Penelope arrived at the parish, she immediately sought out Father Thomas, handing him the leather-bound record she had retrieved from the barony wardrobe.

"These are the records I managed to uncover," she said softly, keeping her voice low within the quiet sanctity of the church. "But... how was she able to construct entirely different logs purporting to come from the very same parish? I hesitate to leap to a false conclusion, but it seems it would only be possible if she had bribed someone within these walls. Furthermore, I noticed that the wax seal on this document is subtly, yet noticeably, different from the original parish crest."

Father Thomas adjusted his spectacles, laying both ledgers side by side upon the heavy oak table. He carefully examined the impressions, tracing the faint lines before shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

"Your instincts are correct, Marchioness. I do not believe this log originated from our parish at all; it appears entirely fabricated. The clumsy imitation of the seal is indictment enough, but the timeline written here for the premature delivery does not align properly with the liturgical calendar either. I am profoundly surprised anyone fell for such an amateur deception."

Father Thomas’s academic analysis served to finalize the bitter reality.

"So that is the definitive truth then," Penelope murmured, the gravity of the revelation settling heavily upon her. "Mirabel is not related to the Viremont family in the slightest."

She had always known the terrifying extent of Lady Genevieve’s greed, but she had never truly expected the woman to go so far as to pin a completely fraudulent pregnancy on her father. Yet, a darker, colder part of Penelope’s mind whispered that her father had brought this ruin upon himself.

Despite having a faithful, loving wife at home, he had chosen to squander his dignity, and the precious funds meant for the survival of the territory, in a sordid nightly scandal at the brothels.

A sharp, painful knot of anger tightened in Penelope’s chest on her late mother’s behalf. It was a cruel irony.

Her brow furrowed as a sudden, agonizing question struck her, pulling her mind back into the past.

If Mother had access to this proof all this while, why didn’t she expose them? Why did she choose to endure the humiliation and allow Genevieve to usurp her place?

"Let this remain between you and me for now, Father," she said to Father Thomas, her fingers gently sweeping over the forged ledger. "I intend to make extra copies of the original documents as well, just in case something should happen to these."

"But what do you intend to do with this truth?" he asked, a deep hint of concern lining his weathered face. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a protective whisper. "I cannot help but be worried for you, child. Your mother possessed this very same curiosity. She came asking the same questions, and the next thing I heard of was the sudden scandal and her untimely death. Tread carefully. You never know who is watching you from the shadows. I will do as you ask, this secret remains strictly between the two of us."

Penelope offered him a grateful, soft smile, feeling a weight lift from her chest. "Thank you, Father Thomas. Hearing your words... I hope I am not wrong to assume that you never truly believed the scandalous rumors spread about my mother?"

"Of course not," the old priest replied without a moment’s hesitation, his eyes softening with fond memory. "The late baroness was a thoroughly virtuous woman, completely devoted to her family and her faith. It is my fervent hope that she will finally be brought the justice she so truly deserved."

"Absolutely," Penelope nodded, her jaw tightening with quiet, fierce resolve. "I won’t let this matter go until I’m finally able to prove that she was deeply wronged."

As she departed the parish and settled back into the rhythmic sway of the carriage, Penelope’s mind raced with a torrent of new questions. If her father was not the sire, then who was the real father? Was he even alive?

A chill crept over her as another thought took root: What if the man doesn’t even know he has a daughter? It would be entirely within Lady Genevieve’s conniving nature to hide the truth from the real father to secure a life of nobility for herself. And what of the girl? Is Mirabel even aware that her entire existence is built upon a fraudulent claim?

Penelope drew a slow, deliberate breath, steadying her racing pulse. She would have to take each cautious step at a time. The web was far larger and more dangerous than she had anticipated, stretching all the way back to her mother’s mysterious passing. And from the looks of it, with the danger mounting and so much left to uncover in the province, she might not be able to accompany Vincent to the capital after all.

Determined not to repeat the lateness of her journey yesterday, Penelope made sure to arrive home much earlier this time. The manor was quiet, wrapped in the golden hues of the late afternoon sun.

Stepping past the grand foyer, she made her way directly to the west wing and found Vincent in his study, deeply engrossed in a sea of sprawling maps and official correspondence.

He appeared profoundly focused, the warm, golden light streaming from the tall window casting a sharp, striking glow across his handsome face.

"I knew I would find you here," she said softly, stepping closer to the heavy oak desk and looking down at the intricate cartography laid out before him. "What are you up to? Should you not be preparing for tomorrow’s arduous journey to the capital?"

Vincent looked up at the sound of her voice, the intense focus in his stormy-gray eyes instantly softening the moment they landed on her. He set down his quill, leaning back against the leather of his chair.

"I am prepping, in my own way," he replied, his voice low and smooth, though a trace of exhaustion lingered at the edges. He gestured to the sprawling map of the kingdom’s northern borders laid out before him. "The capital is restless, Penny. I want to ensure our travel routes are entirely secure before we set out. There have been... unusual movements reported near the province lines."

He stood up, rounding the massive oak desk to close the distance between them. The golden afternoon light caught the sharp angles of his jaw as he looked down at her, his gaze searching her face.

"But what about you?" he asked gently, brushing a stray lock of ash-brown hair from her cheek. "You look as though your mind is a thousand leagues away. What was so profoundly important at the barony today that my own wife felt compelled to flee from me so early this morning?"

He arched a brow in playful reprimand, and Penelope offered a small, guilty smile. He was clearly still nursing a bit of offense over her sudden escape with Martha.

"Uhm, you see, Vincent... I do not believe I shall be able to accompany you to the capital tomorrow," she confessed softly.

His hand paused, his teasing demeanor vanishing instantly as his expression shifted to one of deep confusion. "Did something happen, Penny? Are you unwell?"

"Well, yes—something has happened, though not of my health," she replied, taking a steadying breath.

Recognizing that she could no longer keep him in the dark, Penelope proceeded to disclose everything. She detailed how she had first discovered the contradictory parish logs with her aunt, the subsequent, surreptitious visits to Father Thomas, and the damning, fabricated document she had just retrieved from the master wardrobe at the barony. She held nothing back, laying bare the truth of Mirabel’s false lineage and the dark shadow it cast over her mother’s sudden passing.

Vincent could only stare at her, a bit dumbfounded that he had completely lacked any inkling of what his wife had been up to all this while.

The sheer gravity of the discovery was shocking enough, but the implications ran far deeper. It meant the late baroness’s death might not have been a tragic suicide after all, but something far more sinister.

After all, it could not have been a mere coincidence that Penelope’s mother had left that contradictory parish log hidden within the inheritance she bequeathed to her daughter. She had likely preserved it there with deliberate intent, harboring a quiet, desperate hope that Penelope would one day possess the wisdom to discover it and uncover the truth.

"I commend your bravery in seeking to figure all this out on your own, Penelope, but it could prove exceedingly dangerous," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, serious register. "It is a very good thing you finally told me. However... we are going to encounter a bit of a problem regarding your decision to stay behind."

"Huh?" Penelope blinked, uncomprehending.

Vincent reached across the desk for a neatly folded parchment bearing a heavy imperial wax seal, a missive he had received only that morning, and handed it to her.

"The Emperor has explicitly requested your presence as well," Vincent revealed, his eyes locking onto hers. "He wants me to bring you with me to the capital."