Chapter 339: The Recklessness of Youth

Morning came; the snow had ceased, and crimson plum blossoms unfurled, strikingly vibrant against the icy landscape. Hazel held a pair of scissors, while Hattie carried a basket. As Hattie pressed down a branch, it sprang back, shaking off a flurry of snow that landed straight onto Hazel’s face. Hazel gasped, then glared, “Oh, you’re dead meat now!”

A brief chase ensued before they settled back into quietly trimming the branches. Lowering her voice, Hattie muttered, “What a pity—she actually survived.”

“I know, right? The dose should’ve been enough.”

“Well, lucky her. But she shouldn’t celebrate too soon. Life is long; let’s see how many more times she can escape. Tomorrow, I’ll increase the dosage.”

“Enough talking. Let’s go—our lady will be waking soon.”

They gathered the freshly cut blossoms into the basket and made their way back to Ningser Pavilion. Unbeknownst to them, three young maids had also been trimming the plum trees nearby. They exchanged wide-eyed, alarmed glances, too shocked to speak, before silently going their separate ways.

Cristina had just woken up, still plagued by the lingering effects of the poison—her head pounded, her stomach churned, nausea clawing at her throat. A maid helped her drink the antidote, and only then did she feel a sliver of relief. But no matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn’t understand—how had she been poisoned with arsenic?

The physician who examined her the night before assured her that her wounds weren’t serious. After prescribing a tonic to replenish her strength, she drank the medicine and drifted to sleep. Then came the searing pain in her gut. She had immediately sent for Agnes, who, upon arriving, declared that she had been poisoned. The pain had rendered Cristina unconscious soon after. When she awoke, her maids informed her that Agnes, believing she had attempted suicide again, had made a huge commotion, only for Isolde to coldly shut it down, leaving her humiliated.

Fury and confusion twisted inside Cristina. She despised Isolde—but she also couldn’t figure out how she had been poisoned. There was no arsenic in her chambers.

Just then, her maid Evie burst in, her forehead dusted with melting snow. She dropped a basket onto the table, leaned in, and whispered, “My lady, I know who poisoned you.”

Cristina’s head snapped up. “Who?”

“I overheard something while picking plum blossoms near Ningser Pavilion. Isolde’s maids were talking. They said it was such a shame that you didn’t die and that they’d simply increase the dosage tomorrow.”

Cristina’s vision swam with rage. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. Isolde—she had only just married into the household, and she was already trying to kill her?

“Are you certain?” Cristina’s voice was a whisper of fury.

Cristina gritted her teeth, gripping the bed canopy for support. “Dress me.”

“My lady, where are you going? You’re in no state to face her now,” Evie cautioned.

Cristina slowly sat back down, the fire in her eyes never dimming. “She tried to poison me—I won’t let this slide. Demi, go back to my family’s estate. Tell my parents and my brother that I was nearly murdered.”

“Yes, my lady.” One of the maids immediately rushed out.

Cristina exhaled sharply, trembling with rage. “Isolde, this isn’t over.”

Ningser Pavilion

The bliss of a wedding night was fleeting, and before they knew it, the sun was already high in the sky. Esme had been guarding the doors, turning away every visitor. “They barely slept last night. Let them rest a little longer.”

The head housekeeper chuckled. “Of course, though Lord Allan is already awake. The newlyweds must pay their respects to the elders.”

“They will,” Esme assured her. “The entire family will be gathering for the ceremony. There’s no rush just yet.”

The housekeeper nodded. “That makes sense. And truly, what a chaotic wedding night! I have never seen a bride and groom deal with concubine drama before consummating their marriage. Completely improper. Rules exist for a reason.”

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. “Indeed, indeed. It’s time to set some rules.”

Soon after, servants from the Becker, Sharp, and Langley families arrived to inquire about the night. Esme reassured them that everything had gone well and sent them back to report to their masters.

Inside, Isolde lay sprawled across the bed, lazily watching the golden sunlight filter through the cracks in the doors and windows. Every muscle in her body ached.

“Just sleep a little longer,” Oliver murmured, pulling her back under the covers the moment he saw her stir.

“Does your waist still hurt?” she asked, curling up against him. The firewalls kept the room warm, but her exposed limbs still felt the morning chill.

“Not… too much,” Oliver replied, wrapping himself around her and pressing her head against his chest.

“We should get up. There are people waiting. We need to serve coffee to the elders today.” Isolde rested her chin on his chest, absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair before tracing the shape of his eyebrows with her fingertip.

Oliver sighed, watching her. He knew how exhausting these formalities would be for her.

“It’s fine,” she said with a smile. “There are people in the family who truly care for you. Paying respects isn’t a hardship.”

Oliver gazed at her—sleepy, still slightly groggy, her long lashes fluttering over drowsy, half-lidded eyes. Feeling his body shift against hers, she instantly squirmed away. “Absolutely not! The whole household is waiting outside. If they hear anything—”

“Since when does the Windermount Wildcat care about gossip?” Oliver smirked, flipping her beneath him, eyes dark with mischief.

“I’m shallow, I’m conventional, and I care about my reputation!” Isolde surrendered, hands raised in faux innocence.

Oliver groaned. “We just got married, and you’re already rejecting me.”

“Get up,” Isolde laughed, patting his shoulder. “We have duties today.”

“And tonight?”

She sat up. “Tonight, we sleep well. Tomorrow is the homecoming visit.”

At that, Oliver yanked her back into the bed, pinning her under the blankets. “If that’s the case, then I’ll have to make up for it this morning.”

‘No—there’s no time—!”

Her protests were swiftly silenced.

A full thirty minutes later, Isolde finally managed to drag herself up to unlatch the door. If she hadn’t locked it last night, the servants would have barged in by now.

“Finally!” The housekeeper sighed in relief. “We’ve been waiting for almost an hour.”

Esme chuckled. “Noelle, Britney, bring in the hot water.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As the housekeeper stepped inside, Esme followed, eyeing the disheveled bed. Pulling back the covers for a brief inspection, she nodded approvingly. “Lord Oliver, Lady Isolde—once you’re dressed, it’s time to go to the main hall.”

“Understood,” Oliver replied lazily, leaning against the bedpost.

The housekeeper smiled. “Then I shall report back to Lord Allan.”

As she left, Esme exhaled in relief, instructing the maids to assist with dressing.

Miniro, struggling to help Oliver, muttered, “Lord Oliver, please bend down a little.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Oliver grabbed his robe and slipped it on.

Miniro chuckled. “Sir, today, you should let us serve you.”

“No need for that.” Oliver shot Isolde a quick glance.

Esme arched a brow. “Did you hurt your waist?”