Chapter 18 The Gossip Domino Effect
I was still staring at the rows of text in the capital newspaper without blinking.
Whoever the journalist was that wrote this column, they were a professional liar.
They kept using phrases like 'stepping up with rare elegance' over and over, like I'd performed some grand heroic rescue, when the reality was just me sweating through my clothes, terrified the military would chop my head off if Gisella's stupid plan leaked.
"Lady Ilse," Hans's voice broke my train of thought. The old butler was standing straight next to the table, but he couldn't hide the massive grin on his wrinkled face. "The Master wants to see you in his study after you finish breakfast. He... seems unusually generous this morning."
I raised an eyebrow. The old man, Ilse's dad, Viscount Varannes, was the typical trash noble who only cared about card games and casino debts.
If he was acting 'generous,' it meant the newspaper gossip had finally hit his wallet.
The second I walked into his study, which smelled like cheap, stale cigars, the fat old man practically leaped out of his leather chair.
"Ilse! My brilliant daughter!" he boomed, a heavy laugh shaking his chest.
He marched over and clapped my shoulder way too hard.
"Did you see the morning papers? Viscount Mercer just sent a thank you letter along with a bottle of vintage wine! He's raving about how you looked after his girl at the party yesterday!"
I just gave him a thin smile. "Just doing what needed to be done, Father."
"And you did it perfectly!" He waddled back to his desk, unlocked a wooden drawer, and pulled out a thick imperial bank check.
He shoved it toward me, his eyes practically sparkling with pride.
"Here. Your allowance for the month is tripled. Go back to Madame Laurent, get some new dresses, buy whatever the hell you want. The Varannes name hasn't smelled this good to the Empress in a decade!"
I took the check with two fingers. The amount was ridiculous for a family that was supposed to be on the verge of bankruptcy.
Internally, I was already moving numbers around.
No way I was spending this on lace and silk.
The rose garden disaster proved one thing: I needed eyes and ears outside this house.
Just relying on what I remembered from the trash novel wasn't cutting it anymore because the plot was already drifting. I needed hard data.
I didn't go to the fashion boutiques. I told the coachman to drive straight to the docks—the sketchy side of town where secrets were traded for a few silver coins.
Thanks to a maid from Madame Laurent's shop whom I'd tipped earlier, I managed to track down a low life informant named Ben.
In the back room of a stuffy, greasy tea shop, I dropped a third of my father's check onto the wood table.
"I don't care about smuggled goods or jewelry," I told the skinny, shifty-eyed guy sitting across from me. "I need everything you can get on one person."
Ben looked at the cash, licking his lips. "Who is it, Lady?"
"Julian Vance."
Ben actually choked on his breath for a second. Julian Vance. The second male lead of this book. He was the commander of the holy knights, a young Viscount from the west, and famous for being completely clean, cold, and rigid.
My plan was simple. I had to pivot Gisella's obsession away from Prince Didier.
Dealing with Didier, who was already a lovesick puppy for Lysandra, was a total waste of energy.
The easiest way to save Gisella, and my own neck, was to find her a better, hotter guy with just as much political clout.
Julian Vance was the perfect target. A strict, no-nonsense guy like him could probably handle a spoiled brat like Gisella.
"The Viscount is a private man, Lady," Ben muttered, his fingers quickly sweeping the cash into his cloak. "But for this kind of money... give me a few days. My guys in the military barracks will dig up everything from his training schedule to his favorite tea brand."
"Three days," I said, keeping my voice firm. "I want a written report on his habits, his type, and whatever he hates. And make sure nobody tracks this back to me."
Three days later, on a miserable, cloudy afternoon.
I was sitting in my second-floor lounge, keeping the lights low so nobody from the street would look up. Hans walked in quietly and dropped an unsealed scroll on the table next to my sofa.
"From the guy at the docks, Lady," Hans whispered before backing out and shutting the door tight.
I grabbed the rough paper and ripped the string off.
The first page was just basic data: Julian wakes up at 4 AM, does two hours of sword practice, hates sugar, and skips social parties unless the Emperor forces him to go.
So far, exactly what I remembered from the book.
But then I flipped to the second page, where the rumors and old family history were listed. My hands went completely stiff.
The chamomile tea I'd just sipped suddenly felt like battery acid in my stomach. At the very bottom, Ben had scrawled a messy note in faded ink.
"Side note: Be careful if you're trying to push a woman from the noble family onto him. Viscount Julian Vance has some heavy family trauma. Sources from his old estate confirm he absolutely despises any noblewoman with brown eyes. It reminds him of his abusive stepmother."
I slowly lowered the paper, rubbing my temples as a headache started to throb right behind my eyes.
Gisella von Mercer. Her biggest feature, besides the obnoxious blonde hair, was her huge, bright brown eyes. The exact same color as this guy's worst nightmare. My entire matchmaking plan had just smashed into a brick wall before I could even write the first draft.