The Reincarnated Noble Lady is the Infamous Viscount's Heir - I've Accepted a Contract Marriage for Estate Management. - Chapter 1.35

“Count!”

Abbott, the butler, quickly stepped in to support the Count’s body.

What on earth?! Why is this happening?!

Abbott immediately instructed the attendants and nearby staff to bring a stretcher. Even the Duke seemed momentarily caught off guard by the situation.

I rushed to the Count, calling out to him, but he was unconscious. The staff carried him to a guest room on the stretcher, and a doctor was summoned. However, after a brief examination, the doctor shook his head and explained, “It appears there’s an abnormality in his magical energy, which has destabilized his condition.”

“Call my sister! Abigail Wilcox, the Mage Countess!”

At my urgent shout, contact was immediately made with the Mage Academy. Before sunset, Abigail had already arrived.

The proximity of this estate really makes communication remarkably fast!

Dressed in her usual Mage Academy uniform beneath a flowing robe, Abigail ruffled my hair as she always does before disappearing into the room where the Count had been taken.

About the same amount of time as the doctor’s examination passed before Abigail’s voice came from behind the door:

“It’s fine now.”

With her assurance, Abbott, the Duke, and I entered the room where the Count was resting.

“That was some seriously powerful mental interference magic. It was dangerous, Grace. You did well to call me,” Abigail said.

“Mental interference magic…”

“Yeah, something like charm. For someone like Lord Rockwell, who has a considerable amount of magical energy, a sudden and intense mental attack would’ve placed enormous stress on his brain. It looks like it was forced on him when he let his guard down.”

“Will the Count… will he be okay?”

“You’re talking to me, aren’t you? Of course, he’ll be fine,” Abigail replied confidently.

Ah, my sister!

Unable to hold back, I threw myself into Abigail’s arms, and she chuckled warmly, holding me close.

“But,” she continued, “he’ll need to rest. Ideally, he should spend the next few days relaxing. The headaches he must’ve experienced were likely excruciating.”

He came here in such a condition?! All for work?

As I looked at the Count, who lay on the bed, Abigail grinned knowingly.

“Still… for this stiff and proper Grace to be turned into a lovesick girl, Lord Rockwell must truly be the most charming man in the capital.”

“W-What?!”

“Don’t act shy. He’s your fiancé, isn’t he?”

Well, yes, he is! But still!!

Even Abbott and the Duke were looking at me with the same knowing expressions as Abigail.

Stop it! Please! I’m not used to this kind of teasing!

In the end…

Abbott gently asked, “Would you stay by Lord Rockwell’s side, as his fiancée?”

I nodded silently, and a chair was placed beside the bed for me to keep watch over him.

Not that I could do much in terms of nursing him. All I did was occasionally place the cool cloth prepared by the maids on his forehead and sit quietly by his side, staring at his face.

If he wakes up, he might ask for water. I had a glass ready for him and stayed close.

—Sudden mental interference… charm magic…

Abigail’s words lingered in my mind.

From what I know of charm spells in pop culture, I never imagined the real thing could be so devastating. The strain on the brain… it reminded me of Claude’s death.

But Claude didn’t have nearly as much magical energy as the Count. It was said his charm spell had been cast over a long period.

Though I had no concrete proof, I was certain Catherine was responsible for both Claude and the Count’s conditions.

While Claude’s circumstances made it plausible to suspect someone else, such as a courtesan, it all pointed back to Catherine.

When the Count entered the Duke’s office, his expression was eerily vacant—just like those noble youths who hovered around the Crown Prince at the soirée.

Abigail said he’s fine now, but what if he wakes up and suddenly says:

“I’ve found my true love. Catherine, unlike you, is sweet and genuine. I’m breaking off this engagement. She’s my destined one.”

Even if it was the result of Catherine’s charm magic, I’d still be crushed.

If I feel this way, imagine how Lady Stanfield, the Crown Prince’s current fiancée, must feel—crying herself to sleep every night. No wonder Estelle, one of her companions, is so vehemently confronting the Prince. She’d even go so far as to throw wine at Catherine.

But Catherine’s charm… how does it even work?

Does its effectiveness vary depending on the target?

Claude’s condition was the result of accumulated strain, and the Crown Prince has likely been under her spell since their academy days. If the effects are cumulative, isn’t he on the brink of mental collapse? Someone needs to get him away from Catherine.

And Duke Brocklebank…

Not content with making Catherine the Queen, is he really planning to seize the throne for himself?

His ambitions are beyond outrageous.

As I mulled over these thoughts, the Count’s eyelids fluttered open.

His amethyst eyes sparkled faintly under the dim magical lighting in the room.

“…Grace.”

He’s conscious!

“This place… Ah, so that’s where I am…”

He seemed to recognize his surroundings, a good sign his memory was intact.

“Count, how do you feel? Are you unwell?”

I kept my voice soft as I asked.

“I’m fine. I could take you back home from here if needed.”

“But my sister advised you to rest.”

“Ah, the Mage Countess Wilcox… Grace, you called her here, didn’t you? You saved me. Thank you.”

He clearly understood he had been subjected to mental interference magic and realized why ordinary doctors couldn’t help.

I poured water into a glass from the pitcher nearby and asked, “Would you like some water?”

“Yes.”

His simple reply sounded almost childlike. How adorable.

He propped himself up slightly and took the glass. Relieved, I watched him drink.

After placing the glass on the bedside table, the Count lightly patted the edge of the bed, gesturing for me to sit.

Obediently, I perched on the edge of the bed and looked at him.

His complexion was much better compared to when he first arrived.

I reached out and gently placed my hand on his cheek.

His forehead had been cooled earlier, but his cheek felt slightly warm.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“No.”

The Count took my hand and pressed it to his lips.

“Then please rest a little longer.”

“Grace, stay here with me.”

“…What?!”

My voice came out at full volume before I could stop myself.