Mysterious Mrs. Pansy

Florence fixed a condescending gaze on Jane, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips. In her eyes, a girl from modest beginnings like Jane couldn’t possibly present a decent gift to Mike. Her goal was clear – she aimed to establish herself as the sole woman worthy of being Patrick’s wife.

What had irked Florence was the revelation that it was Mike who had engineered Patrick and Jane’s engagement. She saw this as an opportunity to change Mike’s mind, a result of her calculated efforts to curry favor with Beatrice, Patrick’s mother, which had proven successful. Despite her efforts, Patrick remained distant and unresponsive.

Beatrice had confided in Florence that Patrick was engaged to Jane solely to appease his grandfather, adding pressure on Florence to make a favorable impression on Mike while simultaneously undermining Jane to secure her own position as the future Mrs. Pansy.

With a confident smile, Jane admitted, “I didn’t prepare any gift.”

To her surprise, Jane appeared unfazed, which ignited disdain in Florence’s eyes. Florence had assumed Jane would arrive empty-handed and, without any cultural sophistication, be promptly ejected from the gathering. Instead, Jane reached into her bag and pulled out a painting, introducing it with a radiant smile, “This is Monet’s work, ‘Woman with a Parasol.’ My grandpa asked me to give it to you.”

Mike’s eyes lit up at the sight of the painting. “This is wonderful. Please convey my gratitude to Mr. North,” he said with genuine joy.

Florence was left dumbfounded, her mouth agape. The painting appeared to be a priceless masterpiece, lifelike and exquisite. Compared to this, her own gift paled in comparison.

Unable to contain her skepticism, Florence interjected, “Jane, isn’t it rather insulting to give Mr. Pansy a fake painting?”

Jane’s eyebrows furrowed at the implication. The painting was undoubtedly authentic, and she bristled at the accusation. “Florence, are you doubting Grandpa Mike’s ability to distinguish an original painting from a fake?” Jane retorted sarcastically, her smile faint.

Florence’s embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she realized her hasty judgment.

“That’s not what I meant. Everyone knows that Monet’s pieces are invaluable. How did you obtain this painting?”

Jane’s response was incredulous, “Are you suggesting that I stole it?”

Patrick, who had remained silent, finally spoke up. “The painting is genuine.”Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Questions swirled in Patrick’s mind as he looked at Jane. Given her rural background, he was puzzled by how she had acquired such a priceless piece of art. Suspicion had been brewing in Patrick’s mind in recent days. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Jane was more complex than she appeared.

Nevertheless, Florence persisted in her skepticism, saying, “But-”

“The painting is indeed authentic, but I can’t say the same about your dress,” Jane interjected, shaking her head theatrically. “It’s positively fake!”

“What nonsense are you talking about?” Florence retorted, her tone filled with indignation.

“My dress was designed by an international designer, Loe. You probably haven’t heard of Loe because you know nothing about fashion. How dare you insinuate that my dress is fake?”

Jane couldn’t help but chuckle. She was intimately familiar with Loe’s work. Florence’s dress was exquisite, but Jane immediately recognized it as a pricey counterfeit. She had designed the original dress and knew that only two were ever released for sale. One had been purchased by a famous star, and the other by a princess. Florence didn’t fit either category, which meant she was wearing a fake.

Confident in her response, Jane declared, “Contrary to your belief, I’m well-acquainted with Loe and her designs. It might interest you to know that Loe always places a heart-shaped mark on the hem of each dress. Have you checked your dress for this mark?”

This heart-shaped mark was a signature that Jane used for all the clothing she designed under the alias Loe. Nana handled the sewing, and it would have been impossible for anyone to replicate this mark.

“What heart-shaped mark? I’ve never heard of it. Stop talking nonsense!” Florence snapped, not willing to concede.

Jane promptly pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and said, “You should look up today’s most trending fashion news.”

“The hottest fashion news?” Florence inquired, puzzled.

“Loe has just launched a new series called Elsa, and the post introducing it contains details about the heart-shaped mark,” Jane explained with a smirk.

The timing was impeccable, given that the launch of the Elsa series had become a hot topic in the fashion world. The post outlined Loe’s design concept in depth, including the heart-shaped mark as a distinctive feature.

Begrudgingly, Florence took out her phone to check the news, which confirmed that all dresses from Loe Studio bore a heart-shaped mark to distinguish them from counterfeit copies.

Florence’s face drained of color as she realized her dress had none. Her embarrassment was palpable, and her gift, which had cost her a small fortune, was now revealed as a counterfeit. Even Beatrice regarded her with skepticism, unsure of her daughter’s poor judgment.

Jane relished her triumph and a wry smile danced on her lips. Florence’s ignorance about the heart-shaped mark only fueled her satisfaction.

Intrigued by Jane’s knowledge, Patrick leaned in and whispered, “How did you know about that?”

As a businessman involved in fashion collaborations, he was acquainted with Loe Studio. However, they had never mentioned the heart-shaped mark until that morning.

Jane crafted a quick lie, claiming, “Well, I heard about it from a friend.” She shrugged with an air of nonchalance, though Patrick’s squinted eyes betrayed his suspicion. Something about her explanation didn’t quite add up, particularly since he had only learned of the mark that morning.

Beatrice attempted to shift the focus by suggesting lunch. Mr. Maurice, the butler, awaited Mike’s approval before arranging the meal.

Jane took her seat, casually surveying her surroundings. Her gaze fell upon a photograph on a small table in the corner, featuring Mike holding a white dog. The dog struck a chord of familiarity, and Jane discreetly leaned in to ask Patrick, “Is that your grandfather’s dog in the photo?”

Patrick’s eyes followed her gaze to the picture, a touch of sadness crossing his features. “The dog belonged to my grandmother; its name was Dolly. She passed away two years ago, and Dolly ran away from home,” he explained. Patrick had made considerable efforts to find Dolly, employing people to search the city, but the dog had remained elusive. Her disappearance had left Mike deeply saddened.

“I see,” Jane replied thoughtfully.