The people in charge of the escort were naturally very professional. To protect both parties' reputations, they had specially rented an inconspicuous civilian carriage.
However, everyone from the coachman to the attendants had been replaced with members of the Imperial Guard, who then took her straight out through a side gate.
Nothing unexpected happened along the way. But with the development of the photography industry in the Austrian Empire, reporters had undergone a super-evolution too.
They were far more professional than their historical counterparts. Although they couldn't spy on Franz's residence or stop and search vehicles at will, they could lie in wait for their prey.
So the moment the duchess stepped out of the carriage, reporters swarmed around her. Even though Fanny Cotte was draped in a black cloak, they recognized her without difficulty.
In the dead of night, clad in black—she could only be up to no good.
The duchess darted into her residence. She could order the guards to block the reporters hot on her heels, but she couldn't stop the wagging tongues.
The rumors spread quickly. Scandalous stories about a heroine always thrilled the public; only the woman herself wished she could crawl into a crack in the ground.
None of it could do Franz any harm. After all, among the nobility, this sort of thing was as commonplace as could be. And in an age dominated by men, it was seen as a sign of masculine vigor and charm.
Besides, the newspapers in the German regions would, intentionally or otherwise, portray Franz as a paragon of virtue. By contrast, they further belittled Fanny Cotte's image.
The French newspapers, meanwhile, were eager to smear the House of Orleans. They viciously maligned the duchess, even calling her a whore and a prostitute, and printed countless jokes about