Chapter 1
“You will raise this child.”
At those words, the head of the Somerset Ducal House, Seymour Hayworth Somerset, lifted his eyes from the documents.
Behind his sharp-edged glasses, his green eyes—resembling a deep forest—held both irritation and disbelief.
It was the exact same look he had worn about a month ago, when someone had made the absurd request that he distribute high-end cigars at half price.
Back then, Seymour had immediately flipped the table and smashed an ashtray to pieces.
Of course, he very much felt like doing the same thing now.
Unfortunately, this was not a place where he could act that way.
So instead of gripping the edge of the table, he rolled his tired eyes and looked at the people sitting in front of him.
An old woman, stiff and formidable at a glance.
And beside her, a little girl no bigger than a chestnut.
What kind of bizarre combination is this?
If it had been anyone else, he would have thrown them out before they even sat down.
If only that old woman sitting across from him were not his mother-in-law—someone as good as a mother to him.
Rubbing the space between his brows, Seymour let out a sigh.
“…I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Mother-in-law.”
“I don’t believe I said anything difficult. I’m telling you to take this child under the name of Somerset.”
“If Somerset seemed that lonely to you, you should have brought home a cat instead.”
At his blatant sarcasm, Lady Hayworth’s brow furrowed.
“You become more ill-mannered every time I see you. Or do you take me lightly?”
“Of course not. The world has simply been rather harsh lately.”
“You answer your mother-in-law like that while reading documents in front of me?”
“I ask for your understanding. I have an important contract next week.”
“So busy that you have time for that, but not enough to visit Rose’s grave?”
At that moment, the faint trace of a smile disappeared from Seymour’s lips.
“Why bring up my wife?”
“Can I not speak of my own daughter? It’s already been over a year since she died.”
“It’s surprising it’s only been a year. Each day feels like hell—I thought an eternity had passed.”
Muttering that, Seymour shut his eyes tightly.
Even now, he could vividly recall it—the day he lost his beloved wife, his only brother, and the people he called family all at once.
“Sir! You need to come quickly! There’s been a carriage accident on the hillside, and the victims are…!”
In that carriage had been Seymour’s brother, the Grahams, and his wife.
All of them died on the spot.
What remained for Seymour was one child—the son left behind by the Grahams—and the heavy title of Duke of Somerset, which had originally belonged to his brother.
That was how Seymour became the Duke of Somerset.
Originally, his nephew Dante should have inherited the title, but at the time, Dante had only been five years old.
That was already a year ago.
Yet the memory still clung stubbornly, making him frown.
Seeing her son-in-law like that, Lady Hayworth’s face also grew troubled.
“How long do you intend to live like this?”
“…What have I done now?”
“You think I wouldn’t know? I’ve heard everything. You barely sleep in your bed more than a few nights a month, you live off alcohol and cigarettes, and your work piles up like a dog with its tail on fire.”
“That’s simply my way.”
“A way to die young.”
“You know as well as I do. I have a duty to maintain Somerset. So that—”
“So that you can pass the title to your nephew without shame! And because the moment you falter, your dear relatives will seize the chance to snatch the ducal seat! Do you even know how many times I’ve heard that excuse?”
“……”
He was cut off before he could even begin his defense.
After all, excuses lose their effect when repeated too often.
Clicking his tongue, Seymour spoke.
“But it’s true, isn’t it? Dante isn’t my son. If I try to pass the title to my nephew, they’ll certainly attack us over bloodlines.”
Seymour’s blood belonged to the Graham family.
But his current surname was Hayworth.
That was because he had married into the Hayworth family.
The problem was that he had taken the Somerset dukedom—originally belonging to the Graham line.
Because of that, he and his nephew were now technically from different families, which could easily cause issues.
“If we want to prevent disputes over lineage, we must prepare in advance.”
Fortunately, this also served as a convenient excuse for his workaholic tendencies.
Lady Hayworth, who usually scolded him to take care of his health, would step back whenever he said it was all for his nephew.
But today, for some reason, her eyes lit up instead.
“You’re absolutely right. Preparations must be made. It would be a disaster if the bloodline became an issue.”
“Exactly.”
“Then solve the bloodline problem!”
Seymour gave a cold, crooked smile.
“If that were possible, I would. But I cannot adopt Dante into the Hayworth family. He is the last direct descendant of the Graham—”
“Who said anything about adopting your nephew?”
Lady Hayworth raised one eyebrow.
“Just marry them!”
“…What?”
Seymour’s expression shifted into disbelief.
“Support this child. When she grows up, marry her to your nephew and pass on the title.”
That way, no one could question the bloodline.
It would look far more proper than simply handing the title over.
“More importantly, you would also have a family to take responsibility for. There’s nothing better.”
“That’s absurd, Mother-in-law. What kind of—”
“Or else!”
Bang! Her cane struck the floor sharply.
“Or do you expect me to watch you waste away like this until I collapse from heartbreak? Must I die before you stop this nonsense?”
“Now, now… Mother-in-law, don’t say such things. You must live long.”
“Exactly!”
Pressing her words firmly, Lady Hayworth pointed at the girl beside her.
“Raise this child. Only until you pass on the title! After that, do as you wish.”
“……”
“She’s a good, polite child. She’ll even tolerate your rotten personality.”
As if to prove her words, the girl nodded brightly.
Her neatly tied pigtails bounced with the movement.
She looked clever and composed for her age, but to Seymour, the entire situation was absurd.
“…You’re seriously telling me to raise a child for such a reason?”
“Why not? Didn’t you say you would do anything to solve the bloodline issue?”
“…That may be true, but where did you even find this child?”
As Seymour tried to change the subject, the girl—who had remained silent until now—spoke up.
“I’m from Townsend Orphanage. My name is Rowena Whitfield, and I’m ten years old. I told Lady Hayworth that I want to become the Duke of Somerset’s family.”
“…What?”
Seymour’s voice sharpened.
But Rowena simply smiled.
It made him feel as if his common sense was collapsing.
“Mother-in-law, you brought her here just because of that?”
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
“There are too many! She must be after the family’s wealth!”
“I don’t need anything.”
Rowena’s clear voice cut in again.
“I have no interest in Hayworth, Graham, or Somerset.”
“…Do you even understand what you’re saying?”
“Of course! If you want, we can sign a contract saying I won’t claim any rights to the family or title.”
Seymour narrowed his eyes.
“Then why do you want to be part of my family?”
“I want a family. As you know, I don’t have one.”
Because I’m an orphan.
After saying that, Rowena hopped down from her seat and trotted over to him.
Then, with a very serious expression, she made her proposal.
“If you accept me, I’ll run to the entrance to greet you when you come home.”
“…What is this?”
“We can have breakfast together! If you want, I can even draw a heart with sauce on your fried eggs.”
“I’m really good at it.”
She nodded solemnly, as if sharing a great secret.
“And this is something I’m only offering after serious thought.”
“…What now?”
“I’ll give you a goodnight kiss before bed.”
“I don’t do this for just anyone.”
At that, Seymour stared at her in disbelief.
They say it’s hard to spit at a smiling face—but Seymour was a man perfectly capable of doing so.
Yet even under his fierce gaze, the child only kept smiling.
As if further conversation was unnecessary.
Rowena hopped up beside him, beamed brightly, and clapped her hands.
“Duke, I think we’ll make a great family.”
