Chapter 47
“The fact that I’m disappointed… that’s what shocks me.”
Was it really so shocking that Hera didn’t want to get engaged?
Marriott was unsettled by this unexpected surge of emotion that had bloomed in his chest.
The only relief was that Hera stood on the same side as him.
And yet, despite how he had always shown annoyance toward engagement scandals, deep down he had wished Hera wanted the engagement. What a wretched contradiction.
It wasn’t Hera he should be disappointed in—it was himself.
To hide the sly truth in his heart from showing any further, Marriott raised a hand to cover his mouth. Speaking words he didn’t mean left him feeling embarrassed, defensive without even realizing it.
“A solid ally at last. That’s good. Really good.”
He stole a glance at Hera.
Normally so oblivious compared to others, today Marriott was grateful for her lack of perception.
She nodded lightly at his words, face impassive.
But even that simple gesture only made Marriott’s chest tighten further.
Biting down on his frustration, he pinched his own thigh beneath his coat and silently cursed himself to get a grip.
“Do you have any particular strategy you’d recommend?” he asked.
“Not yet. I’ll think about it,” Hera replied.
“There isn’t much time before the Imperial ball. We’ll need to move quickly.”
Marriott turned his gaze to the carriage window, watching the crowds passing by.
To him, engagement and marriage meant nothing.
He had no desire to promise forever to anyone other than the late Hera Wintale.
The vow he had once intended to make to her—his proposal—felt sullied if he were to give it to another.
Honestly, quelling the scandal with Lady Tolyn was more trouble than it was worth. It would be easier to simply follow Ober’s plan and marry her.
Remaining a bachelor duke only invited endless nuisances. Better to place an enemy he had already marked as such right by his side, where he could dismiss, watch, and guard against her. That way, he could be sure never to fall into her traps.
Marriott was not a man so easily ensnared.
And yet—he wanted to sever ties with Emilia Tolyn.
The more time he spent with her, the more he knew.
She would not be easily ignored.
She would disarm his guard.
And though she was the one who ought to be under surveillance, she would be the first to catch his eye.
If he tried to hold her, he would be devoured.
That was the warning echoing in his head.
He tapped idly at the windowpane, thinking.
The only way to avoid an engagement with Lady Tolyn, while sparing her too much harm, was for him to become a laughingstock himself.
No lady who had her engagement canceled could avoid mockery, but at least she could gain sympathy.
“If worst comes to worst, I could always do what I said before—bring some woman from a brothel and declare I’d marry her….”
The words slipped out as he thought aloud.
At the edge of his vision, he caught Hera flinch.
His voice trailed off, and his eyes turned to her.
She was looking at him the same way she had in the Laurent estate the night Albert died—with eyes that carried hurt.
Was she angry?
“That—just now—was a slip of the tongue,” he said, shaken.
His pupils trembled violently. Like a man possessed, he had spilled his unvarnished truth.
“If you’ve nothing more to say, I’ll be leaving.”
Hera opened the carriage door in the heavy silence and stepped out.
She walked away from Marriott’s carriage without a backward glance.
He watched her retreating back for a long time.
“…It’s true.”
The muttered words were a bitter realization.
“I’ve been getting dragged around by Emilia Tolyn.”
When Hera returned to the Tolyn estate, raised voices rang out by the front gates.
The butler, Miles, was shouting furiously at a boy.
“What filthy beggar dares come spouting lies before the manor of a viscount’s family? Be gone!”
“It’s not a lie! Emilia’s here—I know her! Just tell her I came to see her!”
The boy, dressed in ragged clothes, shoved against the gates, refusing to yield.
Though Miles and several servants tried to push him back, he fought to force himself inside, calling for Lady Tolyn by name.
“Sis! Emilia!”
“You little brat, enough!”
“Let me go! Emilia!”
The one Jeff was screaming for—was Hera.
Unaware she stood just outside the gates, he cried her name until his voice broke.
“Jeff?”
Stepping down from her carriage, Hera recognized him instantly by voice.
When she spoke his name, Jeff’s face lit with desperate relief. He rushed to her, clasping her hand tightly.
“Sis!”
His worn clothes, once clean despite the fabric, were now stained with rusty brown blotches tinged red.
Hera knew at once what they were. Bloodstains.
After coughing blood countless times herself, she could recognize the color better than anyone.
Miles moved to pull Jeff away, but Hera shook her head, halting him.
She had only met Jeff once before, under the bridge, but she knew he wasn’t the type to throw himself around like this.
Clutching his pale hand, she asked gently, “Jeff. What’s happened?”
“We need a doctor,” he said.
“A doctor?”
“Yes. Right now.”
“Are you ill?”
“Not me… my little sister. She’s sick.”
Jeff pointed toward the base of the estate wall.
There, collapsed on the ground, lay a frail girl.
She couldn’t even sit upright against the wall, her thin body sprawled limply in the dirt.
Her figure—so wasted, so fragile—stabbed Hera with recognition.
The child reminded her of herself in the past.
Hera shuddered, shaking it off, then urged Jeff toward her.
“Bring her inside, quickly.”
When Hera asked Miles to fetch a doctor, his face soured, but he reluctantly obeyed.
The other servants looked no better—displeased that Jeff and his sister were stepping foot inside Tolyn’s manor. They dawdled, exchanging wary glances, unwilling to help.
Only when Hera’s voice turned uncharacteristically sharp did they finally place the girl on Hera’s bed.
After wasted time and effort, Jeff’s sister could at last be tended to.
The maids arrived with wet cloths and began wiping down her limbs.
But even then, dark stains clung stubbornly to her skin.
Hera stepped closer to examine them. They weren’t dirt from lying briefly on the ground.
Half were bruises. The rest were scratches, grime clotted in torn flesh.
So many wounds on such a small, delicate body.
Hera clapped a hand over her mouth without thinking.
Even if she wanted to deny it, the truth was clear.
This child had been abused.
“When is the doctor coming?”
From the corner of the room, Jeff’s anxious voice cracked.
Only then did Hera tear her eyes from the girl to look at him.
The blood on his clothes must have come from her wounds.
She ordered a maid to bring him clean clothes, then took a damp cloth herself and reached for his hands.
“He’ll be here soon. Her breathing’s weak, but she’s stable. Don’t worry.”
A lifetime of illness made one half a doctor. Her calm reassurance steadied him.
As she wiped blood and dirt from his hands, she noticed his shoes—so worn his toes poked through.
“You have a little sister, Jeff. What’s her name?”
She thought to keep him calm while they waited.
If he had run all the way from under the bridge to the Tolyn estate carrying her, he must be in a near-panic.
She spoke as kindly as she could.
Jeff, dazed until now, suddenly yanked his hands back. He hadn’t even noticed she was cleaning them.
Coming back to his senses, he stammered out, “B-Be… Betty.”
“That’s a lovely name.”
“Miss, the doctor has arrived,” a maid announced.
Just in time, the physician entered.
He examined the little girl lying unconscious on the bed, checking her carefully from head to toe.
But the longer he looked, the grimmer his expression grew.
At last, the doctor let out a heavy sigh.
“I’ve never seen a child so brutally beaten. And it looks as if she was forced to swallow something scalding—her mouth is severely burned.”
He paused, then lowered his voice to Hera, whispering:
“Which member of the Tolyn family is responsible for this?”
