Chapter 3 – A Difficult Husband with Narrow Eyes

“Good evening, Young Duke. You and I are already acquainted—do you remember me?”

“Of course, Countess Wellington. Have you been well?”

Ian Crawford’s smile was so pleasant that anyone could misinterpret it—and it was impeccably practiced.

From the moment he approached, Diana realized his gaze had shifted—he was watching her intently, as if all eyes at the party were fixed on her.

Wow, even my skin feels hot.

She suspected there were dozens of debutantes vying for his attention—and yet, Ian managed to smile without acknowledging them.

But not me, I thought.

Diana pretended not to notice the stares.

“A letter told me beforehand…”

The Grand Duchess cleared her throat and looked between them.

“To me, you two seem quite fitting. You’re only a year apart, right? I imagine you share far more in common.”

“Lady Duchess,” Ian replied awkwardly, earning a snort from her in return.

The Grand Duchess clearly enjoys orchestrating discomfort.

“Rather than lingering applause, why not take a walk together?”

Neatly directing the situation, she pressed them toward politely talking—and perhaps testing the waters for future engagement.

Exactly what my mother wants.

Diana swallowed her horror. She was mortified, indeed overwhelmed.

Ian, maybe feeling similarly, awkwardly smiled when their eyes met.

Is that smile just as fake as everything else?

A true master actor among villains.

“You truly have a gift for putting people in awkward situations,” Diana finally said.

“Stop talking and just go.”

Ian just shrugged off the slur and turned toward Diana.

“Miss Diana, would you care to take a walk together? If you’d like, of course.”

Though politely spoken, it was impossible to refuse.

“…Certainly,” she answered, rising stiffly, and they walked out together—magnifying every trail of stares.

Were you uncomfortable?

As they entered the path, Ian finally spoke.

“My aunt can be quite forthright, and it makes things awkward for others. I apologize for that.”

“It’s okay.”

That simple reply had cost Diana several internal debates.

Did I sound too uncool? Should I have added something else?

Ian was handsome and calm beyond fault—but being with him made Diana’s nerves shimmer.

No more words. Keep it minimal.

“If I did something to deserve your dislike…” he continued.

“Hm?”

Diana looked up to find Ian gazing at her. Closer now, his narrow eyes sparkled.

Is he opening his eyes? Or closing them?

“You’re only noticing me now. I thought you disliked me.”

She realized they had met eyes again.

“Were you uncomfortable? Did I surprise you?”

“No… I was just startled to meet you.”

She hesitated, then shifted the topic.

“To be honest, I thought you might find this meeting burdensome.”

“Forced engagements are uncomfortable for anyone. But meeting a beauty like you is always a refreshing change.”

“…Thank you.”

His words flowed so smoothly he could drown a factory of water fountains. That level of performance.

“When you’re busy with court duties?”

“Yes…” he admitted modestly. “The newly appointed Grand Chancellor has kept me busier than expected. I never imagined wrapping things up could be this demanding.”

“Must be exhausting.”

“Yes—but one must endure.”

He smiled slightly and ruffled his collar.

“I sound like a complaint before a lady. Please forget what I said.”

Diana nodded, uneasy but flexible in her responses.

“My aunt’s been worried about my marriage prospects for too long—she went so far as to arrange this whole event.”

“Not at all. She just worries. More than anything.”

Diana took a chance.

“Then… you’re not ready to marry yet either, Duke?”

“Of course one day I must. Responsibilities can’t be avoided. But not now—there is still much to be done.”

If that was true, it was the best news she’d heard.

“And you, Miss Diana?”

“Me?”

A sudden arrow of fate.

She quietly hung her head.

“I’m embarrassed… I’m just not ready yet.”

It looked sincere—even if it wasn’t entirely real.

Carefully crafting her words, she added: “Also, Crawford House… such nobility is something I’ve never considered compatible with me.”

“You’re hiding your genuine opinion from me.”

“N-No! Not at all.”

“Ha ha—just a joke.”

It was unsettling how precise he seemed—did narrow-eyed villains come with psychic routines?

“…So we’re in the same place.”

He smiled as he spoke.

“I shall politely explain to my aunt that neither of us is prepared.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I’ve given her enough worry. A bit more won’t matter.”

Then he slowed his steps.

“Would you indulge me—just until the end of this walk? A small distraction, if you will.”

“…Yes. Of course.”

Her heart twisted into an odd feeling.

Ian Crawford was just as she’d imagined—charming, careful, hiding something deep behind his refined words.

Real aristocracy in motion.

Originally, he was noble among nobles: childhood friend to Crown Prince Cedric, a genius, destined to succeed his House.

He’s kind, maybe too kind—and intimidating.

“But please—watch your step.”

“Thank you, Young Duke.”

“You may call me Ian.”

Two strangers wearing social masks, meeting with equal restraint.

A warm summer night with flower-sweet air.

Lanterns gently illuminated the path, yielding faint romance—but Ian’s demeanor stayed steady.

“I hear your father is skilled at poker.”

An appropriate ice-breaker.

“He does love to gamble. Mostly betting on things.”

“Really? I regret never learning.”

Polite banter. Yet, never “shall we play together sometime?” No promise of next time—an invisible strict line drawn.

So this is how one ends an engagement: with no progress, no next meeting… total indifference.

Love’s opposite isn’t hatred—it’s apathy.

More time spent with him, more she sensed it.

With Ian, not even two dinners—much less serious attachments.

And he’s been distracted by something else.

Small movements—but she noticed him glancing toward the rustling bushes.

He’s hypersensitive to sound.

He masked it well—but she realized he considered her beneath his radar of value.

Maybe twisting the original plot is going smoother than imagined?

The opposite of love: indifferent neglect.

They neared the path’s end, and fate struck—one of Diana’s shoe decorations snapped.

“Oh dear—are you alright?”

Ian swiftly offered his arm.

“Thank you… I’m fine. Just the decoration broke, I think.”

“Let me help you.”

“No thank you.”

This was her chance to end the encounter.

Diana shook her head firmly.

“I don’t want to look foolish. I can manage walking carefully.”

“But…”

“Besides, if you support me, people might misinterpret our… closeness. We should part here.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I’ll head to the lounge.”

After another nod, Ian acquiesced.

“This evening was pleasant, Diana. I wish you a safe return.”

“Same to you. Have a good night, Young Duke.”

He gave a final caution and left.

As his figure vanished from view, Diana felt a wave of relief wash over her.

It’s done! That route is off: no fiancé scenario.

Sorry, Mother—but at least I dodged the death flag, right?

Alone now, she pressed down her joy and moved quickly—avoiding limping displays of pain. By the time she reached the lounge, her shoes were completely ruined.

She didn’t care.

At that moment, her spirit soared higher than ever.

Gossip in the lounge:

“Did you see her cling to Lord Ian earlier?”

“I saw it! She acted like she had no interest, but once the chance came, she glued herself like a beetle!”

“These new nobles think their money buys arrogance. How can they not feel shame?”

“What choice do you have? Count Wellington became a Count only three years ago.”

Despite the harshness, Diana’s mood was incredible.

“Time to realize that wealth alone doesn’t make you nobility.”

That was the worst part of the night—for anyone watching.