2. An Unwelcome Marriage Proposal (1)
May 2, 2024
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Bianca, who was sitting next to the Countess and unable to hold back any longer, spoke on her behalf.
Bianca had been brought into the Dike family when Riena was eight, after her stepmother remarried Count Dike. She was the same age as Riena. However, in the twelve years since then, Riena had never once shared a truly intimate conversation with her.
They were family, but more distant than strangers. That summed up the relationship between Riena and Bianca.
“Well, I thought I was being perfectly clear to avoid any misunderstandings.”
“So you’re saying Mother didn’t love the Count?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said it didn’t seem like there was much affection.”
“Isn’t that the same thing? And Mother did love the Count! You saw her break down sobbing the day he passed, nearly fainting from grief!”
Did she? Was that display really sincere?
Riena didn’t know why Bianca was so adamant in insisting the Countess had loved Count Dike, but in truth, everyone in the mansion knew otherwise.
Bianca knew it too.
Their marriage had been purely for mutual benefit, and after Aaron was born, even that flimsy relationship had become distant and indifferent.
‘And “sobbing”? More like shedding a few tears at best.’
Rather than snapping back, Riena offered an apology.
“Is that so? Sorry. I must have misunderstood. I apologize. It seems I misinterpreted Mother’s intentions. As Viscount Rotman said, Mother must have changed clothes quickly to lighten the mood of the house. Isn’t that right?”
Riena smiled sweetly at the Countess. Her sarcasm was obvious, but her words were, technically, still an apology.
If it had just been family present, the Countess might have reacted differently, but in front of Viscount Rotman, showing anger would only damage her image. She clenched her teeth and barely managed a reply.
“Yes, I appreciate that you understand my intentions now.”
“And I truly thank you, Mother, for enlightening this ever-foolish daughter of yours.”
Still smiling, Riena smoothly avoided Viscount Rotman’s hand as it slid toward her thigh by placing her napkin on the table and rising to her feet.
“If you don’t mind, may I excuse myself? I cried earlier thinking about Father, and I’m feeling lightheaded.”
“Oh, then allow me to escort—”
Riena raised a hand to stop the viscount, who had started to rise.
“No, thank you. I’d rather go alone—I don’t want to embarrass myself by showing a pitiful side.”
“Ah… well.”
Viscount Rotman clicked his tongue softly.
“If that’s what you wish, I can’t insist. But may I ask for a walk together once you’re feeling better?”
“Of course.”
As long as Viscount Rotman continued to loiter in the mansion, she had no chance of feeling better. And if that never happened, she wouldn’t have to walk with him.
Not knowing her true thoughts, the viscount politely placed his left hand behind his back and gave a small bow.
Riena had to control her expression when she saw him extend his right hand toward her.
After a brief hesitation, she reluctantly placed her hand in his. His lips brushed the back of her hand.
Unlike the kiss from the man in her dream, which was filled with longing and tenderness, this kiss—though a formality of noble etiquette—was simply revolting.
The way he looked at her with those sticky eyes, the way he pressed his lips too firmly—everything about it made her skin crawl.
She didn’t understand it. Why had the kiss in the dream felt sad but not unpleasant, while this one made her feel so violated?
The answer likely lay in the difference in attitude. The man in her dream treated her with respect and affection. Viscount Rotman, however, saw her as nothing more than a possession.
‘Of course he does.’
The viscount’s wife had died this spring in a carriage accident. A wheel had come loose, sending the carriage off a cliff. She died instantly, her neck snapped.
But rumors had spread that Viscount Rotman had orchestrated the accident to kill her.
He had reportedly abused her almost daily after they married. When she finally demanded a divorce, he couldn’t control his rage and killed her—so the story went.
Whether the rumor was true couldn’t be proven. Only the viscount would know for sure. But one thing was clear: he didn’t see women as people, only property.
If he truly saw Riena as a person, he wouldn’t have looked at her body the way he did.
Riena forcefully pulled her hand free from his grasp and forced a smile despite the overwhelming urge to run and scrub her skin raw.
“Then, if you’ll excuse me.”
With quick but composed steps, she returned to her room. The first place she went was the bathroom.
All the way down the hallway, it felt like insects were crawling on her arm. She wanted to scream.
She scrubbed the back of her hand with soap until her skin turned red. Only then did she emerge from the bathroom, where her personal maid Joanna was waiting with a troubled expression.
“What—”
Riena didn’t have to finish her question. She immediately understood why Joanna looked so worried.
Countess Dike stood in the center of the room, face twisted in fury.
Riena sighed deeply and approached her.
“What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter? Do you really not know?”
“I’m asking because I don’t know.”
“You impudent girl!”
The Countess raised her right hand. Riena instinctively sensed what was coming—but instead of flinching, she stared straight into her eyes.
Surprisingly, the Countess lowered her hand. She couldn’t leave a visible mark on Riena’s face while Viscount Rotman was still in the mansion.
Unable to release her anger, she turned and slapped Joanna instead.
“Mother!”
Riena caught the stumbling Joanna in her arms and cried out sharply.
“I’m not your mother! If you thought of me as your mother, you would never have acted this way today!”
The Countess’s face was red with rage as she let out all the anger she’d bottled up during dinner.
But Riena couldn’t understand her reaction. If anyone had the right to be angry, it was Riena.
If the Countess had truly considered her a daughter, she wouldn’t have arranged a marriage like this—as if selling her off.
Her real daughter, Bianca, had even mocked her earlier, saying, “Your groom’s arrived. Can’t you smile a little? I mean, I get it, but still.”
Even so, Riena had never let her anger explode. After all, the Countess was still her mother—at least on paper. And yet, she had the nerve to say that?
Oblivious to Riena’s fury, the Countess declared firmly:
“You’re forbidden from leaving the house until the wedding. And you’ll remain in your room for a week as punishment.”
“Mother!”
“Don’t call me that!”
With that final outburst, the Countess stormed out.
Riena didn’t have the strength to chase after her. Instead, she turned to Joanna, whose cheek was already swelling red from the slap.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
Joanna forced a smile, and Riena felt tears welling up.
Joanna was her only personal maid—the only person in the entire mansion Riena could trust and care about.
Thinking that Joanna had taken that slap for her made Riena’s heart ache unbearably.
“Go ask the kitchen for some ice and apply it right away. If you don’t, the swelling will get worse by tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine. I can’t use something as expensive as ice.”
It was mid-autumn. Demand for ice had dropped since summer, but prices were highest right before winter.
“It’s fine. Just say I asked for it and get a block.”
“My lady…”
Joanna couldn’t refuse. Touched by Riena’s insistence, she left for the kitchen.
Once Joanna was gone, Riena curled up on her bed and began replaying the past two months in her mind, step by step.
She had no idea when everything had started to fall apart.
Two months ago, her father, Count Dike, had died suddenly in a riding accident. Since then, the atmosphere in the mansion had changed completely.
Everyone who had once followed her father now turned their loyalty to the Countess, not Riena.
Seeing this, Riena realized something painfully: the vows of knights were ultimately meaningless.
What a charmer