Chapter 1.3

“…Yes, Marquis.”  

“So your mother spoke of me?”  

The Marquis of Heathridge smirked slightly.  

“Then I suppose I don’t need to explain further. I’ve come to take you with me.”  

Why? Why would you want to take me?  

As if reading the skepticism in Andrea’s eyes, the Marquis continued,  

“After all, you are my blood. And now that your mother is gone…”  

Before he could finish his sentence, Andrea took a step back. 

Blood ties? What nonsense.  

“I’m fine as I am.”  

“Fine? What exactly is fine?”  

The Marquis’s gaze swept over Andrea’s shabby appearance, the foul-smelling alley, and the creaky, wind-worn door of her house. His pointed stare made Andrea’s face flush with embarrassment. The Marquis clicked his tongue softly as he looked at her.  

“At least you didn’t inherit your mother’s stubborn pride. I suppose that’s fortunate…”  

He took a step closer to Andrea. Though slender, his tall frame exuded a strange sense of intimidation.  

“Pride is good to have. But you must know when to stand tall and when to bow.”  

“……”  

“I don’t make the same offer twice. This is your only chance to escape this alley. Opportunities like this don’t come to just anyone. It’s too valuable to waste on some misplaced pride.”  

Andrea’s eyes wavered slightly. She couldn’t deny his words.  

Part of her wanted to walk past him and head straight into her house. To lock the door, crawl under her blanket, and scrub the memory of this encounter from her mind.  

‘But…’  

Would it be worth clinging to a life where I returned to an empty house, ate cheap food to stave off hunger, and worked until my wrists ached to prepare for the next day and the day after that? Was such a life truly worth protecting?  

After a long silence, Andrea finally opened her mouth.  

“…I’ll go.”  

“……”  

“I’ll go with you, Marquis.”  

* * *  

The spacious and luxurious dining room was enveloped in silence. The sharp clinking of cutlery against plates occasionally echoed through the air.  

“If you need anything, let the butler know.”  

“Yes.”  

With that brief exchange, the room fell silent again. Andrea forced herself to swallow the unfamiliar food on her plate. Though the dishes were sophisticated and expensive, she couldn’t taste anything.  

The moment she took the Marquis’s hand, Andrea’s life changed completely. It felt like she had become the protagonist of a fairy tale Nina had told her long ago, back when her mind was still intact.  

Pretty clothes and sparkling jewels weren’t enough to tempt Andrea—she wasn’t a five-year-old child. But she did appreciate being able to bathe in warm water and sleep without hearing rats scurrying above her ceiling.  

Still, it was unbearably lonely. It was a different kind of loneliness from entering her empty house. Here, she was surrounded by servants and tutors all day, but they were solely focused on their tasks. It felt like being encased in moving walls.  

Even the maids were hostile toward Andrea. Though none openly disrespected her, their disdain was evident in their tone and gaze.  

“Did you hear? That girl is an illegitimate child from a maid. She lived in a stinking back alley her whole life.”  

“Well, with the Madam and the young masters all gone, and no close relatives left, I suppose His Lordship thought it better to bring in an illegitimate child than let the family fall into someone else’s hands.”  

“So she’s the heir to Heathridge? My goodness… The late Madam must be rolling in her grave.”  

Hearing the maids’ gossip, Andrea finally understood why the Marquis had sought her out.  

Was it to avoid the pity of losing everything?  

A primal desire to leave some trace of his blood in the world?  

Fear of growing old and lonely?  

Whatever the reason, Andrea was relieved it wasn’t out of fatherly love or guilt. It meant she didn’t need to try to fit the Marquis into the definition of family. Their relationship was simple: Andrea would play the role the Marquis wanted, and in return, he would provide her with a comfortable life.  

The role Andrea was asked to play was to fill the void left by the Marquis’s two deceased sons. She wasn’t the best replacement, but the Marquis was determined to mold her to his standards.  

He kept Andrea hidden inside the mansion, stripping away every trace of poverty from her. This meant discarding all fifteen years of her life, as poverty had defined her existence.  

Under strict supervision, Andrea grew more beautiful by the day. Her once-gaunt cheeks became plump and fair. Her skin glowed like a pearl, and her previously brittle hair turned smooth and shiny. Even the maids who despised her couldn’t help but occasionally gasp in admiration.  

“Always keep your back straight.”  

“Don’t trail off at the end of your sentences.”  

“Place your hands neatly. Straighten your shoulders.”  

Walking, speaking, eating, even breathing—Andrea had to relearn everything, as if she were an infant. Sometimes, she felt a hollow sense of futility, wondering what her life had been up until now.  

“Good. I was worried since you had no prior knowledge, but you’re catching on well. If you have no further questions, we’ll end here for today.”  

“Yes.”  

“Before the next lesson, read up to this point.”  

But Andrea enjoyed her studies. With a thick book on her lap, she pondered history and art, occasionally breaking into a smile. It was through books, more than jewels or dresses, that Andrea truly felt the change in her circumstances.  

She now understood the meanings of the words Michael had spoken in his gentle tone: loyalty, justice, honor, glory. Whenever she had time, Andrea practiced reading aloud, imitating Michael’s refined manner of speech. She hoped to absorb even a fraction of his elegance.  

“But no matter how long the night may seem, the morning will surely come. I believe this trial will also come to an end. No, I know it will.”  

Every night before falling asleep, Andrea recited Michael’s speech in her mind. It was her only source of comfort.  

No matter how long the night, the morning will come.  

Every trial has an end.  

The morning will come.  

It will come.  

* * *  

Andrea left the Marquis’s estate after her eighteenth birthday.  

“There will be much talk about you. Silencing those rumors will depend entirely on your conduct, so carry yourself in a way that does not disgrace the family name.”  

As the Marquis had warned, Andrea Heathridge’s presence became the talk of the social season. The fact that she was an illegitimate child raised as a commoner would have been enough to keep tongues wagging for a lifetime. Yet, when Andrea appeared, it wasn’t her background that captured people’s attention.  

“Is that the young lady…?”  

“My goodness. She’s nothing like I imagined.”  

Those who had expected a rustic girl with plain looks resembling the Marquis of Heathridge were left speechless when Andrea arrived. She walked in gracefully, like a butterfly, dazzlingly beautiful. Her moist, shimmering eyes and full, red lips stirred an inexplicable flutter in the hearts of onlookers.  

“Earl Jennings, Countess.”  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquis’ Young Lady. We didn’t know His Lordship had such a beautiful daughter.”  

Andrea approached the Marquis’s close associates and greeted them. Her demeanor was impeccably elegant. If there was anything to criticize, it was her noticeable quietness and reserved nature, but even that added to her mystique.  

However, whether Andrea made mistakes or not, whether she was refined or unrefined, none of it truly mattered. After all, one doesn’t need a reason to dislike someone.  

“She must be the only one who benefited from the plague. Poor Veronica and the young lords.”  

“If it were me, I’d be too ashamed to even lift my head. But look at her—she seems so… natural. As if it was hers all along.”  

Yet, no one confronted Andrea directly. After all, she was the Marquis’s daughter, and her family was too wealthy to be easily dismissed. It was cowardice, plain and simple.  

Andrea pretended not to hear their whispers and kept her back straight. Their intent to wound her was obvious, but after years of hearing such comments at the Marquis’s estate, Andrea remained unfazed.  

At that moment, Andrea sensed someone behind her. When she turned around, a plain-looking man was smiling at her.  

“This is our first meeting. I’m William Hastings.”  

“Andrea Heathridge.”  

“Your beauty is remarkable. Thanks to you, the ballroom feels much brighter than usual.”  

“Oh, um, thank you.”  

Once one gentleman broke the ice, others who had been lingering nearby began to approach her cautiously. Unaccustomed to such attention, Andrea stood stiffly, nodding awkwardly at their remarks.