Chapter 2.1

“A marriage proposal has arrived for you.”  

During dinner, the Marquis spoke abruptly as he sliced his steak. Andrea, who had been idly cutting her vegetables into tiny pieces, froze mid-action.  

“There’s also a pile of invitations from various places. You’ve only attended a few parties, yet everyone seems to be in a frenzy.”  

“I’m not ready for such things…”  

Andrea instinctively opened her mouth to protest but quickly pressed her lips shut. The Marquis despised being contradicted. Surprisingly, however, his reaction was favorable this time.  

“You’re right. Attending those events would only fuel unnecessary gossip. It’s a waste of time.”  

“…”  

“It would be better to narrow down the choices and invite them to the estate. Attending major gatherings at the royal palace will suffice. I’m not looking to gain anything from a son-in-law, anyway.”  

The Marquis sought a son-in-law who would obey him. While he wouldn’t accept someone from a family so lowly as to tarnish his reputation, he also didn’t want anyone from too prestigious a background, as that would make it difficult to control them as a live-in son-in-law.  

Andrea had to endure uncomfortable meetings with several men selected by the Marquis. She made no effort to impress them, but they didn’t seem to mind. Most of them weren’t interested in Andrea herself—they were after her family’s wealth and status.  

After several months, the list of candidates was narrowed to three. Among them, the Marquis was most pleased with Arthur Mayfield. Mayfield came from a distinguished family of scholars, a once-prominent lineage now reduced to a relic of its former glory.  

“I hear from His Lordship that you have an interest in literature.”  

“Ah… I wouldn’t say I know much about it.”  

“So modest, too.”  

Arthur embodied his family’s traits to perfection: refined but dull.  

He wasn’t a bad person. Truly. Like the others, he coveted the Heathridge fortune, but at least he didn’t spend their entire meeting boasting about himself or leering at her neck and wrists. Compared to the others, he was far more gentlemanly.  

‘But I don’t feel anything for him.’  

During their tea meeting, Andrea sat across from him, lost in thought. She pondered the changing weather, the leaves swaying in the wind, and Michael’s eyes, which reminded her of those leaves.  

Michael, Michael, Michael.  

Yes, Andrea’s thoughts were consumed entirely by him. She began to associate everything in the world with him.  

The golden tea in her cup reminded her of his hair, and the pink peonies on the table resembled his lips. Every time Arthur’s Adam’s apple moved as he sipped his tea, Andrea was reminded of that vivid image burned into her mind—Michael sensually drinking crimson wine.  

Since stepping into noble society, Andrea had heard countless rumors about Michael, many of which were scandalous. She realized that the idealized image she had of him differed greatly from reality, but this realization did little to quell her feelings.  

‘If anything…’  

The human heart is a fickle thing. Once, simply picking up a newspaper with an article about Michael had made her feel as though she owned the world. She had thought that even seeing him from a distance just once more would be enough.  

But now that she could see him up close and frequently, her desires grew insatiable. She wanted to meet his gaze, to approach him, to converse with him…  

‘To touch him.’  

Andrea clenched the fabric of her dress tightly in her lap.  

She knew better than anyone how foolish it was to desire something unattainable. She had spent her life watching Nina wither away, consumed by her unrequited love for the Marquis. Excessive greed always led to disaster.  

It was wiser to accept one’s place and submit to fate. To enjoy the comforts provided by the Marquis, marry this dull but respectable man, and live out a lukewarm life…  

Yet Andrea also knew that the human heart doesn’t always obey reason.  

Surely Nina had known, deep down, that the Marquis would never return her love, that she was merely a shameful secret to him. Despite this, Nina couldn’t let go—because even that fleeting, meaningless affair had meant everything to her.  

Andrea suddenly sensed that she, too, would never be able to let go of her feelings for Michael. Just as Nina had clung to the Marquis. The realization terrified her.  

But there was a crucial difference between Nina and herself: the Marquis had wanted Nina, while Michael did not want Andrea. Harboring unrequited love for Michael was nothing special. Everyone loved him.  

So long as she didn’t expect her feelings to be reciprocated, there was no harm in holding onto them.  

“…I suppose I’ll see you again in the royal palace in two weeks.”  

The word “palace” caught Andrea’s attention as Arthur spoke.  

“The palace?”  

“Yes, there’s a masquerade ball. It’s an annual event held on the last day of the year.”  

“Oh… I see. I didn’t know.”  

“This will be your first time attending, won’t it? You must be excited. My first masquerade ball was already…”  

Andrea nodded absentmindedly as Arthur rambled on about his own experiences. She was pleased that there would be a royal ball but disheartened by the thought of a masquerade. If everyone wore masks, she wouldn’t be able to see Michael.  

Leaning slightly closer to the table, Arthur lowered his voice and asked, 

“Might I have a hint as to which mask you’ll wear? So I can recognize you at the ball…”  

“Well, I haven’t decided on anything yet.”  

Andrea awkwardly smiled and shook her head. She glanced at the pocket watch lying on the table and noticed that quite a bit of time had passed.  

‘This should be a good time to excuse myself without being impolite.’  

Quickly assessing the situation, Andrea rose from her seat.  

“The evening is a bit chilly. I think I’ll go inside to warm up.”  

“Oh, then…”  

“Take care.”  

Leaving behind Arthur, who looked slightly disappointed, Andrea stepped off the terrace. The farther she walked away from him, the lighter her steps became.  

***

“You’ve returned already?”  

As Andrea entered her room, she was greeted by Maria, a maid who was changing the bedding.  

“Yes, it’s a bit cold tonight.”  

“Shall I prepare a bath for you?”  

“Please do.”  

“I’ll add the rose oil you like.”  

Once Andrea immersed herself in the bathtub, Maria approached to assist with her bath. The firm pressure of Maria’s hands massaging her tense muscles left Andrea feeling drowsy.  

The Marquis of Heathridge, Arthur, marriage, Michael, Nina, the ball…  

All the thoughts that had chased Andrea throughout the day swirled lazily in her mind like petals floating on water. As she idly tapped at the petals on the surface, Andrea turned to Maria and asked,  

“Maria, did you know there’s going to be a masquerade ball in two weeks?”  

“Yes, of course. Since we already have dresses prepared, all we need is a mask. Don’t worry about a thing. Is there anything specific you’d like?”  

“No, nothing in particular.”  

“Alright, then I’ll prepare something suitable. You’re so beautiful, my lady; you’ll stand out no matter what you wear.”  

Maria, who had been massaging Andrea’s fingers, suddenly spoke up with a playful tone.  

“It sounds so romantic.”  

Andrea raised an eyebrow and asked, 

“The masquerade ball?”  

“Yes, you get to be someone else entirely.”  

“Someone else entirely…”  

Andrea murmured softly. The thought did seem rather romantic. After all, people always yearn for what they don’t have.  

“I’ve heard rumors that all sorts of things happen at masquerade balls. No need to maintain appearances; just let yourself be carried away by the romance of the moment.”  

“All sorts of things?”  

At Andrea’s question, Maria leaned in and lowered her voice, a mischievous glint in her eyes.  

“Remember what I told you before? If someone invites you to the balcony or the garden, you must refuse them outright. They’re nothing but scoundrels.”  

“Oh.”  

Balcony, garden, moonlight. Among nobles, these were euphemisms for romantic flings. Andrea instinctively brushed her hair back, trying to hide her reddened ears. Seeing this, Maria burst into laughter.  

“My goodness, my lady, you’re too innocent.”  

But Maria couldn’t have been more wrong. Andrea wasn’t the innocent one; she was the one who wanted to be the scoundrel. Feeling a tingling sensation between her thighs, Andrea pressed her knees together beneath the water.  

A thought suddenly crossed her mind.  

‘If I could be someone else… then maybe, just maybe, I could try.’  

If Andrea wasn’t Andrea Heathridge, and Michael wasn’t Michael Cherleus Hecet—  

If they were just two strangers, a young man and woman who didn’t know each other—  

If she pretended to lose herself in the heat of the moment and seduced him, as if indulging in a fleeting whim, and if he responded, even just for a moment…  

‘Then perhaps, for just one night, I could have him.’  

Would it be too greedy to want to spend just one night in his arms? Probably. But it was only a few hours. 

She wasn’t asking for his love. He wouldn’t even recognize her. And that was fine.  

Andrea’s heartbeat quickened. The thought that this was an impossible fantasy grew fainter in her mind.  

Of course, Michael might not want such a fleeting affair. He was cautious by nature. Or he might not be swayed by her at all and reject her outright.  

But even if he refused, Andrea didn’t think she would be too devastated. After all, he wouldn’t be rejecting Andrea herself, but just some masked woman. Anonymity gave Andrea a cowardly sort of courage.  

After much deliberation, Andrea finally spoke cautiously.  

“Maria, about my mask…”  

“Yes, my lady?”  

“I’d like it to cover as much of my face as possible. Could you prepare one like that for me?”