Chapter 2

“How is it my own wedding, and I’m the last to know until it’s in the paper? Filson, you knew, didn’t you?”

“The Master was going to tell you soon.”

“Does ‘soon’ mean after it’s published in the newspaper?”

“I regret that as well.”

“You could have given me a heads-up.”

“I’m sorry.”

His face didn’t look sorry at all, which irked Grace.

“Are Mother and Father home?”

“Both are out, Miss.”

“Of course. They’re always busy.”

She’d expected it, but even rushing home, it was never easy to see her parents right away.

“I’ll stay in the study. If either one returns, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, understood.”

“Alright. You may go.”

Filson stared at Grace without moving, so Grace nodded slightly.

“Shall I bring your meal?”

“Just tea and some biscuits, please.”

“Yes. I’ll be going now.”

“Thank you, Filson.”

After the old butler quietly left the study, Grace took off her coat and gloves.

She spread blank paper before her and picked up her fountain pen, but soon set it aside. She felt she couldn’t write anything at the moment. Grace roughly organized the papers on her desk and leaned back in her chair.

If an advertisement was published in the newspaper, the other party had already completed the marriage contract. Contracts concerning everything tied to money—from the house they would live in, to the dowry paid by the Broytton Earldom—were surely settled.

Yet Grace herself did not even know her fiancé’s face, and still, all matters related to money had been decided. She felt exasperated by it. She had wanted her marriage to be about love, not numbers….

Grace shook her head and spread a blank sheet of paper on her desk again. She thought she might as well write something, so she picked up her fountain pen once more, when a knock sounded from outside the door.

“Yes.”

The door soon opened, and Filson appeared again.

“The Master has returned.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s waiting in the drawing room.”

“I’ll come down now.”

Grace quickly tidied away her fountain pen and got up from her seat.

She hurried down the stairs. Entering the drawing room, she saw her father sitting in a chair, sipping tea.

His large build, upright posture, and well-groomed beard showed his uncompromising nature. Anyone could see it—Edward Broytton was not an easy man.

His expressionless face, unreadable for any emotion, turned toward Grace.

“You were looking for me, I hear.”

“Yes. There’s something I’d like to say.”

“You saw the newspaper, so you already know, right?”

“Are you talking about the marriage?”

“Yes.”

Her father was not a man of emotional highs and lows. He was someone who rarely showed emotion, even speaking about his daughter’s marriage with indifference.

“Why didn’t you tell me in advance? It’s my marriage, not something trivial—how could I be the last to know?”

“If you’d shown your face in society sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Society—the thing Grace hated most.

“At the very least, shouldn’t marriage be for love?”

“Love?”

Her father let out a dry, scoffing laugh, as if he genuinely couldn’t believe what he’d heard. It was the first emotion he had shown.

“What a childish idea. That’s not what’s important.”

“Then what do you think is important in marriage?”

“Your value, and how that value is calculated.”

“So, in the end, it’s about money.”

“Don’t speak so crudely.”

The Broytton Earldom was a noble house whose fortunes were steadily declining. Her parents maintained only a formal marriage, each seeing other lovers.

Their indulgence and extravagance grew by the day, and endless spending had even brought the once-prosperous Earldom to the brink.

In contrast, the Turner family, though without a title, possessed immense wealth.

They monopolized the country’s railway business, and through real estate development and resort ventures, amassed astronomical wealth from these interconnected businesses. People even called them the ‘Railway King’.

The one thing the Turner family lacked was a title.

On one side, money; on the other, a title. A marriage of pure calculation. It was an arrangement that made perfect sense—except for Grace herself.

Her father took a sip of his tea with elegant movements. Watching his leisurely actions, Grace felt her insides boil.

“This marriage is absurd!”

“Don’t be reckless. The only reason you can even marry is that you’re the daughter of an Earl.”

“Reckless? Who in this house is actually earning that all-important money?”

“Live up to the dignity of the Earldom. Don’t waste your time on unnecessary things.”

Economic activity among nobles was taboo. Nobles viewed labor as disgraceful, even work for survival was considered beneath them.

The only economic activities permitted were unearned income from real estate and investments. This, along with society, was something Grace truly disliked—the taboo on honest labor.

“I’m only working legitimately!”

Grace cried out, but her father said nothing. After finishing his tea, he stood up.

“Where are you going? We’re not done talking!”

“I have no time to listen to your foolishness. If you have any sense, think about how you’ll show your face in society before the wedding.”

“That marriage—!”

Her father pulled an envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. Grace frowned.

“If you’re so curious about your husband, check for yourself.”

His footsteps echoed as his upright figure disappeared beyond the door. Breathing heavily, Grace glared at the letter on the floor. As Filson approached to pick it up, Grace reached out to stop him.

“Filson, I’ll get it. It’s fine.”

The palm-sized letter was the only thing gained from this conversation. Grace steadied herself and returned to her study.

On the small table beside the armchair, tea and biscuits were set out. That was when she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Sitting in the armchair, Grace took a sip of tea. The fragrant scent of the flavored tea seemed to calm her nerves.

She bit into a biscuit and examined the letter carefully. It was rather thick.

The red sealing wax bore the Turner family crest—a ‘T’. On the front of the letter, it read, ‘To Miss Grace Broytton. From Aiden.’ The handwriting was elegant.

Well, at least the penmanship passes.

Grace traced the letters with her finger, pressing each character.

Aiden was a name Grace had heard often, even though she hadn’t shown her face in society.

The eldest son of a wealthy family, lacking a title but not wealth, with a bold personality and outstanding looks—heir to the Railway King. The most sought-after match in society. The center of gossip.

He was the complete opposite of Grace, who spent her days at home, gloomily writing rather than mingling in society.

Grace slit the sealed envelope with a knife and checked the contents. Expecting only a photo, she found a letter instead. Somewhat suspicious, she unfolded the letter.

「To Miss Grace Broytton.

Grace, now that the marriage has been settled, I write to you for the first time. The May air is growing warmer, and the flowers that bloomed in spring have fallen, while green leaves greet the early summer. By the time the foliage is lush, we’ll be holding our wedding.

By the time you read this letter, our marriage will have been made official. I thought you might be surprised by this process, so I’m sending this letter. Perhaps you’re worried, Grace.

But I want to tell you not to worry.

I will see this marriage through perfectly. This marriage will be blessed by God, carried out with the support and encouragement of our families, and completed under the bishop’s declaration.

Every step will be flawless, and I will witness it all—of course, with you by my side.

Please trust me. Believe in our future.

May God’s grace always be with you.

From Aiden.」

Her grip tightened on the letter, and she bit her lip so hard that a walnut-shaped dimple formed on her chin.

What was with this arrogant letter? How could he claim to make a perfect union when they hadn’t even met? What was he so sure about?

Aside from the neat handwriting, there was nothing she liked about the letter. Marrying for a title, yet daring to ask for trust?

Grace jumped up from her seat and moved to her desk. She rummaged through the drawers, pulled out suitable paper, and grabbed her fountain pen. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dipped it in ink and scrawled her reply.

Her handwriting was much more free-spirited compared to Aiden’s.

「To Mr. Aiden Turner.

Thank you for worrying about me and sending a letter, even though we’re strangers. You must be a kind person, Aiden. Your neat handwriting seems to reflect your character.

When early summer comes, our wedding will be upon us. I don’t even know the date, but I’m looking forward to it.

A wedding unknown even to the bride and a groom whose face I’ve never seen—no matter what happens, nothing could be more surprising.

I’ll wait for the wedding like a child waiting for their birthday. It’s just a shame I can’t count the days since I don’t know the date.

What color do your eyes shine with, Aiden? What color is your hair? How am I supposed to trust a husband whose face I haven’t even seen?

I believe the most important things in marriage are sincerity and noble love. What will we find in this marriage? What will our wedding yield?

Thank you for your kind letter, but I’m still confused about everything. In this situation, like the eye of a storm, the only thing I can rely on is myself.

Sincerely, Grace.」