Chapter 3

Grace quickly finished the letter and waited for the ink to dry, then took out an envelope and sealing wax from the drawer. She folded the letter in half, then again, placed it in the envelope, and melted the wax over a candle.

She poured the red wax over the envelope flap and stamped it with the Broytton family’s initial ‘B’. Flipping the envelope over, she wrote on the front, ‘To Mr. Aiden Turner, from Grace.’

She wondered how to send a letter to a fiancé she’d never met, who hadn’t even visited her home, but since there was no other way, she decided to give it to Filson. He would find a way to deliver it.

Grace tossed the letter onto her messy desk and leaned back in her chair as if collapsing. If May saw her, she’d scream that both her dignity and posture were ruined, but Grace couldn’t help it.

“Marriage, how absurd….”

A groan escaped her lips before she realized it. Grace was twenty-three. It was a bit late to be unmarried, but not so late that she had to rush into marriage like a clearance sale.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think about marriage. She simply wanted to get to know someone naturally, feel love, and promise a future together. She wanted to avoid a marriage like this.

Grace’s eyes wandered in the air before settling on the letter on her desk. In her flustered writing, she’d revealed more of her true feelings than expected, and there were sentences she couldn’t bring herself to write.

Questions that never became words simmered in her heart.

Aiden, what kind of person are you?

Not the reputation from society, but your genuine gaze—I want to know.

What color do your eyes shine with? What color is your hair?

I see the world through emerald eyes and greet it with bright platinum hair.

Aren’t you curious about me?

I’m curious about you. I want to know your thoughts, your beliefs, your heart.

Are you satisfied with this marriage?

What will our marriage yield?

I’m someone who wants to believe in the power of love,

Do you believe in love?

* * *

Even after the marriage was announced, Grace’s daily life didn’t change. When the sun fully set and the mansion grew quiet, Grace would take a gas lamp and head to her study.

She cherished the time when her mother and father, busy with society, were out and she could have the silence all to herself.

Sitting at her desk in the study, Grace wrestled with a blank sheet of paper again. Her profession was a popular novelist. Writers, after all, borrowed inspiration from the fairies of the night, so Grace’s nights were busier and more intense than her days.

As she struggled with the blank page, a knock sounded outside the door.

“Yes, come in.”

Lisa the maid entered, pushing a trolley. On the trolley were coffee and baked pastries arranged on plates. Lisa quietly moved the cups.

“Thank you. I’ll enjoy it, Lisa.”

After transferring all the food, Lisa handed Grace a silver tray.

“What’s this?”

“Filson delivered it earlier.”

On the silver tray was a flat letter.

“Have a good night.”

“Thank you.”

The sealing wax on the letter bore the initial ‘T’. Flipping it over, she saw the elegant script, ‘From Aiden, to Miss Grace Broytton.’ Even on second glance, the handwriting was graceful.

So, she’d given her letter to Filson yesterday, and today a reply had arrived? So quickly?

Doubt and curiosity arose at the same time. Since it hadn’t gone through the post office, it could arrive quickly, but the reply came much faster than Grace expected.

She put down her fountain pen and opened the letter.

She took a sip of coffee and a bite of a small pastry. The soft butter flavor filled her mouth.

She pulled the letter from the envelope and saw the same tidy, antique script.

「To Miss Grace Broytton.

Did you feel like you were in the eye of a storm? Then my worries weren’t misplaced. It’s my fault. My mistake.

I want to tell you: the wind blowing toward us is not a late-summer typhoon, but a spring northwest wind. Our journey toward the future will be like a ship sailing smoothly with a fair wind.

You asked about my eye color and hair color? My eyes are a clear blue, my hair is brown. My skin is rather pale.

Is there anything else you’re curious about? Anything is fine. If you ask, Grace, I’m always ready to answer anything, no matter how trivial.

Grace, I will keep faith with you. As with any marriage, I will keep the promise of marriage with all my heart and body. So please trust me. You must.

Grace, I’d also like to ask you a question. On these busy nights, what do you do? Or during the day, if not at night. I’m curious about your day.

With sincerity, from Aiden.」

Grace’s eyes widened as she finished reading. It was a letter completely different from what she expected.

His first letter had been arrogant, and hers had been full of sarcasm and mockery, so she’d expected a matching reply….

Grace pulled out suitable paper from her drawer and picked up her fountain pen again. But this time, she couldn’t write a reply as quickly as she had the first time.

She didn’t know how to answer a letter asking about her day.

After much thought, Grace put the letter back in the drawer. She took another bite of coffee and pastry and tried to focus on the blank page. But her mind kept wandering.

Was he really curious? About her day, her heart, her world?

Grace shook her head. Now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts.

She had to sort out the feelings of a heroine torn between a vampire and an artificial human, and reveal the secret of her birth. She needed to do that, but the letter she had just read kept swirling around in Grace’s mind.

In the end, Grace tidied up the study, picked up the gas lamp, and walked down the corridor. In the dark, long hallway, only Grace’s silhouette, bathed in light, stood out in white.

Grace entered her bedroom, turned off the lamp, and lay down, trying to sleep that would not come. Even wrapped in soft bedding, her thoughts kept drifting in one direction. It was a precious night, yet she couldn’t write or sleep.

She truly didn’t know what to do about this marriage.

* * *

Even after a restless night, morning came as always. Grace dressed up to have breakfast and left her bedroom. Her tired steps were slow.

She went down the long staircase and entered the dining room, where her mother, Selena Broytton, was already seated at the table. Her father apparently hadn’t returned from his night out. It was nothing new.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“You’re here. Sit down.”

Grace resembled her mother greatly. Her hair color and eye color were both inherited from her.

Bathed in morning sunlight, her mother looked like a moving painting in the Baroque style, or as if a craftsman had breathed life into a splendid doll. Even the gesture of scooping oatmeal porridge was elegant.

Grace sat at the table, unfolded her napkin, and picked up her spoon. She ate the soft oatmeal porridge and drank the tangy fruit juice. Still feeling a bit empty, she ate an egg omelet as well.

With no light conversation, only the repeated sound of cutlery moving echoed.

By the time Grace drank her fruit juice again, her mother finished eating and wiped her mouth with a napkin. Grace hurriedly spoke.

“Mother, I have something to say.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about my marriage.”

“Oh, yes. Go on.”

Grace took a deep breath and spoke.

“I want to find love.”

She expected ridicule, but her mother’s answer was brief.

“Find love, you say.”

“So I want to cancel the marriage…”

“Marriage and love are separate. Do everything you can. Both marriage and love.”

Grace bit her lip hard. Her mother and father both had lovers, and everyone knew it. Grace didn’t want that kind of relationship.

When Grace’s expression hardened, a faint smile appeared on her mother’s face.

“Do you know how much money your father squanders on gambling, if you count it as a weekly wage?”

“What does that have to do with me…”

“Then do you know how much money will change hands because of your marriage?”

“That can’t be the reason for my marriage.”

“No, it’s a more than sufficient reason. It’s money you couldn’t earn in a lifetime.”

Money, money. Grace was sick of it. Wanting money while shunning labor—a contradiction.

As Grace turned her head, her mother’s hand suddenly gripped her shoulder. The strength of her grasp was like a hook. With her body held, Grace had no choice but to look at her mother again.

“Not once have I stopped your eccentricities. You didn’t even attend last night’s ball at the Warshaw family, did you? Nor did you go to the Campbell family’s bazaar last time?”

“……”

“Have I ever scolded you? No. Did I ever expect you to act like a proper daughter? Never. But this time, you must do your part for the Broytton Earldom.”

Her mother’s eyes, as she spoke, sharpened. Her gaze toward Grace was cold.

“Grace, the love you want? You can find it after marriage. I don’t think of you as a lacking daughter. But you need to be a little smarter.”

Her piercing gaze seemed to bore through Grace’s face.

“This marriage is the greatest fortune of your life. You must seize it. There are no other options.”

Her mother released her grip and stood up. Grace couldn’t answer, only staring at the dishes on the table.

“I trust you as my daughter will make a wise choice. At the very least, I believe you won’t consider any foolish options.”

With measured steps, her mother left the dining room. Grace drank her fruit juice to quench her burning throat, but no matter how much she drank, her thirst wouldn’t go away.