“No.”

Wilhelmina fired back almost like a spring releasing. It was an act born of pure instinct. Overshadowed by Francesca though she was, Wilhelmina was temperamentally inclined toward resistance.

“Your Highness has not yet heard the substance of what I came to say.”

And toward meeting a challenge head-on.

“Of course you’d want to say that.”

He set his glasses down on the table with a light toss, laced his fingers together, and rested them on his knee as he smiled. It was a warm smile, the corners of his eyes folding pleasantly, but Wilhelmina thought otherwise. She only met this man today, yet she was certain of it. He was the sort of man you’d be better off trusting a viper than.

And people called this man, who was worse than any viper, by the following name.

His Royal Highness Cassian, esteemed member of the royal family and heroic Vice Admiral of the Navy of this great and glorious Kingdom of Brighton, renowned and vast.

According to an exceptionally reliable source, he was a man of legendary infamy, the number of pirates he threw into the sea, threw into prison, or threw somewhere, in any case, exceeding three thousand.

Until now, that fact bore little relation to Wilhelmina. But from this point forward, things were different. Using this man was the only solution left to her at present.

…Correction. Of the two remaining solutions, it was the one that would spare Benjamin the most pain. And at the same time, the only way to keep Francesca from becoming a murderer.

Toward that singular necessary and sufficient condition, Wilhelmina spoke.

“The proposal I have for you is simple, Your Highness.”

Even as she thought that this might be an even more insane method than becoming a murderer herself.

“I propose we enter into a contract with marriage as its premise.”

Crash!

From a corner of the room came the sound of a teacup someone dropped and shattered, but Wilhelmina did not turn her gaze. The only thing that mattered to her was the reaction the man before her would show.

“……”

As expected, this absurd proposal seemed to render even the great and illustrious His Highness Cassian speechless.

He studied Wilhelmina with an unreadable expression for a brief moment. But only briefly. A smile soon began spreading at the corner of his mouth.

Yet for some reason, that smile did not look entirely pure to Wilhelmina. No, rather, how to put it.

…Malicious?

“In my opinion, Miss Priestley.”

Sure enough, Cassian opened his mouth in a tone notably gentler than anything before.

“It seems you’re in need of the sort of sedative ladies in society commonly reach for these days. If you don’t happen to have any on hand, shall I have some prepared for you?”

Remarkable. Wilhelmina was genuinely impressed. To be able to say ‘are you out of your mind’ in such a refined and drawn-out manner. She would dare say it was a kind of innate talent.

Even thinking so, Wilhelmina did not forget to shake her head in a ladylike fashion.

“No.”

She sensed instinctively that if she didn’t refuse him properly, he was the sort of man who would simply press a bottle of sedatives into her hand and send her on her way.

But was he the only formidable one here? While he roamed the seas smashing pirates’ skulls, she spent years roaming the social circles of Winstor, the infamous capital of the Kingdom of Brighton, smashing suitors’ hearts, until she finally earned herself the title of ‘spinster.’

In Wilhelmina’s estimation, both achievements were equally legendary.

“…If I may offer you one piece of advice, Your Highness.”

With the intent of demonstrating that ‘legendary quality’ firsthand, Wilhelmina smiled at him with perfect composure.

“Next time, you can simply ask if I’ve lost my mind. There is no need to waste your time like this.”

“……”

Beneath the dim lamplight, Wilhelmina saw it. A flicker of something new crossing Cassian’s silver-grey eyes for the first time.

It was like the curiosity of a scholar encountering an unfamiliar species, and from another angle, like a predator eyeing prey that walked straight into its den of its own accord.

But how, and who, could dare define Wilhelmina Priestley as ‘prey’?

If the other party labored under that delusion, correcting it was only her duty.

“I have no taste for wasting time, so I’ll be straightforward from the start. As you can see, I am quite beautiful, and the estate my late parents left me as my share is considerable.”

Smiling brightly, Wilhelmina added, “For the record, I am being extremely modest right now.”

“Modest?”

Cassian made no effort to hide his open bewilderment. But Wilhelmina was unapologetic. She said nothing wrong.

The four Priestley siblings were famous as much for their individual eccentricities as for their exceptional looks. And as for wealth, there was even less to be said. Annuities, trusts, estates, manor houses, and all manner of storied jewels… the annual income from her assets rivaled the yearly budget of a respectable earldom.

Though her reputation now bore an unintended blemish, what did it matter? Wilhelmina never felt the slightest need for the institution of marriage to begin with.

“The necessity of the institution of marriage.”

“It’s a universally acknowledged truth that a single woman of means has no need of a husband.”

She meant it sincerely. To Wilhelmina, marriage meant, if you were lucky, handing over full control of your entire fortune to your husband and nothing worse, and if you were unlucky, spending your life paying off a dissolute husband’s gambling debts until you died of old age.

How was that any different from madness?

When Wilhelmina argued this, some who heard her would advise that ‘even someone as capable as you still needs a guardian.’

On that point, Wilhelmina was in full agreement. It was not a world one could live in entirely alone, after all. At the very minimum, she needed some ‘basic safeguard’ to prevent some scoundrel from appearing when she was old and infirm, seizing her entire fortune, and having her locked away in an asylum.

And Wilhelmina already had that ‘basic safeguard.’

Cassian listened to all of it and laughed, as if to say, naturally.

“I have heard that the four Priestley siblings are remarkably close. That includes the part about it being rather unwelcome news for the decent, upstanding ordinary people of society.”

In the manner befitting a lady of Winstor’s polite social circles, Wilhelmina chose to treat the remark Cassian appended as something she ‘hadn’t heard.’

“I’m glad you know. In any case, I have no need of any further guardian.”

Ah, yes. Wilhelmina needed no further guardian.

And why would she? Where else in the world could one find a guardian like the Marchioness of Montrose? The kind of person who would demand that the crime of ruining her younger sister’s reputation be repaid with a crushed skull?

Duke Priestley was no different. He was famously soft only with his family. It was already established wisdom in Winstor’s political circles that anyone who underestimated him after only seeing him fawn over his family would come to deeply regret it.

And then there was Ethan, the only one among the four siblings younger than her. Young he might be, he was not someone to be underestimated. He was exactly the sort who would stand beside Francesca with a hunting rifle, loading her ammunition and powder for her.

‘Remarkable, really.’

Wilhelmina found herself smiling with quiet pride before she knew it. The most perfect family in the world, she thought, and she would dare say so without hesitation.

Her original plan for life was to remain in this perfect haven until the day she died, indulging in every whim well into old age.

Even in the one-in-a-million chance that some earth-shattering event changed her mind about not needing a husband, there was no need to worry. She could simply choose a suitably obedient man at that point and take him as her husband.

Cassian murmured with a peculiar expression.

“An obedient husband.”

“A universally required virtue for all husbands in Brighton.”

Wilhelmina replied without shame.

“Either way, I wouldn’t worry even then. The world is full of third sons, fourth sons, fifth sons, sixth sons, perhaps even seventh sons who have no fortune and no secure standing and therefore no time to trouble themselves over a woman’s flaws…”

“Let’s stop there for now.”