Chapter 4: The Reason for Marriage (4)

A surge of longing nearly brought tears to her eyes, but Edith clenched her teeth and held them back.

It wasn’t the time to cry.

Not when she could do nothing.

From where she had been quietly hiding in the corner, Lenny carefully approached.

“My lady, are you all right? Oh dear, your cheek is swollen. I’ll fetch something to soothe it.”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll go down if I leave it.”

Edith trudged across the room and sank onto the sofa as if collapsing.

“But what was all that about? Why did the Third Prince suddenly come up?”

“Oh, that.”

Edith let out a dry laugh.

“I’m getting married, Lenny. To the Duke of Myers.”

“W–what? All of a sudden? To… to the Duke of Myers?”

“Yes. That Duke of Myers.”

“Heavens, heavens… how did this happen? What do you mean? Did His Highness come to propose himself? Have you been meeting him behind my back? My lady, tell me everything, please!”

Her maid’s flushed cheeks and excited voice—like she herself had been proposed to—were strangely comforting.

Since her mother’s death, Lenny had been Edith’s only refuge.

As Edith recounted what had happened at the dinner table that evening, her mind wandered, turning over what the Duke’s true intentions might be.

Countless possibilities arose, but the truth remained hidden.

The only thing she could be certain of was this:

‘In this marriage, whether it’s the Riley royal family, the House of Myers, or the Duke himself, someone stands to gain. The Marquis of Reynolds, most of all. So I must play this carefully and secure power for myself.’

***

It had been less than two weeks since King Franklin Riley, Duke Grayson Myers, and Marquis Wyatt Reynolds had met to discuss the marriage.

“Is it true you’re marrying that woman said to be mad?”

The rumor had spread so far that even Edward—who buried himself in the Academy research labs and cared little for society gossip—had come running.

Grayson had not yet mentioned anything to his own household, so the rumors must have leaked from another source.

Someone was deliberately spreading them.

“They’re saying that woman forced you into marriage by holding some secret over you. What on earth is your weakness? Why don’t I know about it?”

It seemed Edith had no shortage of enemies.

To society, she had become the villainess of the century.

That left Grayson painted as the unfortunate prince, trapped in marriage by blackmail—a notion he found more irritating than anything.

Pity could sometimes be useful, but to be seen as a man with a shameful weakness, forced into a marriage he didn’t want?

That he could not abide.

He would rather people think he’d fallen hopelessly for a madwoman than believe such a thing.

Looking at his friend’s face—Edward’s, who was clearly more distressed at not knowing his supposed weakness than the marriage itself—Grayson resolved to put an end to these absurd rumors.

Once he calmed Edward and sent him off, he retreated to his study.

Sitting at his desk, an unlit cigar between his lips, he thought long and hard before finally opening a drawer and pulling out a sheet of fine stationery.

[To Miss Edith.]

He had written plenty of formal letters before, but never a personal one.

And to think this would be his first—to the woman who would soon be his wife.

He stared at the name on the page for a long time.

Perhaps it would be better to add “Dear”?

He crumpled the sheet and reached for another.

[Dear Miss Edith.]

But reading it back, it felt far too familiar for two people who had never even exchanged a word.

That wouldn’t do either.

Another wasted sheet.

[Lady Reynolds.]

Now it felt even stiffer than the first.

By the time the wastebasket was overflowing with crumpled paper, Grayson finally found the right words and finished the letter he would send to Edith.

***

Life became unexpectedly comfortable for Edith once her marriage to Grayson was decided.

The Marquis of Reynolds, eager to present himself as a doting father giving away his precious daughter to a duke, ordered the staff to provide her with everything she needed.

He even posted a knight outside her chambers, ensuring that not even the Reynolds family themselves could intrude at will.

The lecherous advances the marquis had occasionally shown since her mother’s death disappeared as well.

Edith embraced this fragile peace.

“My lady, my lady! The Third Prince has sent you a letter!”

She had been sipping tea on the terrace when Lenny came running, bright with excitement.

Edith quickly closed the diary of her late mother and looked up.

“The Duke of Myers?”

“Yes! Hurry, read it!”

Edith accepted the envelope, sealed with red wax, and stared at it in silence.

She could not imagine why Grayson would write to her.

There were still four months until the wedding.

The ceremony would be arranged by the royal household, the gown and trousseau by the marquis’s estate—there was nothing left for Edith herself to be involved in, and surely the duke thought the same.

‘Surely he’s not calling the whole thing off?’

That must not happen.

After all, the only confirmation she had of his supposed eagerness for the match had come from the marquis.

Grayson himself had never said so to her.

It was possible this marriage had been arranged solely between the king and the marquis.

The thought chilled her to the bone.

“My lady, why are you hesitating? Read it and send a reply!”

“Must I answer right away?”

“Of course! The messenger is waiting.”

So Grayson would not even grant her time to think.

Feeling her throat tighten, Edith broke the seal.

[To Edith Reynolds,

Below is the plan for tomorrow’s outing.

12:00 pm – Meet at the Reynolds estate.

12:20 pm – Walk along the riverbank.

1:00 pm – Lunch at Vamont.

2:30 pm – Attend the theater.

4:50 pm – Tea at Evergreen.

6:30 pm – Return to Reynolds estate; outing concludes.]

After reviewing the plan, please add any further details in your reply. If there are no additions, you may dismiss the messenger without sending an answer.

—Grayson Riley Myers]

Edith stared at the letter for a very long time.

‘What is this?’

Before the rumors of her madness had spread, men had occasionally sent her invitations for outings.

Those letters were usually long, filled with flowery praises of her beauty and elaborate declarations of their feelings, ending with some plea for the honor of her time.

This was the first time she had received a schedule broken down by the minute.

She had no idea how she was supposed to interpret it.

Lenny, who had been craning her neck curiously, unable to resist any longer, asked,

“What does the duke say?”

“A plan…”

“…Pardon?”

“No, he just says we’ll have a date tomorrow.”

It didn’t seem like something meant to be shown around, so Edith folded the letter neatly before Lenny could read it and slipped it into the pocket sewn into her skirt.

‘At any rate, it’s a request for a date. At least it doesn’t look like he’s trying to call off the marriage.’

Strange as the request might be, the important thing was that it wasn’t a cancellation.

“Oh my! The duke has asked you on a date? What a marvel! Finally, all those people who’ve been spouting nonsense about this marriage—”

Lenny cut herself off, glancing at Edith.

Edith knew very well the things people whispered.

A witch who ensnared a prince.

A wanton woman who begged for marriage, clinging to a man’s weakness.

A shameless daughter, just like her mother.

It didn’t matter what the ignorant said.

If it meant avenging her mother—and her father as well—Edith would be a witch, a villainess, or a harlot, anything at all.

“Then, my lady, you must write him a reply.”

“He said I didn’t need to.”

“Oh, but how could you send the messenger back empty-handed? Even a short note would surely please the duke.”

Would it, really?

A man who sent such a letter hardly seemed like one who would care for a reply.

Still, Edith had no desire to argue, so she obediently drew out a sheet of paper.

***

By the time the messenger returned to the Reynolds estate, Grayson was soaking leisurely in a warm bath.

The servant handed him Edith’s reply.

Curious to see what additions she might have made to his meticulous schedule, he broke the seal.

A faint smile touched his lips, then vanished.

[To Duke Myers,

Yes, that is fine.

—Edith Reynolds]

The reply was plain and concise, direct to the point.

He liked it. No excess, no fuss—just businesslike clarity.

Such a letter could well serve as the model for correspondence between trading houses.

Grayson set the letter neatly folded on his desk and closed his eyes, content.