Chapter 1

The still cool spring breeze scratched across her flushed cheeks. As soon as she stepped off the carriage, her stiff back protested with terrible pain.

Before her stood a small townhouse, old-fashioned yet run-down, covered in untended ivy. It was the mansion in Rodin’s capital that she had seen endlessly since childhood, but for some reason, today it felt strangely unfamiliar.

“Let’s go inside, Rosalie. I’m too tired to stand any longer.”  

Her brother Gérard, who inherited the Earldom from their father two years ago, brushed aside petals on the doorstep with his foot as he spoke.

Beside him stood the heir of the Earl Malève family, born around this time last year, and the nanny holding the baby.

“Let’s go in first, Dear. Rosalie must have a lot on her mind, too.”  

“Don’t be too late! The capital is a dangerous place, you know.”

Hearing her sister-in-law’s affectionate voice, Rosalie managed a small smile. The woman was doing her best to be considerate.

Once Gérard, his wife, the baby, and the nanny left, Rosalie could fully indulge in the feeling of isolation.

It was as if the world was mocking her. Somehow, it felt as if her life had simply ended.

This wasn’t a new emotion for her; in truth, her happiness had ended ten years ago.

Back then, she used to shake off her gloom and frustration by shopping for diamond necklaces—a childish, nostalgic past she longed for.

Of course, now even a single meal at a fine restaurant was an unaffordable luxury, let alone jewelry.

“I really hate this…”

At twenty-nine, her melancholy was no longer sweet. She couldn’t bear the swelling flower buds or the birds chirping on branches.

Just as she tried to retreat into her own thoughts, she rubbed her heated eyelids and climbed the low steps.

***

With the maid’s help, she unpacked and changed clothes. When she went downstairs, the Earl and Countess were sitting on an old sofa, sipping warm liquor.

The baby seemed to have been taken away by the nanny. Hearing the creaking stairs, Angela, her sister-in-law, turned to look at her.

“Come on in, I was just reading a letter from the Countess of Aloua.”  

Angela greeted her with a gentle smile. Gérard, arms folded, was dozing off against her shoulder—fatigue had built up from their long journey.

Angela’s eyes were half-closed as well, but she seemed anxious to care for her husband’s sister, who was forced to marry for family reasons.

“…What does she say?”

“She says you’ll be tired from the journey until the day after tomorrow, so rest well and attend the ball on the weekend.”

“Just two days? I haven’t even prepared a dress yet.”  

“She’s already contacted the best boutique in Rodin. She knows our finances aren’t great, so she said not to worry.”

“Ha, that woman always talks like that…”

Even nobles on the brink of bankruptcy still had their pride. Angela smiled bitterly, and Rosalie stared at the chipped fireplace.

Early spring—indoors, where the sun didn’t reach, was colder than outside. It would have been nice to warm their tired bodies with a fire, but they couldn’t afford to.

They had so little money that even such trivial expenses had to be spared.

Money, money, money, money.  

Money!

The Malève Ealrdom had no money. They’d never been wealthy, but things hadn’t been this dire until the last two or three years.

Her father, a proud noble all his life, complained that they didn’t enjoy enough for their status.

He wanted Rosalie adorned in sparkling jewels and lavish dresses, and Gérard riding a coveted Rüzen mountain horse through the hunting grounds.

Then, he decided to invest in a war in the neighboring country—something related to the weap*ns industry, though Rosalie still didn’t know exactly what. Her father probably hadn’t understood it either.

Naturally, the investment ended in disaster, and her father collapsed from the shock. After that, he never got out of bed.

After the funeral, Gérard inherited the title, but he was a gentleman who liked hunting and reading, not an ambitious schemer.

Angela’s family couldn’t help either—they’d also lost money in investments and barely recovered their principal.

On top of that, Gérard and Angela had a newborn baby, and Rosalie herself was not only unmarried but well past the usual age.

Then, last autumn, just as the social season ended, the Countess of Aloua, niece of the late king, sent Rosalie a marriage proposal.

“I’m sorry, Rosalie. If you don’t want this marriage, you don’t have to do it.”

“But if I don’t marry, we’ll be in debt forever. Cute little Theo won’t even get a proper education.”

Rosalie sighed. All winter back in the estate, her worries had deepened. Noble marriages rarely started with romance.

Of course, she knew that. But shamefully, she had once been swept up in a burning love.

Her first love, ruined by a huge difference in status and fierce opposition from her family.

Because of that, even ten years later, she was still living as the daughter of the Earl Malève family, not as someone’s wife.

And for her, there was only one way to help her family.

A marriage of convenience, based on mutual interest.

The Countess of Aloua wanted to match her socially awkward only son, shunned by all of Rodin’s society, with Rosalie.

The price was clear—but more than generous. The Malève Earldom could pay off the old debts, get rid of the troublesome Rosalie, and even connect with royalty.

“…Still, I don’t want to see you unhappy. I hope you’ll be happy.”

“Sister, really, there’s no guarantee I’ll be unhappy.”

The Countess of Aloua’s excessive protection of her problematic son was once a famous topic in society.

Rumor had it that her son was born healthy, but one day he was struck by a fever, began limping, and his intelligence regressed to that of a child.

Still, perhaps because the family produced beauties for generations, his looks were outstanding. Rosalie remembered seeing him at a ball once.

The beautiful only son of the Aloua family, Jeremy.

At age twenty, he wet his pants in front of countless nobles, wailed loudly enough to shake the hall, and caused such a commotion that he had to leave.

Since then, no noble had seen Jeremy in society. At the time, Rosalie was too heartbroken to care, but many laughed at Jeremy Aloua.

“It’s late, I should sleep. You rest too, Sister.”

Rosalie put down the glass Angela handed her and got up. Angela would probably stay in the parlor with Gérard for a quiet evening.

“Alright, see you tomorrow. If we’re both up for it, let’s visit the boutique.”

“Sure. Hmm, wearing a new dress is nice, but I don’t like that it’s her money.”

She joked honestly and headed to her bedroom. The hallway was dark and chilly, the lamps left unlit to save oil. Even the number of servants had been drastically reduced, so there was no sign of anyone.

“…Was this house always so lonely and desolate?”

Just a few years ago, it had been lively and bustling. Guests visiting her father, maids busy cleaning and carrying luggage.

Back then, Gérard, about to marry Angela, would bring her sweet, sticky chocolate cake as a late-night gift.

“…The moon is up.”

Before lying down, she murmured as she gazed out the window. If her sacrifice could change all this—if she could live as before—

Then being called ‘the pathetic, foolish bedwetter, wife of Jeremy Aloua’ would be a shame she could endure.

Or perhaps, Jeremy himself would hate being ‘the husband of a woman who eloped with a commoner painter.’

The silver moon rising in the pitch-black sky was pale and lonely—just like the man she fell for at first sight ten years ago.