Publishing houses rushed to produce large quantities of educational materials and textbooks.

Thanks to this, Mark was able to establish himself quickly.

He was the first to suggest creating an etiquette book for the middle classes.

Despite the risks, he encouraged Henrietta every step of the way and secured the noble pen name Dunlop for her.

He offered her an unusually generous contract and introduced her to Attorney Taylor to manage her earnings.

The small office he had once used for printing had grown into a proper publishing house.

Last year, he bought the building she had just seen and moved into the top-floor flat.

Instead of going to the publishing office, Henrietta went straight to his residence and knocked on the door.

Fortunately, he was home.

“I’m sorry. I thought you would get in touch, but I couldn’t contact you myself. Ever since the book was displayed at the Lorenzo Salon, I’ve been inundated with messages – I haven’t had a moment to think.”

His voice blended with the steady sound of the rain falling on his umbrella.

The downpour was so heavy that one side of Mark’s shoulder was already soaked.

Even the umbrella offered little protection.

“No, I should be the one apologizing. You’ve been put in a difficult position because of me.”

A ten-minute walk from Sandot Street led to a small, unnamed lake.

Henrietta and Mark used to come here often.

Whenever she was allowed to leave the Schutzman estate, she would come here.

If they arranged a meeting in advance or carefully exchanged letters, he would secretly come and meet her there.

Looking back now, it had all been pointless.

Robert had probably known about their meetings from the outset.

“I knew you’d say that. Henrietta, don’t say things like that. This isn’t your fault at all.”

By the time they reached the lakeside where they had once walked, the heavy rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Standing in the open, the brightness of the sunlight was blinding; it was as if the darkness of moments before had never existed.

The midday sun was reflected off the lake, dazzling Henrietta.

Henrietta squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

“That’s not entirely true. It was Edna who brought the book to the Lorenzo Salon.”

Mark let out a long sigh.

“That crazy woman… she deserves to be thrown into the hottest furnace in h*ll.”

Despite the bleak situation, a small laugh escaped her.

When they were younger and Edna would occasionally come to Hangderhood, Mark would mutter curses under his breath behind her back.

Not that she had ever done anything to him personally.

Henrietta had never stopped him.

There was something comforting in knowing that someone was always on her side.

“Yes… I hope that happens.”

Mark let out a soft chuckle and joined her.

Hearing his laughter made her feel a little lighter inside.

The lake was rarely visited, and the surrounding area was overgrown with bushes.

In the midst of this stood a single bench, still damp from the rain.

As she took in the tangled weeds, Henrietta realized just how long it had been since she last saw Mark.

He walked ahead, pressing the grass down with his foot, before reaching out to brush the rainwater off the bench.

Then, in a quiet voice, he spoke.

“More than that…”

He dusted his hands off, then pulled a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the bench again.

“I had no idea you’d gotten married. You have no idea how shocked I was.”

As if that still wasn’t enough, he removed his jacket and spread it over the bench.

Without a word, he gently took her by the shoulders and guided her to sit on top of it.

Although she followed his lead without protesting, Henrietta found herself frowning involuntarily.

Then, a quiet laugh escaped her.

Mark had always looked after her as if she were his younger sister — it was something that had long become second nature to him.

“I’d be fine standing for a moment.”

“As if that’s possible. You’re Her Highness the Crown Princess now.”

As Henrietta shook her head, Mark brushed the remaining rain off the bench carelessly and dropped down beside her.

“Isn’t it cold?”

“It is. But it’ll dry soon enough. The sun’s strong.”

Henrietta nodded.

Rain like this had never been much of a problem for either of them.

Back when they were younger, there had been far more days without an umbrella than with one.

“True. The weather really is unpredictable.”

For a moment, silence fell over the vast lakeside.

Even amidst the urgency of the situation, Henrietta’s gaze drifted to the shimmering surface of the water.

Despite knowing how careful she needed to be, Henrietta had come to see Mark because she wanted to resolve this matter independently, without Hendrick’s help.

If things did not go as planned, she was going to tell him everything today.

In Baron Cohen’s realm, impersonating a noble was a serious crime.

At times like this, even the smallest issue could become dangerous.

The nobility valued honor above all else, and Henrietta understood better than anyone how easily that could be used against her.

What would Hendrick say if he found out?

Would he see her as nothing more than a burden, someone who brought him nothing but trouble?

Would he regret taking her in?

These thoughts weighed heavily on her, and she took a deep breath.

But the thick, humid air left behind by the rain did nothing to ease her inner tension.

“Don’t worry too much about the book.”

Henrietta turned her gaze from the lake to Mark.

“How can I not worry? I came to you because I thought perhaps I could meet this ‘Dunlop’ in person. No matter how I think about it, that seemed like the only way.”

During Baron Cohen’s lifetime, only individuals whose names were recorded in the noble registry were permitted to publish works officially.

Recently, it had become fashionable for young noblewomen to publish collections of essays, but true authorship was still the exclusive domain of noblemen.

“You can’t meet him.”

“Why not?”

“…He’s dead.”

“What?”

Even as Henrietta asked in shock, Mark simply folded his hands over his knees, wearing an almost calm expression.

With a faint smile, he began to explain.

“So… you’re saying this Dunlop Novain was your maternal grandfather?”

“That can’t be right. If that were the case, my surname would be Novain.”

Henrietta blinked her wide eyes in confusion.

“More precisely, it’s from my mother’s side of the family. Dunlop was a distant relative of hers. He passed away two months ago due to a chronic illness.”

According to Mark, Dunlop’s illness had begun seven years earlier.

“He had been suffering from consumption for a long time. His children abandoned him early on because of it. I was the only one who visited him from time to time and took care of him.”

Henrietta parted her lips, unsure of what to say first.

Should she offer comfort?

Or relief?

“There’s no way I would’ve made that kind of proposal to you without any preparation.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“As if you would’ve agreed. Not if you knew I was using a name connected to me for something so risky.”

“But still… you should’ve told me.”

“You know as well as I do that I was responsible for almost everything that was published under your name. What about all the drafts you wrote? I burned them all. There’s no one left who could prove otherwise. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“….”

“Don’t make that face. His death is tragic, but in the end… it worked out for both of us.”

What Mark said was entirely true.

Even if something had gone wrong while Dunlop was alive, tuberculosis was a cruel disease that slowly robbed a person of their mental clarity.

Nevertheless, using the deceased’s name without permission weighed heavily on her.

“I didn’t have any money back then, remember? If it hadn’t been for the income from your book, I wouldn’t have been able to take care of him at all. So, in the end, it was a good thing for everyone.”

He continued in a quiet voice.

He had arranged the funeral at a modest church.

Fearing they might be asked to cover the costs, Dunlop’s children didn’t even show up.

“I buried him somewhere proper.”

Henrietta nodded slowly.

“In the most expensive plot I could afford.”

At his absurd remark, a soft laugh finally escaped Henrietta.

Mark gently patted her shoulder, continuing to reassure her.

“No matter how powerful Duke Schutzman is, he can’t bring the dead back to life. So stop worrying.”

“…Yeah. When things settle down, let’s go visit his grave together.”

Mark smiled at her.

Since the man liked yellow so much, he suggested that they should bring him a bouquet of bidens flowers.

Selfishly, Henrietta felt a deep sense of relief.

Above all, she was grateful that she wouldn’t have to tell Hendrick.

Even though it was just a small, stubborn pride that she couldn’t let go of, she still wanted to hold on to it.

It was the last shred of dignity she refused to relinquish.

“If you ever have to part from someone, I only wished it would be on equal footing.”