Episode 19

On the first day of the festival, Elouise chose a crisp, green taffeta dress—the one she had claimed to match the color of Marcus’s eyes. Marcus tilted his head.

“Won’t you be cold?”

“If I wear the fox-fur shawl you gave me, I think I’ll be fine.”

And she was right. The white fox-fur shawl had an incredibly sleek sheen, and when Marcus saw Elouise wearing it, he looked pleased. It beautifully complemented her slender limbs and delicate shoulders.

“As I said before, El…”

“Yes?”

“You look lovely.”

He smiled as he escorted her into the carriage. Elouise simply returned his gesture with a faint smile. Logan, standing beside them, noticed the smile was closer to a smirk and cast Marcus a quick glance, but Marcus didn’t care.

Unlike before, Marcus sat next to Elouise instead of across from her. She lifted an eyebrow—why not sit opposite? But Marcus seemed to misunderstand her expression slightly.

“Sorry. I know you’re very cautious, but it would be risky to bring a maid along. Logan will accompany us instead.”

Ladies of noble rank were usually accompanied by maids who oversaw every detail of their public appearance. Elouise sighed through her nose and glanced at Logan.

“Are you okay with that?”

“Of course. It’s my job.”

Elouise had seen firsthand how sarcastic and dry Logan could be around Marcus and expected him to tease her too—but unexpectedly, Logan gave her a respectful nod. Marcus beamed.

“Logan’s the best secretary in the capital. He won’t cause you the slightest discomfort.”

“But won’t the other ladies dislike it?”

“The ladies?”

Adjusting her shawl, Elouise elaborated,

“Some women dislike men joining in their conversations.”

“Ah.”

Marcus’s eyes twinkled playfully.

“That won’t be a problem.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You’ll see the moment we reach the beach.”

And Elouise did understand what he meant the moment they stepped onto the beach.

There were indeed a lot of men accompanying the elegantly dressed noblewomen standing against the sea backdrop.

The grandest and most extravagant gazebo belonged, as expected, to Duchess Bellona. It was so large that it could easily fit twenty people, and two of them stood side by side.

In front of it, jesters performed tricks, hoping to earn the favor of the noblewomen, and shirtless, tanned servants stood beside chairs—despite the lingering cold.

There was one reason for this.

Each noblewoman had laid down thick, luxurious carpets directly onto the sand, and then placed beautifully carved tables and chairs atop them. While placing the furniture might have been manageable, pulling out the chairs whenever the ladies rose or sat down required quite a bit of arm strength.

Whenever a lady raised her arm daintily to rise, the attendants would gently lift both her and the chair back. Then the lady would stroll leisurely along the sand, barefoot, taking in the scenery.

“I’ve never seen anything like this…”

“Only in Cliff,” Marcus said.

Some had only brought gazebos without tables; others had laid down just carpets. Countless people strolled the beach, enjoying the spring. Street vendors had set up stalls selling beautiful trinkets, and young girls flitted between noblewomen selling flowers.

Marcus leaned in to whisper,

“See that big rock out there?”

“Oh! Yes…”

Elouise followed his gaze to the sea. Far across the shimmering green waves, a massive rock formation rose from the horizon like a stone island.

“That’s called the Lady’s Screen,” he said. “That curtain-like rock blocks the rough sea wind. And if you look closely, you’ll see Cliff’s beach is actually wrapped in tall cliffs.”

“Ah…”

Because of this, the beach was calm, with little wind. Ladies could drink tea from fine china sets without worrying about the sand blowing into their cups. Marcus winked.

“Of course, the winds change over the summer. There are storms then, so be careful.”

“You sound like someone who’s lived here a long time.”

“No way. Logan taught me.”

Logan, expressionless, simply opened a small basket. Elouise peeked inside and found a wide-brimmed hat and a beautiful fan—large and decorated with the delicate feathers of a kingfisher. It had a soft green shimmer that matched her dress perfectly.

“So, where do you plan to go?” Marcus asked. “Tell me.”

“Go? Where?”

Elouise blinked, holding the fan. Marcus found her utterly charming.

The social world was a place where women came with clear purposes, looking to find those whose interests aligned with theirs. Elouise must’ve come to the beach on the festival’s first day with a goal in mind too.

Yet she seemed remarkably… unprepared.

The women Marcus had known in the capital were all seasoned players. Before he even opened his mouth, they would say things like, “Could you introduce me to the most influential lady here?” or “Shall we visit Lady So-and-So’s gazebo?” and lead the way themselves.

Each had her own goal, and Marcus always willingly played the role of their glittering accessory. But Elouise, despite having a clear purpose, blinked at him with round eyes, as if she didn’t understand the question.

The sunlight made her cheeks gleam. Marcus had the sudden urge to pinch them. She looked so much like a young, innocent girl—it made him want to tease her.

“Marcus? What are you thinking about?”

Snapping out of it, Marcus saw Elouise gazing up at him with wide eyes, clearly unaware of his thoughts.

God, what’s wrong with me? I’m not eight years old.

He scolded himself.

“Oh, nothing. I got distracted. What I mean is—mingle with purpose.”

“With… purpose?”

“If you want to make friends your age, head to Duchess Bellona’s gazebo. If, as you said before, you’re looking for a tutor for Juliet, then go to Lord Rephenders’s tea table. Or…”

Elouise raised a hand to stop him.

“What if I’m looking for a suitable match?”

“For Juliet?”

“Of course. As you know…”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, then grinned.

“Well! I know Juliet is uniquely angelic, but that’s not what I meant. I was wondering if she isn’t a bit too young to start looking for a marriage match.”

Elouise’s cheeks turned red. She hadn’t expected him to say that.

She’d assumed Marcus would imply Juliet’s unusual traits made her an unlikely bride. But come to think of it—he’d never treated Juliet that way. Before she could respond, Marcus added gently,

“Some parents start scouting eligible bachelors as early as thirteen or fourteen. But from what I’ve seen, Juliet doesn’t seem all that interested.”

“That’s true. But most girls that age aren’t.”

Marcus tilted his head. That was fair.

“But, El—you did ask me to introduce you to Cliff’s top mathematician, didn’t you?”

In short, Marcus had noticed a contradiction in Elouise’s approach. Most parents who seek out good matches for their daughters don’t also hire math tutors.

What she’d said a few days ago didn’t line up with her words today. Elouise’s expression clouded.

“That’s…”

Clap clap. Marcus lightly tapped his hands together—a gesture used in the capital to draw attention.

“Of course, all parents want the best for their children. I’ve never been a parent, so I can’t say for sure. But, El—let me make this clear: you only have two days to decide.”

“Two days…?”

Marcus gently took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the beach. Elouise blinked—then flinched.

Many people were sneaking glances at them.

“This is a small town,” Marcus whispered near her ear. “Lots of people here are curious about us newlyweds. Today and tomorrow, the people who approach us will draw conclusions based on how you act. We’re not the only ones trying to break into society—they want to connect with us too.”

“…I see.”

“So, you need to choose your priority. Is it more important for Juliet to have a happy marriage? Or to become the top math protégé in Cliff?”

Finally, Elouise understood what Marcus was getting at. He hadn’t just considered his own goal—to impress Duchess Bellona—but also the details of their contract and everything she’d said.

He had offered to be Juliet’s godfather, and had never once rejected anything Elouise requested for her.

If she asked him for anything, so long as it didn’t interfere with his goals, he’d make it happen.

But marriage was different. Juliet’s marriage depended on more than just Marcus’s support.

To marry, there needed to be a willing partner. And who would offer their son to a girl being raised with a math tutor? Most people still believed that “overeducated women disrupt households.”

Elouise needed to clarify her position.

If she approached Madame Abeille about a good match for Juliet, that rumor would spread through the beach by sundown. Ladies with eligible sons would flock to her for the sake of the Hanger name.

If she wanted to focus on Juliet’s education instead, she’d need to head toward Lord Rephenders’s table. The people who knew the best tutors would rush over with recommendations.

Elouise understood it all.

But she couldn’t decide—not now.

So she took a step back. Smiling, she gently linked her arm with Marcus’s.

“But we do have one top priority, don’t we?”

“Hm?”

“The Duchess’s gazebo is… stunning. I’d love to take a look.”

Her eyes said clearly: I’ll prioritize your goal first.

Marcus laughed.

He raised his arm just enough for her to hold it comfortably, and thought—

Well, if it’s too hard to choose, maybe the best solution is to marry rich again. That’ll buy her time to decide everything slowly.

Then he chuckled to himself.

And come to think of it… I am the rich husband.

---

The Duchess of Bellona’s gazebo was enormous.

The fabric used for the gazebo was fine-quality poplin, with lovely ribbons tied at every corner. Hanging from one of its pillars was a mobile made of imported glass from a far-off country, producing a pleasant sound each time the breeze stirred it.

Beside the gazebo, a quartet of string musicians performed live music, while jesters juggled in rhythm. A group of commoners hovered nearby, clearly attempting to steal the silver ornaments, only to be chased off by fierce-looking servants.

Naturally, the gazebo was crowded. Women in their twenties and thirties, dressed elegantly, gathered around the Duchess of Bellona, chatting and laughing. At one tea table, wine had already replaced tea. One woman lounged across her chair, flushed and clearly drunk.

Even amid the bustle, people quickly noticed Elouise and Marcus approaching.

Truthfully, people had been paying close attention to them from the moment they arrived at the beach. As the couple neared the gazebo, several ladies took the initiative to greet them.

"The Hangers, yes? I hope you’ve been well!"

"Hello!"

"What a joyful day! You’re like a picture-perfect newlywed couple!"

The greetings were cheerful and warm—but the Duchess of Bellona didn’t so much as glance at them. Only once Marcus and Elouise were directly in front of her did she finally acknowledge them, a move that clearly intended to put them off balance. Elouise found it petty.

"My, you two must be the happiest people in Cliff. May the gods bless your union," said the Duchess, offering her signature enchanting smile—but without a hint of warmth behind it. Elouise smiled right back.

"Thank you, Duchess Bellona. I hope you’ve been well?"

"Quite well, thanks to you! It’s my pleasure to see you both on such a beautiful spring day in Cliff!"

Other ladies followed suit, offering their own blessings and greetings. Elouise greeted each one by name, thanks in large part to Logan’s prior briefing.

Long before they had approached the gazebo, Logan had whispered to Elouise: “Starting from the right of the table, that’s Lady Milford, and next to her, the lady with the brown hair and lily in her hat is Baroness Fraser…” and so on.

With her quick wit, Elouise managed to address every woman correctly by name. A few of them even raised their brows in impressed surprise, which gave Elouise a quiet sense of pride.

But she couldn’t let her guard down. After receiving a kiss on the back of her hand from Marcus, the Duchess of Bellona smiled sweetly and made a request.

"Sir Hanger, I’m sure you agree that gentlemen have a broader range of motion than us ladies?"

"Naturally."

"Then could you be so kind as to bring us a taste of the port wine from that gazebo over there?"

She pointed with a graceful white finger to a gazebo on the far side of the beach, where a couple from a wine-producing region was offering samples of their regional port.

"Countess Vasso praised their wine so highly! But my gown is too heavy, and I’d rather not walk through the sand."

The Duchess was a woman who knew how to wield her charms. Today her long hair was tied low, twisted and pinned with pearl hairpins into an elegant braided crown. Strands of hair dangling by her ears added a soft, innocent touch.

Twirling those strands between her fingers, her long lashes lowered, she stole glances up at Marcus with such subtle seduction that even Elouise had to admit—if the Duchess had asked for Marcus to make her wine from scratch, he might have done it.

Marcus’s dazed gaze, locked on the tendrils beside the Duchess’s ears, clearly showed his mind was already wandering off toward the far end of the beach. Elouise felt a surge of irritation.

No! Not irritation! she told herself firmly. This is duty.

She had nobler goals—her 122-carat diamond's mission.

It was her responsibility to snap Marcus out of it, even if it meant slapping him. The Duchess must not realize that Marcus Hanger was still even slightly interested in her.

Elouise gently slipped her arm through his. Marcus was startled. But Elouise ignored him, smiling instead at the Duchess.

"Oh, Duchess, is that so? But do keep in mind—this man is my husband."

"My, Lady Hanger. Who here wouldn’t know that?"

The other noblewomen giggled lightly. How sly, Elouise thought, narrowing her eyes with a sugary smile.

"Of course. I’m sure everyone knows."

Her tone held steel underneath the sweetness. You really have no shame, asking my husband to run errands for you. You still think he’s that same silly man who used to trail after you?

Which he is, she admitted inwardly, but still.

Whatever the case, the women around them seemed to get the message. A hush fell over the group. Elouise finally looked up at Marcus.

"Darling."

Not dear, not Marcus, not even you. Just “darling.”

Marcus’s eyes visibly wavered. He hadn’t once heard that word from her at the estate.

And it struck Elouise in that moment—they hadn’t even decided what to call each other. How ridiculous, after all that time spent preparing.

"I’m curious about that port wine too. I heard it’s similar to sherry. Have you tried it?"

"Uh, yes. Indeed, my lady. Port wine is sweet—but rather strong. It might be too unfamiliar for someone tasting it for the first time…"

Marcus stammered. This fool, Elouise thought. So much for all that big talk at the estate. He can't even act properly in public!

Hoping his awkwardness would be mistaken for lovestruck awe, Elouise brushed her fingers along his cheek. He flinched like he’d been electrocuted. Understandable, since she hadn’t warned him.

But this is what’s necessary, she thought, drawing him in by the cheek.

He gazed at her blankly. Well, better her face than the Duchess’s.

She kissed his cheek lightly. A soft smack sound.

"Since you’re here, I think I’ll be fine. Would you go and get it for me, dear?"

She smiled radiantly.

Marcus fumbled for words.

"For… for you."

"Yes. For me."

Watching Marcus stumble off toward the wine tent, Elouise thought: From now on, we’ll need to rehearse better.

Then the Duchess approached.

"My goodness. Sir Hanger really seems to be falling for you."

Elouise almost frowned. On the surface, it sounded like a compliment—but clearly, it was a jab.

Did you really marry for love? I didn’t think so! was the unspoken message. Elouise kept her cool.

"Wouldn’t one only marry for love?"

"After just four days?"

The Duchess laughed loudly, slapping her fan against her throat. Elouise smiled, though she felt like knocking her over with a tea tray.

"Love doesn’t care about time, does it?"

"Perhaps not."

Surprisingly, the Duchess didn’t push further. Was she backing off? Elouise glanced around. The other ladies watched intently. Every word exchanged was fodder for gossip.

Perhaps the Duchess didn’t wish to feed the fire any further.

Just then, a servant handed Elouise a cup of tea. She accepted it with a small nod, letting the warm liquid fill the delicate cup.

"I heard at the wedding that you came from Maine?"

"Yes. I came to Cliff for a holiday. But how did you…?"

The Duchess answered unexpectedly.

"From your daughter—Juliet, was it?"

"Ah, that’s right…"

"Yes."

She brushed a lock behind her ear and smiled.

"I know it was rude, but I hope you’ll blame my dress. It was too tight around the chest, so I needed some air. It wasn’t because of your wedding. I went for a walk in the woods."

"…"

"The forest behind Noskina's estate is well known for its beauty, after all. That’s where I met young Juliet."

The mention of Juliet piqued everyone’s interest.

Elouise calmly explained that Juliet was her daughter, and that Marcus had become both her adoptive father and godfather. It was rare for someone to take on both roles.

The ladies exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"My goodness. Sir Hanger must be completely taken with you."

"Not quite. He just understood what I was worried about."

Elouise smiled vaguely. But then the Duchess interrupted again.

"Still, Juliet is a little… peculiar."

Her smirk was unmistakable this time.

How dare she say that in public.

Elouise gazed in silence. She sensed the Duchess was trying to insult Juliet.

"Yes. My daughter is… special."

Her voice rang with quiet hostility. The entire group stilled.

The Duchess blinked a few times, fluttering her lashes.

"Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding—"

Just then—

"My love!"

Marcus had returned, holding two bottles of port wine in his arms. He beamed, wrapping an arm lightly around Elouise’s shoulder.

"For you, I pleaded with the couple and brought back not one, but two bottles!"

"My, darling."

Elouise smiled. Perfect timing.

She turned to him with a radiant expression, while Marcus addressed the Duchess.

"I had to use your name once or twice, my lady. I hope you’ll forgive me."

The Duchess chuckled.

"Of course!"

Everyone laughed. The mood lightened. It was perfectly ambiguous—and perfectly pleasant.

---

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