Episode 26

Surely, for Louise, Juliet had posed even more challenging to handle.

Elouise had only come to Starwood after Louise had already passed from a fever. And Elouise could never believe that Juliet was not a part of what had worn her sister down.

Sometimes, Elouise resented Juliet for that. But at the same time, she loved her far too much to remain angry.

Physically, life with Juliet had been much harder than life by herself. But she knew she could never go back.

And now, she found herself missing Louise terribly.

If someone like Abigail had been in Maine… perhaps my sister wouldn’t have suffered so much.

Elouise pushed the papers aside, leaned back against the bedpost, and closed her eyes. Fatigue washed over her.

During Juliet’s week with Abigail, Elouise had been fighting her own battles—making connections with society ladies, attending tea parties, and just that day, sharing a light meal with the women at a beach café.

It had been a disgustingly cheerful and exhausting gathering.

I wonder if I’m doing all of this right…

That’s when she heard the clink of glass and opened her eyes. Marcus was grinning, brandy glass in hand, his green eyes sparkling mischievously.

He was the man who had thrown her into that disgustingly cheerful social battlefield.

“You look pensive. I can see why you asked for a drink. Had a rough day?”

“…Sometimes I hate how you talk like you can read my mind.”

She chuckled and took another sip. Marcus sat beside her. The bed wasn’t particularly soft, but with a man his size, the right side sank considerably.

He looked at her playfully.

“Maybe you’re just easy to read.”

“Am I?”

“As transparent as the Coral Sea in the summer.”

Elouise, unfamiliar with such poetic metaphors, simply drank her brandy.

As soon as she took another sip, Marcus tapped her glass.

“You’re drinking too fast. I know your limit.”

“It’s fine. It’s light.”

“Nope.”

He popped another orange slice into her mouth. Elouise laughed and swallowed. He caught the peel in his palm.

“How is it going with the duchess?”

She asked without much thought.

Though she and the duchess hadn’t interacted much, she’d noticed the woman sometimes joined the ladies, other times passed her by without a word. It had been… awkward.

Marcus, however, tilted his head.

“Hm… I don’t know. If it’s going well, is it really going well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she talks to me a lot these days—but mostly about us.”

“Of course. You marrying me is the only gossip-worthy thing about you.”

Elouise set down her glass and began braiding her hair.

“But she doesn’t ask how we fell in love or why I love you. More so, she asks where you’re from… whether you’ll join the ladies’ outing…”

Elouise immediately felt uneasy.

And Marcus added one more thing to sour her mood.

“El. Are you sure the duchess doesn’t like you? It might be the opposite.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She frowned. Marcus apologized lightly.

“Well, either way, I’m fine with it. As long as I become her lover, who cares if you dislike her?”

“It's nice to see you’re so goal-oriented.”

She handed him her glass. Marcus set it on the table while she slipped under the covers.

He watched, then moved toward the sofa. Unlike the round couch from before, he’d swapped it for a flat, spacious one—clearly for his comfort.

Elouise scoffed and patted the bed beside her.

“Stop sleeping on that couch. I know you’re not interested in me anymore, and the bed is plenty big.”

Marcus was surprised by the offer. In truth, Elouise had been pondering the fact for a few days now.

He had never once complained sleeping on the couch since their uneventful wedding night.

Every morning, Elouise awoke to the sound of him shaving—swirling a brush in a mug, spreading lather on his jaw. If she opened her eyes just a crack, she’d catch him smiling at her in the mirror.

It brought her a kind of peace she’d never known.

Strange, wasn’t it? Marcus Hanger looked more like a charming devil than a kind man. Yet somehow, with shaving cream all over his face, he appeared cute.

She had made up her mind—tonight, he could sleep in the bed.

There was plenty of room. They could probably fit three Juliets between them.

And once Elouise fell asleep, she didn’t stir easily. If Marcus had ever meant her harm, he’d have done it already.

She sort of trusted him now. Not as a man—but like trusting a well-trained dog not to bite.

Of course, she didn’t say that. She just patted the spot beside her again.

“It’s still cold at night. Stop curling up like that.”

“Surprising. You haven’t fallen for me, have you?”

“Oh please. Sleep on the couch if you'd like.”

“Do you really want me to stay there?”

“It’s probably the best way to stop me from falling for you.”

“Very mature of us, isn’t it?”

She sighed and settled against the pillow. He laughed and lay beside her—on top of the blanket, facing her with a slightly cocky smirk.

She frowned.

“What?”

“You know, you’re the first woman I’ve ever shared a bed with.”

“Liar."

She burst out laughing. He grinned.

“Yes. That’s a lie. I used to sleep with my mother as a kid.”

“Does she count?”

“Well, she’s not a man.”

Elouise slapped his shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thanks.”

“…Truly though?”

“You want to know if I’ve slept with anyone?”

She debated, then nodded. Pulling the blanket up over her nose, she peeked at him. Marcus brushed her hair back off the pillow.

“You seem very familiar with situations like this.”

“Strangely enough, I’m not lying.”

“But you’ve dated so many women.”

“I told you, didn’t I? The moment a woman says she loves me, something in me just… fades. It always ended before we get that far.”

Elouise gathered her courage. She was tipsy—and now felt bold enough to say it.

“You’re a terrible person.”

She said it gently. Marcus didn’t mind.

“Am I? Sometimes I don’t even understand myself.”

He rested his head on his hand.

“Was there ever a specific reason you lost interest?”

“No.”

His hair, usually slicked back, now fell over his forehead, still damp from his bath.

“My first crush was a girl named Heather Pierce. I confessed, and she accepted. But the moment she said she liked me too… I lost all feeling. Just like that.”

“…”

“You’re giving me that look. I know. It’s embarrassing.”

He laughed.

He looks even younger with his hair down—and he talks like an awkward teen, Elouise thought.

“The next day, I broke up with her. And it kept happening. So I figured, It must not have been love.”

“Didn’t you get cursed out?”

“Oh, worse. Slapped, doused with water, you name it.”

“Did you feel bad?”

“Always. I apologized sincerely every time.”

What a trash heap.

“Then maybe it’s not love with the duchess, either?”

“Maybe. But when I see her, my heart races like never before. I think, This must be love.”

“…Can I ask something?”

“Anything.”

“What do you fall for? Looks?”

“Hmm. It’s different each time. But yes—her face was the reason with the duchess.”

“Oh wow…”

“Heather had the cutest dimples when she smiled. Rebecca Morgan was dedicated—waking early for her family’s bakery. Emily Lewis was my mother’s friend’s daughter, and she had the prettiest fingers. And then—”

Elouise raised her palm to his face.

“That’s enough.”

Marcus stopped.

“How many were you planning to list?”

“Perhaps all of them?”

“Don’t.”

“Understood.”

Still, he didn’t close his eyes—he simply watched her fluff her pillow and settle in.

Elouise finally glanced at him.

“Aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’ll read a bit. You go ahead.”

Of course madmen don’t sleep, she thought, sighing.

“Fine.”

“With your permission, my lady.”

“Oh, but you know what?”

As she pulled the blanket up again, she added,

“That candle—it’s made from whale oil, right?”

She gestured toward the large candle on the nightstand. Marcus nodded.

“It’s expensive. But it makes me anxious. So don’t stay up too late reading.”

“Are you worried about the candle or me?”

“What do I have to worry about you for?”

She chuckled. Marcus laughed too.

“El, I know you told me things weren’t great for you in Maine. But for a noblewoman, you sure worry about the smallest things.”

“Typical rich man talk.”

Elouise scoffed.

“You don’t even know how to make candles, do you? I do. We made them ourselves.”

“You can make candles?”

Had, I knew it.

“I hated nights growing up. My homemade wax never set right. Perhaps it was the cheap ingredients, too. The light flickered, and I’d squint to sew in the dark.”

“I see.”

“So yes… I worry when that fancy candle burns too fast. I’ve never even seen a whale oil candle before…”

She rolled over, tucking herself in. Her shoulders were still visible.

Marcus watched her quietly.

“…Do what you want… I’m really going to sleep now.”

Her voice faded.

He observed her tousled hair, again loosened after all his braiding.

“…Sometimes, I like it.”

Marcus blinked.

Elouise’s voice came, soft.

“The ring you gave me… it turns orange under the candlelight.”

Does it?

He glanced down at the tourmaline ring on his own left hand. It was smaller than hers, but a matching pair. It too glowed a deep orange in the warm light.

“Sometimes, it looks prettier than a diamond. That’s a relief… since I’ll have to sell the diamond someday…”

Marcus stared at the ring, then gave a small, hollow laugh. That was the last thing she said.

Elouise went quiet after that, likely fast asleep.

What did she mean? That she’d sell the diamond, but keep the tourmaline? Perhaps because it wasn’t worth much.

Marcus sat there, watching her sleeping back.

He had said he’d read, but eventually lay down beside her.

Then, after a while, he rose again and went back to the sofa—despite her offering the bed.

A sigh briefly filled the room. Then, silence ensued.

---

The season had quickly grown warmer.

Climbing roses celebrating early summer adorned the estates of Cliff. Elouise’s dresses had shifted to light, breathable linen. The gazebos that had once stood along the beach were now moved inland to the lawns as the summer wind grew stronger.

The ladies would enjoy tea in the gardens beside the fountains but would retreat indoors by afternoon—the sun had become so intense that even a short time outside would leave one's skin burned.

Elouise had grown close with the middle-class ladies, particularly Abigail. Curiously, many of Abigail’s acquaintances overlapped with the friends of the Duchess of Bellona. As a result, Elouise occasionally crossed paths with the duchess, but ever since the first day of Cliff’s spring festival, the duchess hadn’t spoken to her again. Even during tea times, she never initiated conversation.

Still, it wasn’t outright rudeness either. Some of the ladies Elouise had befriended whispered things like, “It’s probably unavoidable,” or “Perhaps she’s intentionally keeping her distance because of the whole business with Mr. Hanger.” The Duchess of Bellona seemed to be well-supported by the local ladies—despite her behavior.

Then, one early summer morning, Marcus removed his ring.

“I think she’s finally starting to let her guard down.”

He approached the still-groggy Elouise, who was half-buried under the covers, and held up his wedding ring resting in a lathered glass. Elouise blinked, then yawned.

“Try your best, I guess…”

“A wife endorsing an affair—how reassuring.”

“You truly are a madman…”

By now, neither of them needed alcohol to speak freely. Elouise, pulling the blanket over her head and sitting up, closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them. Marcus came to sit beside her, dangling one leg off the bed, and leaned his forehead against hers with a grin.

“May I request a good-luck kiss from my mad dog?”

“Do you think I’m your pet or something?”

“A pet? Never that!”

“You sound just like Lady Chloe of the Wood family. She’s always walking her dog, and sometimes she says, ‘Kiss, my puppy!’ and that dog licks her right on the lips. You’re starting to sound exactly like her…”

Yawn. Elouise yawned again. Marcus folded his arms and asked seriously,

“If I were a dog, would you kiss me on the lips?”

“You must've completely lost your mind.”

Thud—Elouise shoved Marcus in the chest. He pretended to fall back dramatically. A peaceful morning, indeed.

That afternoon, they were to go boating on a small lake about thirty minutes’ carriage ride from Cliff. Small as it was, it would take Elouise at least three hours to walk the entire perimeter.

The more people in a boat, the better the fun. Most of the ladies brought their husbands. Elouise linked arms with Marcus, and Logan followed behind. Marcus wore a light jacket and trousers made of white linen to match Elouise’s dress. Logan, however, was still tightly bound in a cravat despite the heat, prompting Elouise to click her tongue in disapproval.

“Aren’t you hot?”

“I don’t get hot. I’m fine.”

“Darling, I think we should give Logan a raise.”

“Those are words I’m always happy to hear, madam,” Logan replied with a bow, and Elouise laughed.

Despite Elouise walking so sweetly arm-in-arm with Marcus, some ladies still noticed the missing ring on his hand.

Before boarding the boat, a few gathered to whisper, “Is Marcus Hanger up to his old tricks again?” Elouise deliberately appeared behind them and said cheerfully, “Oh my, were you looking for my husband?” The women jumped and scattered in embarrassment.

“I wanted someone to notice, but now that it’s happened so quickly, I feel a bit pouty,” Marcus muttered.

“What will you do if you’re sulking?”

“Hmm. Maybe claim the kiss I didn’t get this morning…”

He leaned in, and Elouise frowned, pushing his face away. Marcus grumbled.

“My wife still gets embarrassed, it seems.”

Logan chimed in,

“Sir, I believe the issue is your shamelessness.”

Just then, Elouise sensed someone watching. She instinctively turned—and locked eyes with sapphire-blue ones, brilliant like gemstones. The Duchess of Bellona.

But the duchess snapped her head away the instant their gazes met. It was an unnaturally abrupt movement. Elouise blinked.

“…What was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Actually…”

She rummaged through the small basket Logan was carrying. Inside was a neatly folded dove-gray handkerchief, which she pulled out and handed to Marcus.

“Here.”

“What’s this? Oh—”

It was the duchess’s handkerchief.

Elouise still hadn’t had a chance to return it. The duchess had kept her distance so obviously that Elouise was unable to find a moment to be alone with her.

And it wasn’t as if she could shout in public, “Duchess! I’m returning your handkerchief!” That particular memory, after all, wasn’t pleasant for either of them.

“You speak with the Duchess far more often than I do. Consider it an excuse to start a conversation. A gift, in honor of removing your ring. It’s her handkerchief.”

“Oh dear.”

Marcus took the handkerchief but, after a moment, handed it back. Elouise tilted her head. He grinned mischievously and replied,

“Isn’t it strange for a man to give something to his intended mistress and say, ‘My wife asked me to pass this along’?”

“…That’s true.”

“And El,”

He quickly lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, looking into her eyes warmly.

“Running away doesn’t help.”

“…Me?”

“Isn’t that the case?”

Elouise looked away, then wrinkled her nose.

“You’re right. I didn’t want to talk to her, so I avoided it. But hearing that from you somehow feels humiliating.”

“Why?”

“If I were hearing life advice from you, I’d probably start questioning how far I’ve fallen.”

Logan added dryly,

“He is the most accomplished escape artist I know.”

“What?!”

“It’s true. Sir Marcus has fled more situations than anyone I’ve met.”

Marcus groaned and looked to Elouise again.

“Then take it from the master of running away—don’t avoid this.”

“Yesss, yes, fine.”

She waved her hand dismissively.

Marcus was right. She had avoided returning the handkerchief because she didn’t wish to speak to the duchess. It would be easy to call her aside and return it—but she hadn’t, because their previous clash still lingered uncomfortably.

“I hear the capital’s society scene is quite cutthroat.”

“In what sense?”

“Ladies feuding, spilling wine on dresses, setting pranks in lounges…”

“Why? Are you planning to move up in the world?”

Marcus wrapped an arm around her as they began walking toward the lake. Elouise shook him off after a few steps.

“It’s hot.”

He pretended to sulk, but she wasn’t fooled.

“I’ve heard stories like that, but never witnessed it myself in Maine. And now that I’m actually in that position, it’s… not comfortable.”

“Well, if it were the capital, I doubt anyone would dare to oppose you. My father and I are quite well-loved by His Majesty.”

Elouise snorted.

“So I’d still be stuck pretending to be your loving wife, even in the capital?”

“Well, when you put it that way… you don’t like the idea?”

“Don’t say awful things. I’m already on edge just managing here.”

And yet you’re managing just fine, Marcus thought, but kept it to himself.

Elouise refolded the handkerchief and placed it back in the basket. She would return it soon. Carrying someone else’s handkerchief around every time she went out was growing tiresome.

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