Episode 3

“Juliet. Juliet? That gentleman has left, darling. So lift your head now.”

Elouise sighed, her gaze settling on Juliet, who had buried her face into her sleeve.

Though she was already fourteen, Juliet still recoiled from speaking with strangers. There was only one reason for it: people were often drawn in by her delicate, doll-like beauty, but the moment they heard her awkward speech or saw her drifting gaze, they would falter—sometimes even sneer outright in discomfort or disdain.

She had likely buried her head this time for the same reason. Elouise gently cupped the fingers that clung to her sleeve.

“Julie.”

She called her name softly and brought the apple—the one that gentleman had handed them—toward her fingertips. Juliet hesitated, but upon feeling the fruit’s texture, she slowly looked up.

Round, vivid blue eyes. Eyes like gemstones, bright and beautiful, peered up at Elouise and then curled into a small smile. Elouise smiled back.

“Were you flustered? Still, next time, you mustn’t do that. He bought it just for you.”

“When cats are shy, they hide their heads.”

The sudden mention of cats wasn’t surprising to Elouise.

Juliet would sometimes say such odd things mid-conversation. She likely picked it up while playing with the stray cats that wandered in and out of the Starwood estate—insisting now that she had acted like a cat that hides its head when embarrassed.

Juliet’s fingers wrapped around the apple, her other hand still grasping Elouise’s sleeve. She began to direct the apple towards her mouth, but Elouise stopped her at once.

Juliet peered up at her. Elouise gave a stern shake of her head, her expression deliberately firm.

“Not before dinner.”

“…But it’s for Julie.”

Ah, so she was trying to argue that since the gentleman had bought it for her, she should be allowed to eat it right away.

Elouise chuckled and gently folded Juliet’s hands around the apple again.

“Yes, it is. But the apple for Julie can wait until after we eat. All right?”

“…Okay.”

Juliet still appeared unconvinced, but she nodded without protest. Though the daughter of Louise was somewhat timid, Elouise found her to be sweet-tempered and generally obedient.

Smiling softly, Elouise released the apple and reached up to fix Juliet’s bonnet, which had gotten crooked from the small child rubbing her face against Elouise’s sleeve.

“Next time we see that gentleman, you’ll thank him properly, won’t you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“What was his name again… Ma…”

“Marcus Hanger.”

“Oh, how clever our Julie is.”

Elouise beamed and tied the bonnet ribbon snugly beneath Juliet’s chin.

Juliet frowned at the tight knot, but she rarely stayed still, so Elouise had no choice but to fasten it firmly. “There,” she said, handing Juliet the small bag of peanuts she’d been holding, and glanced aside. It was time to gather their parasol and bag and leave the station.

But—

Elouise’s eyes widened.

Rustle, rustle. Juliet had already started opening the peanut bag, tugging at the crumpled paper edge—sneaking glances, clearly expecting to be stopped.

But Elouise couldn’t scold her.

Because the travel bag she had set down—while receiving the peanuts from that gentlem

an—had vanished entirely. Left behind was only her worn parasol, abandoned on the ground.

---

The Duchess of Bellona was a striking beauty with her raven-black hair elegantly pinned up.

Widowed at just twenty-nine, she had lost her husband—the former Duke—to illness five years prior and had since been residing in Cliff.

The late Duke had left her an immense fortune, along with a vast estate spanning much of the mountainous northern region. And so, for a time, her remarriage had been the talk of the entire nation.

However, the Duchess made it clear she had no intention of handing over that fortune to another man. She entertained only married men or very young boys as her escorts.

Rumors occasionally circulated that she was romantically involved—but always with someone else’s husband. She wouldn’t so much as glance at an unmarried man.

In the beginning, many young bachelors had courted her, only to be coldly, even brutally, rejected.

These days, few dared to pursue her. Which is why Marcus Hanger’s infatuation wasn’t even much of a scandal.

At best, it was idle gossip: would the notorious heartbreaker from the Hanger family lose interest before they’d even begun?

But Marcus Hanger wasn’t one to yield.

“She won’t marry for money? Well, I couldn’t care less about her fortune!”

He was the heir to the Hanger estate—one of the wealthiest families in the land. Whatever the Duchess had inherited couldn’t possibly eclipse the fortune he stood to gain. So Marcus came prepared—with a diamond ring.

Logan had stormed in, practically fuming, with a box that could hardly be any more extravagant. A deep ebony case wrapped in velvet; simply, it exuded luxury. Inside lay a diamond so undisputed it could blind you the moment it caught the light. The certificate of authenticity was included, of course.

Marcus barely glanced up from his paper before snatching the box from Logan’s hands and racing to the Duchess’s estate in his carriage.

“…Oh my.”

The Duchess of Bellona, in the midst of a tea party, looked at the flushed, breathless young man before her with less interest than one might spare a passing cat. The women seated around her, however, reacted as if they’d just seen a long-lost family member after ten years.

Before the aloof, regal Duchess, Marcus dropped to one knee and held out the box.

“My lady. Your devoted admirer brings you a humble offering, knowing full well how impolite such boldness may seem.”

“At least you are aware it’s impolite.”

The Duchess replied while fanning herself languidly, as though she couldn’t care less what gift he’d brought. One of the other ladies beside her was visibly dying of curiosity.

“Um, Duchess, still—it’s a kind gesture. Perhaps just a peek…?”

“Yes, yes, after all, the young master of the Hanger family came all this way. My goodness, look how he’s sweating!”

In the end, Marcus Hanger was rejected. Again.

When he opened the black box, the ladies gasped as if they might faint, but the Duchess remained utterly unmoved, her gaze frosty as she gazed down at the gem. Then she spoke.

“Sir Hanger, I appreciate your continued thoughtfulness, but this is not something I can accept.”

“Why not? Surely a royal diamond like this suits a woman of your status…”

“This isn’t about whether it suits me or not, Sir Hanger.”

She smiled faintly behind her fan—just enough for it to be mistaken for mockery. Even whilst noticing her apparent ridicule, Marcus found himself mesmerized. She was dazzling.

The Duchess narrowed her brow slightly and continued.

“Perhaps you don’t know yet, since you’ve only just arrived in Cliff.”

“What is it I haven’t learned about you yet? Tell me—please…”

Marcus gazed at her like a fervent disciple begging for wisdom. The Duchess smiled faintly and delivered her truth.

“I don’t meet with unmarried men.”

And just like that, the devoted believer was turned away—for the simple sin of being single.

---

“Weren’t you saying you quit smoking?”

As Marcus reached out his hand, Logan replied with a sullen expression.

Irritated, Marcus repeated his gesture. Grumbling, Logan finally pulled out a pouch of tobacco and slowly filled the pipe. Marcus, growing restless, snapped it from Logan’s hand as soon as the task completed.

Logan struck a match. Chick. Marcus held the carriage door open and inhaled deeply through the pipe, then exhaled with relief.

“Ah, that’s better.”

“I was surprised how long you managed to hold out,” Logan remarked dryly.

“Damn it. What about that duchess only dating married men—does that even make sense?”

Marcus snorted in frustration at Logan’s comment.

After four years as his valet, Logan had grown accustomed to Marcus’s dramatic moods. He regarded Marcus with impassive eyes and continued.

“I find it more remarkable that you were unaware.”

“I thought it was just some cruel joke!”

“The rumors about Duchess Bellona are darker than any jest."

“So I was the one mistaken?”

Marcus exhaled another plume of smoke. Logan sighed.

He, too, found it surprising that the duchess would reject the heir of the Hanger family. Equally astonishing was that Marcus didn’t know about her romantic preferences.

It seemed Duchess Bellona truly only courted married men.

“I heard the stories, but I thought it was just talk—like she was cherry-picking, pretending only to mingle with married men, while really searching for a proper match.”

“There must be dozens of single suitors who were turned away thinking the same.”

“They didn’t have the funds!”

Marcus exclaimed, exhaling smoke into the rainy air.

Logan sympathized quietly with the poor coachman from the Noskina estate, who was probably waiting for Marcus to move the carriage so he could drive them all home.

Marcus had recently appointed that coachman as his personal driver, since his aunt was typically away for business.

And now, the pitiful driver was stuck in the drizzle because Marcus was smoking on the carriage steps and refusing to move.

“I thought she was waiting for a respectable single gentleman!” Marcus continued.

So he’d prepared an enormous royal diamond—enough to buy a small palace. He expected a diamond of such magnitude would impress the duchess into accepting him. Logan clicked his tongue.

“And what if she dates you?”

“Well, that’d be amazing!”

“And if she gets bored? Will you ask for the diamond back?”

“Are you insane?”

Logan couldn’t understand why that question didn’t seem insane to most people—after all, Marcus was the one tossing a 30-million shing diamond at a may-or-may-not-show-off fling. Choosing not to retrieve it afterward was sheer madness.

Marcus ignored Logan’s cold glare, puffing irritably.

“What do you think I am? Some beggar who takes back gifts from ex-lovers?”

“A beggar wouldn’t give a 30-million shing diamond to someone he might never see again…”

“Then why even say that? Logan, have you lost your mind?”

“It’s you, sir, who seems lacking in sense. Now shut that door—let’s get moving.”

“What? Lacking?”

Logan ignored the question, closed the door, and shouted to the driver: “Maurice! Let’s return to the Noskina estate!” “Yes, sir!” came the tearfully hopeful reply.

The horses clattered forward. Marcus scoffed, held the pipe outside to extinguish it with rain, and dumped the remaining tobacco out the window.

The gods must've known to formulate a both polite and impolite man at the same time—to discard his tobacco on the street?

Then he recalled: in the capital, streets were filthy, and people often dumped litter everywhere—tobacco, water, anything. Back in his old neighborhood, he’d often been showered in sewer runoff once or twice a year.

It was unexpected, but Logan dropped the notion that Marcus’s behavior here would harm his reputation.

Had inadequate behavior bothered him, he wouldn’t be running around town with every woman he can find.

“It’s raining terribly.”

“Yes. Your aunt has stoked the fireplace since morning—I suspected she knew it would pour.”

Logan opened the carriage curtain. The rain was now a steady downpour. Street shoe-shiners shut up shop and hurried about for cover.

Dark clouds loomed overhead. The horses picked up the pace.

Marcus handed him the pipe. “Honestly—what could she possibly lack at that age and beauty to only hunt for married men?”

Logan answered thoughtfully, “To preserve her inheritance, most likely.”

“Wouldn’t just not marrying suffice?”

Rumors circulating the infamous widow were varied, but Logan believed the inheritance theory the most.

After all, the late Duke of Bellona had no kin but her; the entire estate fell to her. With no children, her caution made sense—but still, only married men?

Even a single man could remain unmarried and just date. Logan paused, uninterested in debating further. It wasn’t his concern whom the widow courted.

Marcus scratched his chin. “Darn it. I can’t just marry anyone just to—”

“Thank you,” Logan interjected.

Marcus blinked. “For what?”

“For proving that, no matter how crazy you seem, you aren’t the kind who’d marry just anyone to get a woman who wouldn’t even keep your diamond.”

Marcus grunted. Despite his master's clear disdain, Logan contentedly returned to his seat. Marcus eyed him sharply—his aide must have been hired to push boundaries, not be polite—and resumed staring out the window.

The rain now sprayed onto the tidy sidewalks of Cliff town. Merchants ran to reclaim goods; guards and hurried passersby pulled hats down tight. The carriage slowed amid the chaos, the horses directing their way out.

Marcus resolved to embrace the melancholic mood—he’d sulk, dammit. Perhaps he’d even stare off like a tortured romantic.

Ahead loomed the train station. He’d rented the VIP waiting room, borrowed resources galore, and waited all morning… just for a diamond he’d never utilize.

He propped his arm on the window ledge, chin in hand, and gazed at a crew unloading freight. In front, horse-drawn carriages sheltered travelers from the rain.

“…Hmm.”

Marcus frowned, studying the station. Something didn’t align—was he seeing things right?

He spotted two familiar figures wobbling under a café awning as servants hurried to move tables inside. Recognition struck.

“Why are they still there?”

“What are you talking about?”

"Stop the carriage."

Logan blinked—and asked for the reigns to be pulled. The carriage slowed, halting twenty steps past the station. The coachman prompted.

“What seems to be—?”

Marcus cut in. “Just a moment!”

He jumped down, shuttering the carriage door, and strode toward the café, soaked but resolute. Logan, calculating the cost of his jacket, sighed and searched for the muslin umbrella they had recently been gifted.

Marcus splashed through puddles toward the figures he’d assisted just earlier: the mother and daughter from the station.

Now, the daughter had eaten half the peanuts, sugar coating her lips as she bore into the rain. The mother gripped a dripping parasol, desperately attempting to shield her child from the downpour.

Café staff scrambled to move the outdoor furniture, mumbling in frustration as they struggled to push the tables inside.

“Good afternoon!”

Marcus announced, voice ringing above the storm. The mother looked up, her eyes blinking in recognition. The first to respond was the girl.

“Marcus Hanger.”

“Ah, young lady. You remember my name?”

He grinned sheepishly, doffing his soaked hat. Rain beaded off his glossy hair. The mother returned his smile, head bowed.

“Hello. Nice to see you again.”

“Yes, greetings. Now let's get straight to the point—do you need help?”

It had been more than two hours since their first encounter. Cliff was small. If they awaited someone, that person would have likely arrived by now—or simply decided not to make an appearance.

He didn’t want to make this long. Her gaze wavered.

“…Yes.”

She was a woman of quick judgement. Marcus grinned.

---

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