Episode 52

When winter came, Archibald’s excuse changed. Now, his daughter-in-law was so frail that even the slightest cold wind brought on a cough, making it impossible for her to come to the capital.

The king suppressed the laughter threatening to escape and simply asked, “Is that so?”

By now, it was practically accepted fact that the son of House Hanger had rushed into marriage and was now in constant distress thanks to his notorious temperament.

Marcus Hanger rarely appeared at royal functions.

He skipped countless parties as well. Word had it that Archibald Hanger was slowly handing over house matters to Marcus.

One such example: Marcus was seldom in the capital. Compared to before, he was now frequently seen riding the Hanger family’s carriage through the city gates. He traveled to nearby towns under the guise of managing house affairs. Everyone whispered that Archibald had finally reached his limit with his incorrigible son and was now keeping him on a tight leash.

The truth, however, was slightly different.

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Archibald had no intention of passing down his business to Marcus.

He still didn’t trust the son who’d made such foolish mistakes and was determined not to be fooled by a feigned sense of diligence. But Marcus claimed his intentions lay elsewhere.

“Either way, the family fortune belongs to her. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s not yours, after all.”

The will, signed by the king, clearly stated that the Hanger family’s inheritance was to go to “Elouise Hanger.”

Ironically, no such person as Elouise Hanger legally existed in the kingdom. And understandably so—Marcus and Elouise had never properly registered their marriage. No formal link tied Marcus Hanger and Elouise Starwood together.

“You won’t just sit back and watch me spend family money chasing after her, so at least let me be of help.”

In other words, he wasn’t just idly wandering the kingdom looking for Elouise—he was offering to assist with family affairs as he did so.

While Lord Hanger now rarely left the capital due to his closeness with the king, his representatives remained busy, traveling across the kingdom to grow the family’s assets. Marcus volunteered himself as one of those representatives.

Archibald was dumbfounded.

He had always been the first to harshly criticize his own son. And perhaps that was why—even when Marcus finally made a reasonable suggestion—it irritated him all the more.

If only he hadn’t had that damned flirtatious streak, he would’ve been a son to be proud of!

Marcus could hardly miss the meaning behind his father’s pointed stare. He lowered his head, avoiding Archibald’s eyes.

Archibald said he would think it over and dismissed him.

Marcus turned and walked out. The Hanger estate had been purchased from an old and distinguished count’s family in the capital. Though it had been renovated, fierce, icy drafts still blew through gaps in the stone. Winter hadn’t even fully arrived, yet the chill reached deep into his bones.

Was this mansion always this cold?

He paused, gazing absently down the hallway he’d just passed through. The corridor, wide enough for three people to walk side by side, was lined with beautiful tapestries and fine carpets—but not an ounce of warmth. The hearths along the walls had fires burning generously, yet the chill persisted.

Marcus slowly made his way back to his room.

His quarters were a large, sunlit room on the third floor—once used by the heirs of the previous count’s lineage.

Passing the door from the parlor into the bedroom, Marcus sank deep into a single-person sofa, his feet resting on the ottoman. Even half-reclined, he found no comfort.

His heart was cold.

He absentmindedly fiddled with the pink knitwork draped over the sofa arm. Lately, Marcus had spent most of his time this way—idly toying with the half-finished knitting.

While he had been too dazed to act in the chaos at the Noskina estate, his capable secretary had packed his belongings in haste. Among them were several items Elouise had used in their shared bedroom. On one of those days, as Marcus sat staring blankly, Logan had handed him the pink knit work.

“What should we do with the lady’s things?”

Of course, Logan hadn’t asked because he truly didn’t know. Marcus had jumped up and snatched it from his hand. It was the cardigan Elouise had begun knitting—an awkward piece, three or four times too wide for her slender waist.

Marcus held the knit close and stared at it for a long time. Though unfinished, he felt certain the moment he saw it: Elouise must have loved him.

Up until then, he had convinced himself so.

Even when his aunt had snapped, “She left because she couldn’t trust you!”

If she had truly loved him, how could she have walked away from happiness like that? He had tried to believe she’d only left because their contract had ended—or fled before the diamonds could be taken back.

But Marcus knew better than anyone.

That earnest, wise, lovely little woman could not have not loved him.

Elouise wasn’t someone who could fake things. In the early days of their marriage, she’d played the role of wife well—but only as a foundation for real love to grow. As she’d said herself, Elouise was no actress from the Grand Theater.

At the very least, the cardigan—stitched with care, stitch by stitch—was real.

Suddenly, the knit became precious to Marcus.

He felt as though each loop held her laughter; another held her soft scolding. He would grip it tightly and count each loop—tracing them with his fingers like a lifeline.

There were just over two thousand loops. Marcus didn’t know the exact number—only that it surpassed two thousand. By the time his fingers reached that last loop, a drowsy calm would wash over him, and he’d fall asleep in the chair. The knit had grown a bit dingy from frequent handling, but he didn’t care.

And so, today again, Marcus sat there counting loops, replaying his proposal to his father.

The yarn Elouise had chosen was soft and thick, pleasant to the touch.

As he handled the knit, Marcus thought of what might lie ahead. If he were to become the Hanger family’s representative, the first place he would likely go was Hampton. A day’s train ride from the capital followed by a carriage transfer, Hampton was home to a factory that ground blue gemstones into dye—a dye of significant value that his father had lately become obsessed with.

The dye’s appeal was obvious: under light, it shimmered. The finely milled gems sparkled within the dye, especially under lavish chandeliers. Noblewomen all clamored to own fans brushed with it.

Suddenly, a memory returned to him.

“What do you like?”

“Hmm, as I said before, I like the blue tones…”

He’d asked her that when she first arrived at Cliff, while they were choosing outfits for her. Upon seeing the fabric room filled with shades of blue, Elouise had squealed like a child.

Marcus closed his eyes and recalled that exchange. Elouise had always been firm in her tastes. She never hesitated to assert what she liked. Another conversation came to mind, and he smiled.

“For the record, pale blue suits me best. Clothes, accessories—if you ever plan to surprise me, stick to the blue family.”

“But pink suits you too.”

He chuckled, remembering the time he’d gifted her a pink silk robe and ostrich-feather slippers. If she returned to him, he could give her as many surprises as she liked.

But then, his smile vanished.

Another of her comments echoed in his mind:

“That color’s more suited to little girls.”

“It suits newlywed brides in love too.”

Suddenly chilled, Marcus stared down at the knit in his hands. The pink cardigan.

The gift he’d made for her—using pink wool she had likely bought for Juliet.

He handled it now with a sense of unfamiliarity.

“You were always like this, sir. You only ever care about yourself.”

The words echoed in his mind like Logan was whispering in his ear. He jerked his head around in alarm—but no one was there. Just a phantom voice.

He bit his lip and stared long and hard at the knit, but its pink color didn’t change. The man let out a long groan.

“…God, seriously…”

He had only ever thought about himself.

Elouise had always worn blue dresses before him. The gown she chose to match his eye color was green. Even when dining with his aunt, she had worn a tasteful blue. Even the gown she fled in—that, too, had been made of blue fabric.

Marcus was stunned. She had told him all along what she liked. But he hadn’t ever listened.

He didn’t need more proof. Just the pink cardigan was enough to show how tired she’d grown of his selfishness.

He was furious—so angry he couldn’t bear it.

Marcus jumped from the sofa and threw the knit across the room.

“Damn it!”

He shouted, storming about the room like a madman.

“Marcus—Marcus Hanger!”

He tore at his hair, haunted by thoughts of Elouise.

What must she have thought, watching him push all his joyful whims onto her?

He remembered her crying—begging in the forest that he just fall for the duchess already—that she couldn’t take it anymore. The memory drove him to the edge.

At the time, he’d felt like he could soar when she said she loved him. When she confessed, not long after he’d realized his own feelings, he had grinned so wide it hurt.

But looking back—he had never once considered what she must’ve felt when she said those words.

When she wept before him, he’d fumbled uselessly—but that was before her confession. Marcus had never even tried to understand her despair.

And now that she was gone—it was all the more obvious.

Even if Elouise had loved someone else, he couldn’t imagine himself saying the same words she had. He hadn’t cared about her feelings. He’d stayed drunk on his own emotions—even the morning she ran, he figured she was just being sensitive. When she withered from worry, he believed a few soothing words would fix it.

“Marcus—you idiot!”

In the end, he had ruined everything.

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