Episode 63

“What nonsense are you spouting to bring bad luck upon my child! What a vile omen!”

Abigail berated Marcus relentlessly for quite some time. Considering it was coming from a woman once so cheerful and kind, her words bordered on the shockingly ferocious.

Yet, even in the midst of that tirade, Marcus found himself reaffirming one truth: Abigail had been an excellent governess.

For one simple reason—amidst all the cursing, Abigail still managed to relay the circumstances to Marcus with admirable clarity. It was only possible because of her keen perception—she had taken in the dirt on Marcus’s knees, his tear-streaked cheeks, and everything she had observed of Elouise over the past three years.

And so, it was while being scolded by Abigail that Marcus finally understood the full story. Quincy was the child of Albert and Abigail. His assumptions had been born of coincidence and nothing more. Elouise, for her part, had never once remarried in all those three years. But just as a sliver of hope flickered within him and he turned towards Elouise, it was already too late. She had gone inside and shut the door behind her, her face as pale as snow.

The sky was tinged orange now, the sun sinking slowly into the horizon.

Abigail, cradling her child, sighed and looked up at Marcus. The man was utterly soaked in lye water.

“…Why don’t you just drink that lye while you’re at it?”

“Abigail, I admit I’ve wronged you and Quincy, but telling me to drop dead the moment we meet again is a bit harsh, don’t you think…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Abigail smiled faintly.

“Elouise, unlike a certain someone, is a woman who feels pity for others. If you so much as pretend to sip that lye, she’ll come rushing out immediately.”

“But she’s already gone inside. She won’t see me…”

“You may not know this, but after three years of living with Elouise, I’ve come to learn that even after returning home, she has a habit of gazing out the window for quite a while.”

When Marcus looked at her, Abigail wrinkled her nose and laughed.

“Oh please. Only someone waiting for someone else would do such a thing.”

With those words, she gave him another sharp slap on the back.

“Well, I’ll be heading in now. If I keep talking to you any longer, Elouise might start resenting me! Either way, it was good to see you again, Sir Hanger!”

And with that, Abigail stepped inside. The door shut with a firm bang. Marcus was left alone.

He mulled over Abigail’s words. Though Marcus Hanger was often dismissed by his secretary as a simpleton, he wasn’t truly a fool. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Abigail had deliberately given him a clue.

So then… Elouise Starwood had been waiting for someone.

Even after returning home—long enough to stare out the window.

For three whole years.

And though she may no longer love him, there was still enough affection left to feel pity.

Marcus felt like the ultimate fool.

Because even such a small sliver of hope made his heart race wildly.

He recalled how she had looked just moments ago—draped in a coarse muslin skirt, soaked in lye, and yet standing in the sunlight with an expression so warm and serene.

He clutched at his chest. Thump, thump, thump. His heart pounded.

Though surrounded by such meager things, she was still beautiful—still achingly lovable. The image of her holding baby Quincy and smiling made his cheeks flush with heat.

He realized then why.

The mere thought that Elouise might be holding his child had been enough to stir in him the most profane and the most sacred thoughts all at once.

His mind spun. His heart felt like it would leap from his throat.

Ah, damn it.

If this was love, then everything he’d ever felt before didn’t even begin to brush its edge.

He closed his eyes and laid a hand quietly over his left chest. Now was a time for patience. He had already squandered three years wandering aimlessly in search of her, empty-handed. A little more waiting was nothing. Besides, she was here, just beyond reach.

He almost felt he could become the wooden fence in front of her house if it meant being near her.

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Elouise was beside herself with mortification.

All those emotions—every last bit of them—were directed inward.

The moment she stepped into the house, she scrambled to find anything reflective to examine her face. She finally found a small silver hand mirror, and the sight that greeted her was disastrous. Her clothes were disheveled from cradling the child while stepping all over the blanket, and her hair was a tangled mess.

She had never felt shame in front of him for being the daughter of the Starwood baronet.

At least, not three years ago. Back then, she had marveled at the pretty, dazzling things he’d shown and gifted her—but never once had she felt inferior. She had prided herself on that. But now, she had stood before him looking little better than a country wench.

That was the first thing that left her in despair. The next was the loathing she began to feel for herself.

When she left the ducal estate to live with Abigail in the gamekeeper’s cottage, she had rejoiced at the simplicity and rustic charm of the life ahead. Truthfully, she could have continued to live as a noblewoman. Even without Evenia's help—had she sold the Marchioness of Noskina's jewels, or even just the diamond—she might have managed.

But the moment she departed the duchy, she had asked herself: Did I truly love that life? Enough to parade about in gowns even in places where no one knew her? The answer was no. To be precise, it had suffocated her.

She had spent her life anxiously clinging to the title of “daughter of the Starwood baronet,” working herself to the bone to maintain it. That was because of Maine. She couldn’t bear to hear that the second daughter of the Starwood family had lost both her father and sister, only to give up everything.

But this was Bellona. And here, she was free of the name Starwood. Walking barefoot through the woods, foraging for mushrooms with Juliet—such a life brought joy.

Still, she had never imagined it would come back to haunt her in this way.

Some might call it hypocrisy.

But this was who Elouise truly was. She worried she had seemed uncouth lifting her skirts before that man. She was anxious that seeing her in such a humble state might extinguish his feelings for her entirely.

…Extinguish his feelings?

And then, all at once, Elouise snapped back to her senses.

Yes. The man clearly hadn’t let go of his feelings. Marcus had barely spoken to her when they met again—not because he had nothing to say, but because Abigail had been striking him and berating him so fiercely. But everything pointed to one fact: he had come all this way, seeking her.

…What if he still loves me?

The thought made Elouise’s heart swell, as though it would burst. She had imagined scenarios like this more than once. Marcus Hanger, arriving like a prince to find her, who had vanished without a word.

The Marcus who came for her today did not arrive on a white steed, nor did he wear fine garments.

But Elouise knew exactly how much that man—crying before her in his sorry state—made her heart pound. His wrinkled suit had surprised her, yes, but it was hardly a flaw.

Of course, she never once considered that the man might be thinking the same about her. She quietly peered through the window. Abigail was speaking with him, then cheerfully tapped him on the arm and began walking back toward the house.

The man, seemingly chastened, nodded repeatedly at Abigail, then looked toward the house. Their eyes seemed to meet through the curtain, and Elouise startled, hurriedly pulling it shut.

Creak—the door opened, and Abigail stepped inside.

Quincy, as if he had never cried, blinked quietly from his mother’s arms. Abigail cooed over the child.

“Oh, you wicked little angel. If only you were this quiet at night.”

“…Abigail.”

“Ah, Elouise. You’re here?”

Elouise had expected Abigail to say something—anything—to her. But Abigail only glanced her way and went into the kitchen.

After checking whether the fire Elouise had lit that afternoon still lingered, Abigail began preparing a simple porridge for the baby.

“…Shall I help?”

“No need. I’m hungry and so is this child. I’ll just make some quick porridge for us both.”

“But…”

“Don’t you still have something to finish, Elouise?”

Abigail spoke without so much as glancing in Elouise’s direction. Elouise’s face turned scarlet.

“That man…”

“That man, you say?”

Elouise had been about to clarify—thinking Abigail meant the man outside—but abruptly fell silent. She blinked, and Abigail, casting her a fleeting glance, gently steadied Quincy in her arms.

“Man or not, what are we going to do about this bundle of bedding?”

Ah.

Only then did Elouise remember the bedding bundle she had abandoned mid-step. As Abigail implied, she had left it behind entirely and fled in haste. In her rush, she had merely slipped on her leather shoes without care, and dried grass still clung to her ankles.

Abigail, still feigning indifference, muttered dryly.

“Well, who knows. Perhaps Sir Hanger stepped all over it, washed it, and hung it out to dry.”

“That’s…”

“Going as far as kneeling down—surely he'd do at least that much, don’t you think?”

The woman chuckled as she soothed Quincy, teasingly. Elouise flinched anew. Now that she thought of it, the man had indeed knelt before her. And he had wept, no less—until his cheeks were soaked.

But there remained far too many matters that weighed on her heart—too many to even begin listing. The diamond she had taken, Juliet and Evenia, and then…

Elouise glanced down at her left hand. Fortunately, she had been holding the child, so the man hadn’t noticed her hand. Had he seen it, it might have led to an excruciating conversation. On her left ring finger still sat the large, now-discolored tourmaline ring he had given her three years ago.

Elouise stared at her hand for a long moment, then slid the ring off. Clutching it tightly in her right hand, she made her way to her room.

Throughout it all, Abigail didn’t so much as look her way. Even when Elouise rummaged through the room and pulled out a large jewelry box, Abigail simply hummed, tearing chicken into her porridge.

When Elouise brought out the diamond, the evening sun pouring through the window caught on its facets, casting a dazzling light throughout the room. Even Abigail couldn’t help but be momentarily taken aback.

“Elouise, I hate to trouble you, but…”

“Just make sure you eat dinner before you go!”

Abigail replied in a sing-song voice. Elouise opened her mouth as if to protest, then sighed quietly through her nose.

“I’ll be back before dinner.”

Of course, as Abigail had suspected, that promise would not be kept.

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