Episode 66

Elouise, still in the clothes she had been wearing, was taken by the hand of the man she loved and boarded the train. Marcus urged her to take the night train bound for the capital—the fastest departure available. He longed to register their marriage there without delay, even for a moment.

"Isn’t it wonderful that Juliet is in the capital as well?"

At Marcus’s words, Elouise found herself agreeing. She, too, felt uneasy about leaving Juliet in the care of the Duchess of Bellona. Moreover, she dearly missed her beloved niece.

Bellona was one of the five largest territories in the kingdom, and trains to the capital departed from Bellona Station four times a day.

There was still time before the last train, so Elouise sought Abigail's understanding. Abigail readily let her go, though with evident reluctance.

"Come back before I shrivel up and die trying to manage that delicate Quincy all on my own!"

And so, with Marcus firmly holding her hand, Elouise stepped into Bellona Station. There, she witnessed him purchasing not one but two compartments in the most luxurious first-class car. Startled by the extravagant expense, Elouise was about to speak when Marcus leaned in with a smile and kissed her.

"As you must know, I’m not a particularly patient man. I can’t share a compartment with you."

The meaning of Marcus’s words was clear: he intended to avoid any possibility of intimacy between them on the train. Elouise was utterly taken aback.

Surely this man isn’t turning shy now, of all times!

Though she understood what he meant, she could not quite comprehend it. This was the same man who had kissed her with fervor mere moments ago, who even now held her hand tightly. For him to suddenly propose propriety on the train—after behaving with such unrestrained affection—made little sense to her.

Moreover, Elouise couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. They had just reunited, and yet he was suggesting they travel in separate compartments. So she asked, gently, but with a hint of seductive protest:

“…Are we not husband and wife?”

"Ah, Elouise. Please."

Marcus burst into awkward laughter, rubbing his face before offering her a wry smile.

"First of all, Elouise, I smell. I haven’t changed my clothes in three days."

"Oh."

"Second—and this is the far more important reason—Elouise, I acted too hastily once already…"

He paused and glanced around. The passengers waiting for the night train in Bellona were quiet, which meant their voices would easily carry. After a moment of hesitation, Marcus leaned in and whispered near her ear.

"Elouise, I already once embraced you too soon. And you left me."

"That’s not—"

"Of course, I’m not suggesting you’ll run off again. But still…"

Marcus let out a bitter smile.

"I never want to go through that again."

With words so earnest, there was no way Elouise could press him further.

---

Marcus asked a train steward for hair oil and a razor, then washed and shaved cleanly. He combed his hair back neatly with the oil. Elouise both laughed and cried. Her freshly shaven lover was the most handsome man in the world—but his now-bare cheeks looked so gaunt it broke her heart.

She kissed his cheeks and his jaw. Marcus laughed and said, "With this much affectionate sympathy, I daresay three years of suffering were worth it!" Then he added with firm resolve, "But I won’t do it twice."—making Elouise laugh again.

What Marcus was most curious about was how Elouise had come to entrust her niece to the very Duchess of Bellona she had so disliked. Sitting together on Marcus’s first-class sleeper bed, the two exchanged stories from the time they had been apart.

He recounted the whirlwind of events that had led him to seek her in the Bellona territory, to which Elouise reacted with astonishment, covering her mouth. In turn, she confessed that her niece had grown so fond of the duchess that she had little choice.

"I’ve known for quite a while that Juliet is too much for me. She finds no joy in studying, and trying to make her do so is near impossible…"

After hearing stories of the duchess and her late sister, Marcus began to understand her better.

The romance between Evenia Bellona and the Duke of Bellona had once rocked the entire kingdom, though certain aspects of it remained unclear. For instance, the matter of Evenia having been financially supported by the duke. Some said the duke had fallen for her at first sight despite her being a mere commoner; others claimed she had once sold her body and later caught his eye. Yet the duke himself had never confirmed any version of the story.

Still, if Evenia had studied abroad under the duke’s patronage, his attitude became more comprehensible. Furthermore, the story of her sister certainly helped explain some of the duchess’s eccentric behavior.

"A female doctor—at first, I couldn’t even fathom it…"

"It’s understandable. But hearing that, I can see now why the duchess is so protective of Juliet."

"At first, I was hurt by how much Juliet adored her. But… when I saw her study, I was speechless."

The Duchess of Bellona’s library was wholly devoted to Juliet—or more precisely, to her late sister.

"It was as though everything had been prepared just for Juliet. Seeing what Abigail and the duchess taught her, and the things Juliet created, I realized how wrong I had been in trying to teach her ladylike manners and etiquette."

"Elouise, you weren’t wrong."

Marcus gently whispered to her.

"No one in this world knows everything from the start. Juliet is your first. But to the duchess, Juliet is the second."

“…But Abigail’s first too!”

"What are you saying?"

Marcus grinned mischievously.

"She’s the second."

"But Abigail’s second is Quincy—"

"Quincy is the third. Abigail’s first was probably the Duchess of Bellona."

Elouise finally understood and chuckled along with him. Truly, the way Abigail dealt with the duchess was exactly how a mother handles a wayward child.

And Elouise added, "But even Abigail failed to teach Juliet numbers and math!" laughing again. Marcus smiled, imagining the nightmare that must have been—trying to teach arithmetic to a girl as willful as Juliet.

When she heard that Evenia Bellona had presented Juliet’s model diagram to the king and that the king had been overjoyed, Elouise was both stunned and happy—yet also uneasy.

She wanted Juliet to receive recognition, but at the same time, she didn’t. The duchess, more than anyone, should know how complicated a beautiful, eccentric girl’s life could become under the public eye—so why would she do such a thing? Elouise wondered.

Still, she understood the pride the duchess must have felt. Juliet’s diagrams were truly extraordinary.

Juliet was a child who continually stirred conflicting emotions in her.

"What am I to do…"

"Don’t worry, Elouise."

In the dining car, as Elouise clutched her wine glass with visible anxiety, Marcus kissed her and reassured her.

"You hold the purse strings of that exposition."

"What are you talking about!"

"Have you forgotten?"

A playful glint flickered in Marcus’s eyes.

"All of our family’s wealth belongs to you."

Only then did Elouise recall the will tied to the name "Elouise Hanger." And Marcus, grinning, added, "Well, once my father passes away, of course," earning a sharp glare from his beloved.

"Is that really something to say with a laugh! Honestly!"

Elouise sighed—but the time she spent on that train was mostly filled with laughter, gentle teasing, and love. Three days was far too short to make up for the time they had spent apart.

On the first evening, after returning from the dining car and before parting to their respective rooms, the two shared a long, reluctant embrace. The first-class corridor was narrow, as the rooms were wide. Holding her close, her forehead resting on his chest, Marcus murmured, "I don’t want to be apart."

But he had not forgotten what he had said before boarding the train. Though his face was lined with regret, he pulled away and gently brushed her hair back.

"You must dream sweetly."

"Marcus."

"I mean it."

After opening the door to her compartment and letting Elouise step inside, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and quietly closed the door behind her. Elouise stood still for a moment, letting out a sigh tinged with regret. She felt an overwhelming pang of guilt—Marcus, who had spoken of how hastily he’d embraced her, only for her to vanish the following day… How could she not feel remorse?

She seated herself on the bed. The first-class compartment was spacious enough for two; the bed was wide, and a small desk was set in the corner. Since she had left with Marcus empty-handed, holding nothing but his hand, the room held nothing beyond what the train itself provided for its passengers. Elouise sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Marcus was likely on the other side. Slowly, she rose and laid her palm against the wall.

Is he thinking of me, just beyond this?

The lover she reunited with after so long had been tender—achingly so—but also unnervingly fastidious. He felt unfamiliar, as though he were no longer the man she once knew. Elouise blamed herself for this change. With a pang of sorrow, she leaned her forehead against the wall. Clack, clack. The train rumbled along the tracks. Beyond the window, the night blurred past in deep black shadows. For a moment, she sat there dazed, watching the scenery slip by, then slowly stood. She opened her compartment door and stepped out, then knocked on Marcus's.

Knock, knock—the door opened almost instantly. Marcus stood on the other side, visibly startled.

“Elouise?”

Instead of replying, she rose onto her toes and kissed him. The softness of her lips pressed into his. Marcus stiffened, caught off guard—but only for a moment. A stifled moan escaped him before he pulled her close. Elouise naturally stepped inside, and his long arm reached around her to shut the door. Then, without hesitation, he turned her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Her heart, already pounding, beat faster. Like a flame catching in dry grass, his tongue parted her lips and surged in with heat. A quiet moan slipped from her lips.

“Mm….”

Their breath mingled in the space between damp mouths. Marcus's right hand cupped her cheek with firm restraint, as if holding himself back by a thread. Elouise gently drew back and whispered,

“It’s all right, Marcus.”

“…”

“I won’t run away. Really.”

“El…”

He exhaled her name like a breath he’d been holding in. Elouise marveled that her name could be uttered with such dripping desire. Was my name always this seductive? Holding her in his arms, Marcus stared down at her, chest rising and falling heavily, pressing against hers. She looked up at him, then took his hand from her cheek and guided it down to her chest. At the sudden softness under his palm, Marcus flinched and twitched. But Elouise pressed his hand there and murmured quietly,

“We’re on a train… there’s nowhere to run.”

“But Elouise…”

“Marcus,” she said softly, her eyes fixed shyly on his hand. “I never imagined I’d say this to anyone.”

“...”

“I want to touch you.”

As those words left her lips, her ears flushed crimson. Truly, love was a mighty, overwhelming emotion. Who would have thought she’d say something like that to a man?

Marcus’s chest—so close to her—rose and fell with increasing force. It was so intense, Elouise could tell he was struggling. So, she took another step of courage.

“You may be able to hold back… but I can’t.”

His jaw clenched tightly at that. Elouise tilted her head up and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. His green eyes shimmered, caught between confusion and restraint. But Elouise saw it now—within those eyes, a fire already burned.

“…Right now, I’m using more patience than I’ve ever had in my entire life, El.”

“…”

“And yet you’re turning all that effort to ash.”

She looked up at him, anxious.

“Did I… disappoint you?”

“How could I, El?”

Marcus exhaled again.

“All I realize is just how extraordinary you are to me.”

“If you don’t want to…”

“I do.”

He shook his head quickly and looked down at her. But his voice came low, laced with worry.

“But… if we start, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Why would you need to…?”

He let out a dry laugh, bitter in its clarity. Some memory—some past mistake—still lingered with sharp edges.

“El. Do you know how I found you?”

“No…”

“Why do you think I believed Quincy was your child?”

Ah. At last, Elouise understood what held Marcus back. Though the train offered certain essentials to its passengers, it certainly didn’t provide anything for those wishing to be… indiscreet. In short, he had no intention of taking her without responsibility. That night, three years ago, neither of them had acted like the adults they should have been. Elouise recalled waking the next morning, helplessly scolding herself for what they hadn’t done—hadn’t prevented. Worse, she’d spent three months on edge afterward, full of anxiety.

And yet—

Elouise hesitated for only a moment before smiling faintly.

“It’s all right.”

“El…”

“Marcus.”

She looked up at him, drew his neck down with both arms, and whispered,

“I told you I wouldn’t run, Marcus. I…”

“…”

“I want to have your child.”

Marcus went still, stunned—as though he’d heard something beyond belief. Elouise giggled softly and pressed her forehead to his chest.

“I want to be happy… with you.”

“You’ll be the death of me, Elouise.”

Marcus exhaled the words like a sigh—but his actions said otherwise. His right hand moved gently, undoing the buttons on the front of her blouse. And his left? It had already slipped around to cup the curve of her hip. Elouise gasped, startled, but it was too late. He pulled her close and lowered his head to nip at her ear.

“Aren’t you afraid of what I might do… without any patience?”

“…Not at all.”

She giggled, tickled by the sensation—but then she shivered. Marcus’s tongue traced her ear, and the jolt that ran through her body made her tremble. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Then perhaps… I should give you a reason to be a little afraid.”

With that, he spun her in his arms. Elouise, trusting her body to him completely, shut her eyes as the world tilted.

Thud. A soft thump and the feel of a mattress.

Elouise opened her eyes to find Marcus above her, gazing down as he laid her onto the bed.

“Here,” he said.

His left hand gripped the back of her neck firmly, while the other had already slipped beneath the fabric of her blouse. She wore only light underclothes beneath, and his hand met bare skin far too easily. Their eyes locked. Elouise, sensing his lingering hesitation, reached up and looped her arms around his neck. She whispered softly,

“Make me yours.”

“With pleasure.”

---

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