Episode 8

#3. Proposal

Everything was advancing just fine—at least until the main course arrived: finely minced duckling roast, drizzled in red wine. At that point, Elouise still considered this man as quite respectable.

Take the care he had shown to her and her daughter, for example. Along with the lunch invitation, the man had sent her a dress that fit perfectly, tailored via a servant. Naturally, Juliet’s dress fit like a glove.

And that wasn’t all. Elouise had even received a pair of soft, ostrich-feather-trimmed slippers that fit her feet perfectly. She particularly liked the slippers.

Even back when her father was still at the Starwood estate, she’d never worn shoes that soft. As she slipped them on, she found herself pondering the implications of the gift.

When a man gives a woman shoes, the message is usually clear:

“Please come to me wearing these.”

If she were still in her twenties, Elouise might’ve thought, “Could it be…?”

But the man, according to his secretary, was three years younger than her. He already claimed to love someone else. Plus, footwear used in romantic overtures were typically a pair of elegant heels—not fluffy indoor slippers trimmed in ostrich feathers...

Well, let's just say it wasn’t the most romantic gesture.

So Elouise simply decided to feel grateful toward a considerate gentleman. Even when she declined to bring Juliet to the lunch, he only provided a gentle nod of understanding.

Most men, in such a case, would take offense. She had prepared at least three different excuses to explain her decision—but didn’t have to use a single one. The man was incredibly well-mannered.

However, by the time dessert—the crème brûlée—was served and she cut through its surface with her spoon, her impression of Marcus had shifted 180 degrees.

It was all because of that damned duchess.

Marcus had been chattering about Cliff’s social scene in general, but his entire demeanor changed when he proceeded to address the duchess. His eyes sparkled like a youth in love, but the content of his words was alarming.

Elouise found the duchess’s rejection—based on her preference for only married men—absurd, but if she stretched her imagination, she could almost understand. Even she, who had lived tucked away in a place like Maine, had heard of the Duchess of Bellona.

The love story between the Duke and Duchess of Bellona was well-known. The fortune he left behind was even more famous. And in the northern aristocratic circles, which the duchess dominated, open affairs—even among married people—were still not uncommon.

So while Elouise couldn’t relate, she was able to at least accept that the duchess operated by different rules. What she couldn’t accept, however, was that Marcus Hanger, having been rejected by this woman ten times, was still planning to win her over with an eleventh attempt—this time by proposing a fake marriage.

“That’s… quite the passion you have.”

Elouise muttered, calculating the duchess’s intentions.

From her perspective, the duchess was clearly the victim here.

Perhaps the only way she could shake off this persistent madman, who didn’t give up even after ten rejections, was to leverage rumors about herself. Didn’t Marcus admit that he thought the gossip surrounding the duchess was all nonsense—until she rejected him?

Like those women who claim they need money in order to get rid of the man, Elouise thought. But this young lord was wealthy. His secretary had claimed he was among the richest in the capital. If she had asked him for money, he would’ve handed it over without blinking.

Perhaps that was why the duchess played the “I only date married men” card.

The duchess, whom Elouise had never met, had managed to steal all her sympathy in under thirty minutes.

Unaware of this, Marcus went on dramatically, playing the part of a heartbroken romantic. He rested his forehead in his hand and stared down at the table, his voice dripping with melancholy.

“My passion, if I may say so, is like an eternal spring—but the lady I wish would drink from it refuses to even look at me. So, I am a most unfortunate soul. Even now, my heart cries out that she is my one true match.”

Elouise smiled.

When a teacher hears something ridiculous from a student, there are three standard responses:

1. Why do you think so?

2. That’s your perspective—but could it be incorrect?

3. How about rethinking it from a different angle?”

Elouise cast the first choice.

“Why do you think so?”

“Why? Because my heart tells me so.”

Marcus gazed at her with the eyes of a devoted fool. Under his neatly combed brown hair, his forehead was clear, and his green eyes gleamed with exaggerated kindness. In a word...

He’s absurdly handsome.

Elouise couldn’t help but think what a waste his face was.

Marcus placed his hand over his heart and wistfully burst upward.

“Whenever I see her cold gaze, my chest burns hotter. Even as she looks down on me, filled with contempt, my heart races uncontrollably.”

So, a handsome masochist. His posture—like a soldier swearing loyalty to the crown—made him look even more unhinged.

Elouise moved to her second tactic.

“Perhaps you have a heart condition? Have you seen a doctor?”

“…You sound just like Logan.”

Marcus clutched his chest dramatically and gave her a sorrowful look. With that face, he appeared a complete waste of space.

“Our family sends a doctor to examine me every quarter. I am the sole heir, and have yet to write a will."

“What does this have to do with your will…”

“If I die suddenly, the family will lose its heir.”

“Ah, right… You did mention to be the sole heir to the Hanger family.”

Rich people sure had time to worry about strange things. At least his health was fine.

Elouise gave a faint smile and moved on to her third response.

“But… if the lady only meets married men, why not redirect your attention elsewhere?”

“My soul is already hers. I have no attention left to spare.”

The answer came back with needless conviction. With all three strategies exhausted, Elouise felt defeated.

In all her years as a professor, very few students had blown through all three lines of reasoning. And in hindsight, those students had all been hopeless cases—stubborn kids with one fixed answer in mind. For such people, a teacher's words meant nothing.

So how did Elouise deal with such students?

She said whatever.

Engaging sincerely with someone who’s already made up their mind was a waste of breath. They would simply twist everything you say to fit their conclusion.

And Marcus, from what she could see, was well-practiced in walking the fine line between impudence and politeness—probably thanks to sparring daily with his sassy secretary.

Elouise decided to test him.

"That seems to be the case."

“Ha! Even you think so, Lady Starwood?”

“Yes. Just now, you sprinkled salt into your hot chocolate.”

Marcus froze and peered down at his drink. In his hand was a salt shaker. In the mug in front of him—supposed to be topped with cinnamon—salt crystals were slowly dissolving into the chocolate.

Typically, sugar or cinnamon was used to top chocolate—not salt. Her words were polite, but her meaning was: “You’re out of your mind.” Marcus laughed.

“Oh, I actually prefer my hot chocolate with salt.”

Elouise decided to go one step further.

“Forgive me for asking… but does love numb your sense of taste as well...?”

“Hahaha!”

Marcus laughed even louder and explained.

“Actually, it’s become a trend here in Cliff. Salted caramel, salted chocolate—it enhances the flavor. Would you like to try?”

Men tend to make up utter nonsense to cover their mistakes. Elouise assumed he was one of those. But after tasting the salty chocolate he offered, she had to admit—At lease this lunatic wasn’t lying.

“It’s… an unusual taste… but good?”

“Yes. The salt sharpens the sweetness. If you plan to enjoy Cliff’s spring, you should get used to it. In wealthy circles, it’s now common to serve salted chocolate cookies as tea snacks.”

“Oh my!”

Elouise covered her mouth in surprise. A sharp-eyed maid added salt to her chocolate as well. A delicious meal, a unique dessert, and a conversation with a wealthy, polite, handsome madman—it wasn’t a bad afternoon. But it was hard to let her guard down.

Marcus, still smiling, continued to share gossip circling Cliff’s social scene as she sipped her chocolate—details about marriageable bachelors, fashionable tea sets, and high-ranking ladies. All valuable info for a woman hoping to find a match for her daughter.

If not for the nonsense about impossible love, he might have been an angel sent from heaven.

When her chocolate was gone and she was waiting on tea, Marcus stirred his spoon thoughtfully and finally spoke.

“Now that I think about it, I’ve been curious, Lady Starwood. I hope I’m not being rude, but… if not for our meeting, how were you planning to enjoy spring in Cliff?”

It was a reasonable question. Elouise smiled.

“I’d heard people set up gazebos on the beach and have tea with strangers. I hoped to rely on that… as embarrassing as it is to admit.”

“Oh! That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Cliff is a resort town. Even the most uptight people from the capital eventually soften here—like melting spring snow.”

“I feel reassured, hearing that from someone who's lived here.”

“And since fate has brought us together, I fully intend to help you with all my might.”

“That’s kind of you. I wish I had something I could offer you in return, Sir Hanger.”

Marcus smiled. Elouise, seeing that handsome face, smiled broadly in return.

“So, about that, Lady Starwood.”

It was ominous. Not her name—the part that came before.

So, about that.

That phrase was rarely followed by anything good.

Elouise, sharp as ever, began calculating rapidly.

What could this handsome, tall, rich, polite, considerate, good-taste-having madman want from her? But the madman moved faster than her thoughts.

“I have a rather impolite proposal.”

Elouise raised a defensive wall.

“…If it’s impolite, perhaps you shouldn’t say it?”

“I’m going to say it.”

Marcus Hanger shattered her wall in a single blow.

But Elouise refused to back down. She was a woman who had maintained the Starwood estate alone for eleven years after her father and sister passed. She had seen life’s worst. She raised her guard.

“Should I… start warming up my arm to slap you in advance?"

Unfortunately, she didn’t yet grasp what was circulating Marcus’s mind. Marcus thought to himself,

If that’s the worst I get, I’d consider myself lucky.

He smiled and rose from his seat, then knelt before her. Elouise flinched. Marcus extended his hand gently and looked up at her.

“Would you marry me?”

Elouise’s mind shut down.

It was the first time she had heard those words in her thirty-two years of life, and at the same time, it was a phrase her younger self had long dreamed of hearing.

But not like this.

Not from a tall, handsome, rich, well-mannered, thoughtful, tasteful lunatic she'd met only yesterday, in the middle of lunch, on one knee.

So she chose to deny the situation entirely. The only words that left her lips were numb and mechanical.

“…This is a rather sudden request, but I wouldn’t say it’s exactly impolite…?”

Marcus beamed, his teeth glistening. Such was the smile of a merchant’s son—worth a million coins.

“I'm requesting a fake marriage.”

Elouise was seized by a destructive impulse—the kind where one really, really felt the urge to punch a million-coin smile off someone’s face.

“Ah. That is impolite.”

She began rotating her wrist—stretching, just in case. Giving him one last chance to retract his words and claim a jest.

She didn’t particularly wish to slap the face of her handsome, angelic benefactor. But life had taught her that if she didn’t shut things down now, there was no telling what this lunatic would say next.

“Would you hear me out first?”

“I don’t think I need to, Sir Hanger.”

Her posture snapped upright. The gorgeous man kneeling before her appeared like a dejected puppy. But Elouise was not swayed.

Because a puppy, when overlooked, turns into a dog. And she’d met too many dogs in too many households during her time as a teacher.

Her voice turned cold.

“You’re proposing a fake marriage to woo the duchess, aren’t you?”

“Correct.”

“Sir Hanger, I wasn’t answering a quiz question. Do you think I’m a joke?”

Marcus shook his head. Elouise crossed her arms, trying to appear as intimidating as possible.

“I know I must seem laughable—alone with a daughter and nowhere to go, not even enough money for a train ticket back to Maine. After rejecting your offer, I’d probably have to borrow fare from you just to leave.”

Marcus paused, pondering her firm stance.

He was the son of a mining merchant. In other words, he was trained to summarize things.

The core of her objection was clear: Are you mocking me because I’m poor?

There were many ways to answer that, but most noblemen would choose to deny the implication and justify their proposal. However, Marcus knew full well that his proposal was, in fact, utter nonsense.

So he opted for the merchant’s answer: “Yes, this is nonsense. But what if I could offer you something worth enduring it?”

She was a noblewoman—but also rational and practical. He’d already witnessed that. Maybe, just maybe, the merchant’s answer would work.

Marcus hesitated, calculating his risk. It was exactly the kind of situation where the old saying applied:

If it goes well, three cups of wine. If not, three slaps to the face.

Sure, it was a proverb shared among matchmakers—but wasn’t Marcus matchmaking himself right now? Be it fake or not.

Ah, what the hell. If all I receive is a slap, I’m getting off cheap.

Marcus smiled sweetly and said,

“I would never look down on you, Lady. What I’m offering… is a deal.”

The meaning behind 'deal' was clear.

He was going to offer her money. A lot of it.

Elouise’s eyes wavered—but she quickly snapped herself out of it.

Get it together. The bastard’s just barking nonsense.

She straightened her posture, raised her chin slightly, and prepared to respond.

“I suppose you mean to buy me wi—”

“I’ve heard a proposal should come with a ring.”

Marcus cut her off, pulling out a box he had hidden beneath the table.

Ebony wood, wrapped in black velvet. He opened it to reveal—

“A 122-carat royal diamond.”

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