Chapter 37
Would You Marry Me Instead?
“It’s cooked salmon with a light sprinkle of pepper and salt.”
Ameline began teaching systematically which size of fork, knife, and spoon should be used for each type of dish. But theory and practice, as always, were two very different things.
Especially with fish dishes—Laurencia made the same mistake several times. She struggled with how to separate the flesh. The bones and fins had to be carefully removed as if filleting a fish, and flipping the fish over was forbidden.
For meat dishes, she had to fix the meat with her fork and cut it using the knife, slicing at a right angle.
“When you cut the meat, you should draw the blade forward. And the plate shouldn’t move while you’re cutting.”
Laurencia had memorized all the rules of table manners in theory, but she quickly realized practice was another matter entirely.
Even dessert wasn’t as simple as just eating it. The shape had to be kept intact, and with fruits, whether to pick it up with a fork or scoop it with a spoon differed depending on how it was served.
The stormy practical session on full-course dining eventually came to an end.
“You did well.”
“I thought memorizing everything would be enough, but practice is completely different.”
“Still, you did wonderfully for your first time.”
“You’ll get used to it soon.”
Ameline and Evan began praising her. Laurencia, cheeks faintly flushed, nodded shyly. Studying was something she did for herself, but being encouraged and praised made her heart feel soft and warm. Embarrassing, yet comforting.
But that warmth lasted only a moment—until Teyshar arrived. Whatever he said immediately froze the pleasant mood solid. Evan and Ameline felt it too.
“I knew Father would come. But what’s his reason for insisting on bringing me back to the count’s manor, when I’m just an illegitimate daughter?”
Teyshar felt choked, as if he’d eaten a sweet potato without water. He wanted to tell her it was because she was the child of the goddess Ella—but he couldn’t say that rashly.
“Could it be… that he’s planning to arrange a political marriage for me?”
The word marriage, casually spoken by Laurencia, threw Teyshar completely off. Regardless of her birth secret, she was legally registered as the daughter of Count Paul Heredian.
If, by chance, Brant said she had a fiancé and must return… would she?
No—he mustn’t let that happen.
Maybe Brant’s story of a marriage proposal would be a lie—a trick to bring her back.
Teyshar’s thoughts became a tangled mess. He couldn’t bear the idea of parting with his “little tree.” Should he… kidnap her instead? He could never be separated from her.
“Lady Laurencia.”
“Yes?”
“Would you… marry me instead?”
“…Pardon?”
“I mean—if Count Brant starts talking about engagements or marriage, could you tell him you’re already promised to me?”
Laurencia stopped walking and looked up at him, meeting his crimson eyes. What she read in them was pure sincerity.
“What I mean is—if Count Paul Heredian tries to force a political marriage, please don’t comply.”
Teyshar’s face flushed red, spreading all the way to his ears. Why had the word marriage slipped out of his mouth like that? Even he didn’t understand what he was saying anymore.
Still, since he’d said it, he had to find a way to justify it.
“Going back to the count’s house would be worse than… marrying me. That’s—uh—that’s the reason I said it.”
Teyshar, who had never once been nervous even before a terrifying monster, was now learning for the first time in his life what true nervousness felt like.
“I only mean that if he tries to arrange a marriage, you could say you’re already engaged to me.”
The more he tried to explain, the more tangled his words became. He knew he should stop talking, but his mouth wouldn’t obey. His embarrassment burned hotter.
“I’d just be the lesser evil, compared to a political marriage. So if Count Brant mentions it, feel free to use me as an excuse.”
“I’ll do as you say, Marquis Spencer.”
“You… understand what I mean?”
“You mean, if my father brings up a political marriage, I should tell him I’ve already received a proposal from you, correct?”
“Exactly. You can say you’re engaged to me.”
Teyshar exhaled deeply, relieved that she’d understood. Raising his voice slightly from shyness, he repeated the words “marry me,” which only made his face heat up further. He unconsciously bit his lip, then pouted a little.
“Marquis Spencer, thank you for worrying about me.”
Teyshar’s crimson eyes widened. Time seemed to slow as Laurencia said those words, her violet eyes meeting his. His heart thudded painfully.
Even her gentle smile and soft thank you made his heart pound wildly. Each heartbeat felt like paper crumpling and unfolding again—fragile and trembling.
It was a feeling he’d never known before. His thoughts were chaos—should he stay still, say something, or run away?
“But my father wouldn’t easily talk about marrying me off.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m an illegitimate daughter. And, as you can see—so thin, and with such a plain face—who would ever want to marry me? I’m not even fit to be used in a political alliance.”
“To my eyes, Lady Laurencia is precious… and beautiful.”
“Thank you, even if you’re just being kind, Marquis Spencer.”
Her eyes curved into a lovely crescent as she smiled.
Teyshar blinked slowly, watching her. His heart stirred strangely. He touched his own cheek—it was hotter than that of someone burning with fever.
He unfolded his crumpled paper heart and, in his mind, carefully wrote upon it:
That was the most beautiful smile I have ever seen.
When Teyshar entered Adrian’s office, he looked worried. Laurencia had said she wanted to speak with Brant alone, and so he’d turned pleading eyes toward Adrian for help.
Thinking it would be good to earn another favor from Teyshar, Adrian helped him try to dissuade Laurencia.
“It’s just concern—you might get hurt like Lady Illina did.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine, Your Highness Adrian. Marquis Spencer.”
Laurencia firmly rejected Teyshar’s attempt to stay by her side. His shoulders drooped, and Adrian patted him comfortingly.
“Marquis Spencer.”
“Yes, Lady Laurencia?”
“Thank you for worrying about me.”
“If you’re really grateful, then perhaps we could—”
“Instead, could you escort me to the drawing room?”
“…Of course.”
The drawing room door opened—Brant was waiting inside. Laurencia entered with Teyshar’s polite escort.
Brant frowned at her. Her complexion looked much healthier than before; he could already imagine how much she must have eaten like a pig.
He hated seeing her doing well—but even more than that, he hated the man beside her: Teyshar. The man radiated the intimidation of a beast bared for attack—yet beside Laurencia, he acted as meek as a lamb. It was infuriating.
“Lady Laurencia, if anything happens, scream immediately.”
“Yes. Please don’t worry.”
The kindness in Teyshar’s crimson eyes vanished as he turned to Brant. His gaze sharpened.
He stepped closer and extended a hand. Smiling politely, he offered a handshake that Brant couldn’t refuse. Brant hesitated briefly, then took it—and immediately felt the strength tightening around his hand.
“Lady Laurencia hasn’t yet recovered. If not for her request, I wouldn’t have left this room at all. A shame, isn’t it?”
Brant swallowed hard. The message was clear: She’s ill—so don’t you dare touch her.
“Thank you for escorting my precious daughter here, Marquis Spencer.”
Once Teyshar left and the door shut, Brant’s expression changed completely.
“Laurencia.”
“It’s been a while, Father.”
Laurencia met his wary eyes calmly, without any emotion.
“I heard you’ve been desperately looking for me.”
Recalling what she’d just learned from Ameline, Laurencia sat gracefully across from him, smiling faintly and tilting her head.
“For a filthy monster, you’ve learned to imitate humans quite well.”
“Aren’t you the one who came here so eagerly to take that filthy monster home?”
“I’m going to take you home?”
“Marquis Spencer told me that you begged to see your precious daughter again—that you missed me so much.”
“Precious? Missed you? Ha! You, a monster? You know better than anyone that I could never think of you that way. I only said that to the marquis as an excuse—to lure you out. You didn’t actually believe it, did you?”
Brant’s face twisted in open disgust as he hurled insults at her.
“Laurencia, remember this: I will never acknowledge you as my daughter, nor will I ever love you.”
“I’m actually relieved to hear that.”
“Relieved?”
Laurencia smiled faintly, her eyes cool as she replied.
“What you told Marquis Spencer sounded so sincere that I thought perhaps you’d gone mad. I came only to confirm it.”
“You’re returning to the count’s manor.”
“And why should I?”
“You would defy the will of your head of house?”
