TTPD 06

Chapter 6

The Reason for Marriage (6)

Running in uncomfortable shoes wasn’t easy, but the distance between her and Grayson steadily narrowed.

Just as she finally reached him, her foot caught on a stone.

‘Ah, no.’

A woman who falls during a first meeting—how pathetic.

A hundred thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant.

As Edith pitched forward, a firm arm wrapped around her waist.

The arm cinched her slender waist and pulled her in—everything happened in a blur.

The parasol she had been holding dropped to the ground and spun away, but neither of them paid it the slightest attention.

Their waists were touching.

Even through clothing, she could tell there wasn’t an ounce of excess flesh around his waist or abdomen.

Edith swallowed hard and lifted her head, meeting the blue eyes already looking down at her.

His gaze was deep and unreadable.

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.

‘Is he going to think I’m a pathetic woman who fumbles around from the very first meeting?’

That would be terribly unfair.

This whole situation happened because he hadn’t slowed down for her and simply walked off on his own.

“You were walking too fast.”

She pointed it out, and he let out a short “Ah.”

It wasn’t quite surprise or discomfort—she couldn’t tell what it meant.

While she studied his face, the arm around her waist loosened.

“You should’ve said so earlier.”

“There wasn’t a chance to.”

“I failed to consider you. My apologies.”

His unexpectedly easy apology surprised her.

With his cold, aloof gaze and tightly set lips, she had assumed he would be like Mateo, the eldest son of the Marquis household—someone who blamed others for everything.

“No, it’s fine.”

Grayson bent down, picked up the fallen parasol, and brushed the dust off with a handkerchief.

The simple sequence of movements was so elegant and graceful that Edith couldn’t take her eyes off his hands.

When she took the parasol he offered and began walking again, Grayson fell into step beside her.

This time, his pace matched hers.

Not bad, Edith thought.

The third prince of the Riley royal family was, surprisingly, easier to talk to than she’d imagined.

A reasonable person would understand the circumstances to some extent, wouldn’t they?

Even if this was a marriage without affection and born from necessity, maybe they could still live with some consideration for each other.

“The reason I asked for a date is because there are several rumors circulating about us.”

His sudden explanation startled Edith for a moment, but she soon realized it was an answer to the question she had asked earlier in the carriage.

“If it’s because of rumors, I don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

‘Why would you mind hearing rumors that I’m a mad woman?’

The question rose, but the answer followed immediately.

“Ah, your weakness?”

He looked down at her with an unreadable expression before giving a small nod.

Edith let out a faint laugh.

“Well, true. It’s not flattering for a man to be known as someone who can’t refuse a woman who’s using his weakness. But will this one date really calm those rumors? People might even spread new ones—that I pestered you into dating me because I’m holding your weakness.”

“There are four months until the wedding. Plenty of time to settle the rumors. From now on, you and I will go on at least one date a week.”

She almost said, We never agreed to that, but held the words back.

It was better for her too if people believed there might be affection between them.

The only problem was enduring suffocating moments like this every week.

For now, Grayson had accepted the marriage for reasons she couldn’t yet guess—but who knew how his mind might change later?

If she didn’t see him again until the wedding day, she wouldn’t have to worry about provoking him.

‘If I rub him the wrong way, he could decide to annul the marriage.’

So, understanding his temperament came first.

What he liked, what he disliked.

What piqued his curiosity, what he found boring.

‘And if I can figure out why he agreed to this marriage… even better.’

***

“Bermont,” on Royal Road, was an upscale restaurant with a basement level and three floors above ground.

For a quiet luncheon, Grayson had rented out the entire third floor.

But as they passed through the restaurant and climbed the stairs, the guests caught sight of Grayson and Edith.

“Why is His Highness here…?”

“Who is that woman?”

“You know, the one who went mad…”

“The witch of Mould brought her…”

“….”

Because the restaurant was quiet, the whispering was painfully clear.

Grayson glanced sideways at Edith walking beside him.

He wondered how a woman with a reputation for madness would react to such coarse gossip—and how he should handle the chaos if she caused a scene.

But contrary to his worries, Edith didn’t react at all.

She simply stared straight ahead with a blank expression.

‘Did she not hear it?’

Impossible.

Even the employee guiding them had flinched at the remarks.

‘Then why?’

The marquis’s “mad daughter” supposedly couldn’t tolerate even the smallest criticism and would lash out immediately.

Yet she ignored these vulgar insults completely.

’It seems Lady Edith has selective madness.’

If she understood that this marriage was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to lose—an enormous step upward—then her behavior made sense.

When Eliana, the “Witch of Mould,” married the marquis and brought her daughter, Edith naturally became a young lady of the household.

But being legally a daughter didn’t mean being treated as one.

Edith was still only the daughter of the witch.

But if she became a duchess, everything would change.

The rumors wouldn’t disappear completely, but fewer people would dare insult her openly as they just had.

‘Then things will be easier.’

If she had truly been out of her mind, that would’ve been a problem.

But if she had the sense to avoid ruining the marriage, then it would be possible to negotiate a peaceful future.

The third floor of Bermont had floor-to-ceiling windows.

Sunlight and the warmth of the fireplace made the room pleasantly warm.

Sitting at a window overlooking Royal Road and waiting for their meal, Grayson studied Edith across from him.

She pressed her lips together slightly as she gazed out the window.

Her red hair glowed like a ruby in the sunlight, making her pale skin look even whiter.

Her blemish-free face was well-balanced, each feature set neatly in place.

And her golden eyes—slightly upturned like a cat’s—were bright and clear.

Even if she was the daughter of a witch, it was easy to understand why so many young men had asked her out.

Her appearance was flawless—beautiful enough to leave nothing to criticize.

If she had been the marquis’s legitimate daughter, she might have even vied for the position beside the crown prince.

After coming in from the cold and into the warm room, a soft blush colored her cheeks.

She clearly knew Grayson was observing her, yet she pretended otherwise.

He found that rather pleasant, so Grayson leisurely enjoyed the sight of her beauty.

Before long, several attendants came up and began setting dish after dish on the large table.

Since he had instructed them to bring everything at once to avoid interruptions, the table was soon filled with plates of food.

Once the attendants left, Grayson picked up his spoon.

Edith picked up hers as well, and with a bright smile said,

“Thank you for the meal.”

Polite as well.

Grayson returned the smile.

“Go ahead.”

They ate in silence.

Throughout the meal, Edith kept sneaking glances at Grayson until finally she spoke.

“Your Grace, I have a question.”

And a bit impatient, it seems.

Grayson set down his fork and gestured for her to continue.

“What is the reason you accepted this marriage proposal?”

“Must there be a reason?”

“Yes, of course. Marriage isn’t something you pick up impulsively at a market stall. Whether it’s love or gain, there has to be a reason. But no matter how I think about it, this marriage seems to be a loss for you.”

Self-awareness is not her problem, apparently.

Grayson looked at the woman before him, wondering if she was really the same person rumored to be the marquis’s “mad daughter.”

He laced his fingers together atop the table and gazed quietly at her.