Previously
Noah teases Cordelia ruthlessly when her stomach rumbles, dismissing Wayne and escorting her to his private study for food and drinks. Cordelia is deeply impressed by Noah's extensive collection of rare books and artifacts, while Noah permits her to browse his library whenever she wishes.
Faced with her odd expression, he only raised his chin with brazen unconcern.
“Why, are they not mine? As I recall, Miss Marguerite’s eyes and hair are mortgaged to me. Ah, or were you about to say something adorable and insolent—like an unwritten oral contract carrying no legal weight?”
A shiver ran down her neck at his voice, smooth and level yet spine-chillingly cool, and she shook her head frantically.
“N-no. I am truly grateful.”
“Truly? Grateful on top of it all?”
He smirked as if the notion were absurd, but she had no room to feel offended. When she began fretting and chewing at her fingernails, he clicked his tongue softly.
“You must be truly famished, devouring your own flesh like that.”
“Does it taste good?”
By now, she could hardly fail to see it. This foul-tempered man took immense pleasure in teasing her and batting her around. It rankled slightly, but if that amusement was what earned her his lenience, she had little choice.
Prostrating herself before the powerful had always come easier to Cordelia than any other art of survival. In truth, as long as they did not cross an intolerable line, she could remain endlessly submissive.
Had her family not touched the things dearer to her than life itself—her memories of her mother and maternal grandfather, their legacy, their love, and her barest dignity—she might never have broken free of that manor, submerged in habitual helplessness until death claimed her. She would have sunk into defeatist misery, telling herself this was enough, never realizing she was drowning.
If that was a contagion, then yes. He had been right.
Her lingering gloom evaporated the moment the butler brought in soft, fluffy eggs, tender white bread, fresh blueberry jam, and steaming milk sweetened with generous dollops of honey.
Though she had never realized it before, Cordelia had a fondness for dishes with a soft, yielding texture. When warm, delicate bites melted softly over her tongue and gave way in her mouth, it felt unimaginably cozy and pleasant. It was a sweet texture entirely devoid of aggression.
Watching her cheeks puff out as she chewed away, her tension utterly forgotten, Noah sipped the rooibos tea that had been served for him. He did not touch the alcohol again.
As Cordelia drank her milk, she glanced at the ice melting away in his expensive liquor, but dismissed it, assuming he simply did not care to drink any more.
Once her stomach was reasonably full, she came to her senses and began nervously studying Noah, who had been turning pages in silence the entire time. In gold-rimmed spectacles, his languid profile looked less like a soldier’s and entirely like a scholar’s. He must have sensed her gaze, yet he offered no reaction.
Awkwardly fidgeting with her nails, she remembered his earlier remark and pulled her hands away. Sneaking a sideways glance, she caught the title of the book he was reading.
Legends of the Ancient Sea and the Merfolk
Merfolk?
Snap. The book closed. Her shoulders twitched upward in surprise.
She watched as he removed his spectacles and rubbed the corners of his eyes. Even the faint red marks left on his nose bridge looked like an elegant adornment on him. When he pressed down on his brow and turned his eyes on her, her toes curled.
“Do you feel stifled?”
Pardon? Fortunately, she did not say it aloud this time. Though his question lacked subject and object, she scrambled to piece together the context and shook her head. Noah murmured without expression.
“They said you felt cooped up. Because you cannot leave the grounds.”
She shook her head once more. I am fine. At her response, he let out a short breath.
“Come out with me tomorrow.”
As she stared in shock, he added an afterthought. There is a place we need to go.
***
Her eyes flew open.
Staring blankly up at the cream-colored ceiling that was gradually growing familiar, Cordelia placed a hand over her thumping heart. Like opening a book to a placed ribbon, the memory of the previous night surfaced instantly.
“Come out with me tomorrow.”
She swallowed hard. Pressing down on her chest as it fluttered with a confusing mix of anxiety and anticipation, she racked her brain. Where was he taking her? Surely he didn't mean that, unable to wait the full year, he intended to pluck out her eyes on the spot. No, of course not… right?
Lost in these wild, bewildered thoughts, she was interrupted by a knock. The maid, Jan, bustled in, only to tilt her head upon finding her wide awake and staring.
“You're awake early! Why are you lying there like that?”
“Just… wondering if I was dreaming.”
Assuming her mistress was simply half-asleep, Jan tilted her head again and pressed no further. Instead, as Cordelia sluggishly sat up, she offered a cup of warm water scented with mint oil, holding a silver bowl underneath.
Accustomed by now, Cordelia rinsed her mouth and spat it out. Jan cleared the bowl away, but instead of offering the usual fresh basin of wash water, she helped the eye-rubbing Cordelia to her feet. Why, what was happening? Pulled along without understanding, Cordelia heard Jan declare with boundless cheer.
“You're going out with the master, aren't you! We must hurry and get you ready!”
Only then did she feel truly awake.
Before she could make sense of it all, Cordelia found herself lowered into a steaming porcelain tub, a soft groan slipping past her lips. A shiver ran through her as the heat set her blood rushing. As the maid scattered dewy rose petals, herbs, sea salt, and lavender oil into the bath, Cordelia asked, dripping wet.
“D-did Lord Tudor really say he was going out with me?”
“Yes! He mentioned it over breakfast. The butler told me to prepare you, Miss.”
At the cheerful reply, Cordelia sank down until the water touched the tip of her nose. All sorts of thoughts swirled through her mind. He said there was a place to go. But where? Surfacing until her lips cleared the water, she asked cautiously.
“Did he mention where we were going?”
“Who knows? He didn't say anything about that.”
“I see….”
Surely he wasn't taking her out just because he heard she felt stifled. Could it be about the principal debt?
Yet she had nothing left to offer as collateral.
Glancing at her silver hair being lathered with soap, she let out a quiet sigh. Had Noah Tudor been even a fraction less gentlemanly, or looked at her with that leering, slimy gaze men often gave women, dark suspicions would have naturally crept in, forcing her to brace herself.
In truth, Cordelia was penniless, weighed down by mountains of debt and left with nothing but an empty family name. If a man of his standing desired to take her, could she truly refuse?
From their very first encounter, he had killed a man and never once concealed his cruel, ruthless nature. He was sharp-edged and difficult, relishing any chance to sneer, mock, and bend others to his whim. Yet at the same time, he possessed an uncluttered restraint and was courteous in his own peculiar manner.
She knew it was a contradiction. Yes, despite it all, he remained a gentleman.
“Oh, the master did ask if you disliked seafood.”
Hearing that he had considered her tastes naturally brought back memories of the delicious late-night meal she had ravenously eaten the night before.
Cordelia had never experienced such care in her life. The soft, gentle, sweet dishes. The man who had set aside his liquor to sip tea and read quietly so she would not feel self-conscious, and the scowl on his face as he asked if she was starving.
Her heart suddenly began thumping so hard that she squeezed her eyes shut and plunged her face beneath the surface. Sweet fragrance bloomed in soft billows all around her.
“Goodness, Miss! The water is hot!”
Was it because she had missed her medicine? Her chest felt tight.
Jan dressed Cordelia with the utmost devotion. In a mansion without a mistress, there was an inexplicable abundance of garments: a silk empire-waist gown, gloves, a bonnet, a parasol, and soft, comfortable lambskin shoes. When Cordelia sat awkwardly before the vanity, Jan applied fragrant oils to her hair, brushed it out, and plaited it into an intricate, lovely braid.
Watching her pale face take on a delicate, radiant vitality and a soft shimmer with every passing touch, Cordelia marveled at the maid's skill with cosmetics. As Jan dusted finely milled pearl powder over cheeks smoothed with rosewater cream, she spoke with immense pride.
“The late master loved his lady so dearly that no household handled finer luxuries for a lady than the House of Tudor. Perhaps only the imperial family could compare! Lady Anais disliked the heavy cosmetics Katysha's noblewomen favored, so she often used goods from the Eastern imperial court. The silks and pearls she preferred were of the finest quality in Rin and Jeneca, to the point that the late master even secured exclusive monopolies for them.”
Flushed with pride and excitement, Jan chattered away about the Tudor family. The late master and his lady must have been Noah Tudor's parents. Jan sang their praises endlessly, saying they were celebrated as the lovers of the century, two deeply devoted and beautiful souls.