The Mermaid’s Tale [Novel] Chapter 3 – A Faded Promise

Had he gambled away his money, or fallen out with Jessie, the tavern barmaid he had been seeing? Ever since her mother died and her father began squandering the family funds, Maurice had moved into the house alongside his mother—and even at that young age, he had been obsessed with women.

That was why Cordelia felt far more disgusted by this filthy cousin than by her aunt, whose sole joy in life seemed to be tormenting her niece, or her father, who saw his daughter as nothing more than property to sell off. With every year Cordelia grew older, his leering gaze had trailed after her.

Just like that.

As his bulging eyes slowly dragged over her, she felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. Smacking his lips, he spat on the floor.

“Ha, fuck. If only it weren't for that bastard.”

“…”

“If it weren't for that goddamn betrothal from the womb or whatever, I would've shown you a hell of a time every night. He’s a weird one, too. What’s left to see in a ruined family like this that keeps him from breaking it off? Though, seeing as you've already turned twenty and he still hasn't taken you away, maybe he's looking to wrap things up. Honestly, what do you even have going for you besides a pretty face?”

He chewed over the same insults and crude remarks he had repeated countlessly, souring Cordelia’s mood entirely. Had her aunt gotten her way, Cordelia would have already become that filthy Maurice’s bride, and every right to this estate would have fallen into his hands.

Yet Cordelia had a fiancé whom she was bound to marry.

At the thought of Jonathan, her fiancé whom she had not seen in so long, Cordelia pressed down on her quietly fluttering chest. She thought of his last letter from two months ago—the one tucked under her pillow, worn and frayed from being read over and over. She had replied long ago, but no answer had yet come from Jonathan, who was studying across the sea in the homeland.

In her impoverished, wretched life, Jonathan was her only solace and hope. Before she was even born, back when the family still stood proud, her late maternal grandfather had displayed what seemed like foresight by arranging a prenatal betrothal with the grandson of his lifelong friend from the Devillers family. He had been utterly convinced that his unborn grandchild would be a girl, claiming that the firstborn child of the Marguerite line had always been a daughter.

Fortunately, when Cordelia was born, he asked for the second son of the Devillers rather than leaving things to his untrustworthy son-in-law, hoping his granddaughter and her bridegroom would carry on the family name. The Devillers had readily agreed, content that their clever second son, who would not inherit their title, would become the master of the historic and prestigious Marguerite family.

The trouble was, over the course of twenty years, far too much had changed.

First, her maternal grandfather died suddenly while out at sea on business, and her mother fell ill, causing the Marguerite fortunes to plunge rapidly. To make matters worse, while her father seized the opportunity to squander what was left of the estate, her mother passed away, leaving Cordelia neglected. And as her circumstances changed, so did those of her fiancé.

Jean, the eldest son of the Devillers family, died suddenly in a riding accident, abruptly making Jonathan the heir overnight. Going from a second son with no title to inherit to the heir of the household was a life-altering shift, and it naturally brought a rift between them.

There was no longer any reason for Jonathan, the future heir to a wealthy house, to tie himself to an impoverished fiancée. Nothing remained but an ancestral friendship, a promise between grandfathers, and faded honor and obligation.

So while Jonathan, her closest childhood friend, grew more dashing with every passing year, Cordelia only became shabbier and more wretched. At times, brazenly clinging to his side even felt utterly shameless.

Had it merely been poverty from a fallen house, perhaps Cordelia could have managed not to feel so miserable. But her deepest shame was not their poverty; it was her family.

Whenever the vulgar antics of her kin spread through the town as gossip; whenever she belatedly learned her deadbeat father had written promissory notes under her fiancé’s name; whenever the Lord and Lady Devillers, who had doted on her like a daughter when she was small, met her with uncomfortable, reluctant gazes—her worn-out heart would throb with a sharp, stabbing ache, leaving her at a loss.

How much better it would have been if they were only poor. Neither the poverty nor her family was her fault, yet Cordelia was already branded the guilty party.

Still, she found it hard to let go of Jonathan, who always treated his ragged fiancée with courtesy and strove to fulfill his duties. It was not born of tender, romantic affection, but rather of a raw instinct to survive.

Though she knew better than anyone that her very existence was a burden and a loss to him, she leaned on him and clung out of sheer selfishness. Seeing this, she supposed she truly was her father’s daughter after all. Had she been genuinely kind, she would have called off the engagement first, out of consideration for her troubled fiancé and to preserve the last shred of her noble pride.

Yet without that betrothal, Cordelia would lose what little 'market value' she still held in this house, plunging her into a far darker abyss.

“Fuck, if it weren't for that bastard.”

Faced with his covetous gaze—like a man glaring at an apple he couldn't eat—Cordelia swallowed hard and stepped back.

Her aunt always called Cordelia a lucky girl. She would say that it was only thanks to her decent bloodline that she hadn't been sold off to some rich old man long ago. Cordelia could not disagree. Whatever the case, without Jonathan, she would have been wallowing in a far worse gutter.

Maurice spat out vulgar jokes and taunts for a while longer before finally walking away. It was only after returning around evening, exhausted from selling medicinal herbs, that Cordelia understood why he had been in such a foul temper. Her aunt, wearing bright red rouge, had called out to her from the parlor where she sat drinking alone.

“Girl, come sit over here.”

Her voice alone made Cordelia’s wind-chilled body stiffen even further. But she had no right to refuse. As she shuffled over and sat on the hard wooden chair opposite her, her aunt glared through sharp eyes smudged with eyeliner.

“Where on earth have you been roaming around until this hour? You are the sole heir of this family. A girl of marriageable age, acting as if there's nothing to fear in the world.”

It was a laughable pretense, considering her own son routinely harassed her every day. Her aunt despised her niece out of a sense of inferiority and spite regarding her own status, yet whenever it proved convenient, she would put on airs by bringing up Cordelia’s lineage. It was a remarkably self-serving mindset. And usually, when she acted this way…

“I hear your fiancé will be returning soon.”

Ah.

Her heart, which had hung heavy and lifeless all day, gave a violent leap. She had known the time was drawing near. They were supposed to hold the wedding once he completed his studies and returned.

‘I can finally leave this house!’

Cordelia tried desperately not to show her joy, but her shrewd aunt must have caught the hope shining in her dull jade eyes, letting out a mocking click of her tongue.

“Pleased, are we? Anyone watching would think we starved you growing up.”

As if she had ever fed her well. Yet, as always, Cordelia simply kept her mouth shut. Her aunt had a knack for inflicting pain without leaving a mark. Clearing her throat, her aunt twitched her painted red lips.

“You're an adult now, so you ought to shoulder your share of the family's burdens. As you know, our circumstances aren't good. So I expect your husband to help us out.”

She was already referring to Jonathan as Cordelia’s husband. Though framed as a request, it was a demand, spoken as if it were only her due. It was also a warning that marrying and leaving this house would not sever her ties to them.

Feeling a stifling weight settle in her chest, Cordelia obediently nodded. But her aunt’s eyes gleamed with strange meaning as she scrutinized her.

“That illness of yours. Yes, the same one your mother had.”

Cordelia's heart plummeted.

“Your father told me it's hereditary. It’s nothing serious, right?”

Realizing her aunt was merely checking for defects in the merchandise, Cordelia blinked in faint despair. Her family knew her only as a frail, sickly, and useless girl. It wasn't entirely wrong, but the Marguerite family's 'affliction' was different from ordinary illnesses.

A person could be perfectly healthy, only to be struck down without warning, quietly wasting away. Because it afflicted only the direct bloodline of the Marguerite family, people in the past had called it the Curse of the Mermaid—a curse laid upon the descendants by a mermaid in despair over human betrayal.

And it was that very illness that had taken Cordelia’s mother.

Leaving her young daughter all alone in this dreadful house.