Previously
Eleanora Winter attends a dinner at the Thorne residence where she meets the abrasive Killian Blackwell. Killian openly insults Eleanora's profession as a female doctor and mocks the rural setting of Oakbridge before abruptly leaving the meal.
It appeared Vivian had put him entirely out of her mind.
Frankly, what woman in the world would want to marry a man who insulted her like that the very first time they met?
In truth, someone like Lord Blackwell was far better off living alone his entire life.
After much thought, Eleanora decided she ought to break this unfortunate news to Julian.
He would discover the truth on his own soon enough, of course, but there was no harm in finding out early.
After all, the whole reason he cared so deeply about Killian's marriage was the money his family needed.
( ‘Just how bad are their debts?’ )
The Thorne family made their living brokering art. Because of the war's lingering effects, interest in luxury goods had plummeted, making declining profits inevitable.
( ‘Even so, I never imagined their circumstances had become dire enough to depend on the baroness's support.’ )
And yet, judging solely by the atmosphere at the dinner, their situation had not seemed nearly so desperate.
Mr. and Mrs. Thorne were the sort of people whose thoughts showed plainly on their faces, while Julian alone had seemed genuinely worried.
Did that mean the situation was not quite as catastrophic as she had assumed?
Regardless, now that matters had reached this point, she only hoped she would never have to cross paths with Lord Blackwell again.
As she retraced the events of that day while riding along the forest road, her eyes suddenly widened.
Among the trees lining the path, in a patch overgrown with wild grass, stood a horse. When she turned her head, she spotted the man who appeared to be its owner.
He was sitting in the grass, his knees pulled up and his arms resting over them, his head hung low.
( ‘Lord Blackwell?’ )
She did not need to see his face to recognize him. A build that muscular was rare even in the military.
( ‘What in the world is he doing out here?’ )
She had only met him once, yet this utterly worn-out figure felt entirely uncharacteristic of him.
Not that she was worried, of course.
‘Please don’t look up.’
Eleanora tightened her grip on her reins with care. She hoped to ride past silently before he noticed her presence.
Yet… the very moment she drew even with him… he slowly lifted his head.
“……”
He knitted his brows and glared at her.
( ‘Really? As if you're the only one displeased by this coincidence.’ )
I’m not thrilled to see you either.
She stubbornly matched his stare.
Yet something felt off.
( ‘Why does he look so pale?’ )
Looking closer, she noticed deep furrows creased between his brows.
A cold sweat beaded across his temples, and the muscles in his jaw hardened as he struggled to suppress his labored breathing.
It was unmistakably the face of someone enduring severe pain.
( ‘Does he have indigestion?’ )
Vivian had mentioned that he gulped down that bitter tea in a single swallow. Even tea could upset the stomach if drunk too quickly.
Just as her medical instincts urged her to speak up and intervene, he beat her to it in a muffled voice.
( ‘Good grief…’ )
Eleanora lifted her chin.
( ‘How does someone this insufferable even exist?’ )
Was he born this way? Or had life made him so thoroughly ill-tempered?
It made no difference. The problem was not his circumstances; it was him.
Eleanora was on the verge of continuing on her way just as he asked. Yet something nagged at her.
Disliking a person was one thing, but leaving a suffering patient behind was another. That went entirely against a physician's duty.
Even if Killian refused to acknowledge her as a doctor.
In the end, she sighed and dismounted from her horse. A look of confusion washed over Killian's face.
His words cut short. She was already striding toward him with confident steps.
She quietly took in his features.
Pale lips. Cold sweat. Rapid breathing. All typical symptoms of acute indigestion or a stress-induced stomach ache.
She pulled a small bottle from her satchel and offered it to him.
When he merely stared without taking it, she set it down on the grass beside him.
Her sudden exclamation made him flinch.
She rattled off her instructions like rapid gunfire, then mounted her horse without hesitation.
She had the resolute air of a physician who had finished her examination and was striding out of the consultation room to attend to the next patient.
Killian let out a hollow breath as he watched her ride away.
( ‘What is with this woman?’ )
Normally, women fled from him after just a few words. Or they would stare at him with tearful eyes, their pride stung.
Even Miss Ashford, whom he had met today, had done precisely that.
Yet this woman… why was she not afraid of him?
If anything, the more he spoke, the bolder and more self-assured she became.
Killian picked up the small bottle lying in the grass.
In her hands it had appeared a decent size, but nestled in his massive palm, it looked like a child's toy.
( ‘Remarkable that she could tell my stomach was acting up.’ )
In truth, his condition had been at its absolute worst ever since his grandmother brought up the subject of marriage.
( ‘I refuse.’ )
( ‘What do you mean, you refuse?!’ )
The baroness had shouted, slamming the desk hard enough to look as though her slender wrist might shatter.
( ‘Do you know what people say about you? They say you're either impotent or fancy men!’ )
( ‘If I fancied men, shouldn't there be at least one man I'm seen around with?’ )
( ‘Then are you trying to say you really are impotent?’ )
Killian had paused to consider that.
In fact, if rumors spread that he was impotent, wouldn't women finally stop chasing him?
Yet his pride would not allow it.
( ‘I am not impotent.’ )
( ‘Really? Then if you're not impotent, what makes you act so demented around women?’ )
Killian had swallowed dryly. He could hardly tell his grandmother the real reason.
( ‘Do I act like that only around women?’ )
( ‘True enough, you're rude to everyone in equal measure. Honestly, I was terrified you'd cause a scene the day His Majesty the King bestowed the title of Little Baron upon you.’ )
The baroness had spoken while clutching her chest in vexation.
( ‘Even the most wretched, vile men don the mask of a gentleman when seeking a partner. What on earth is wrong with you?’ )
( ‘Because the time hasn't come for me to find a partner.’ )
( ‘Just how old are you anyway?!’ )
Realizing that arguing was futile, she had delivered her final ultimatum.
( ‘Regardless, I have spoken with Count Ashford. Go and meet his daughter.’ )
( ‘Ashford? That's the first I've heard the name.’ )
( ‘Naturally. They are country nobility.’ )
( ‘And you expect me to marry into some obscure noble family like that?’ )
( ‘With your wretched reputation, you can hardly covet the daughters of counts in Berrington. Looking to the provinces is all we have left. True, they don't possess much, but their lineage is distinguished. That is enough. Stop dodging and go win the lady's heart this instant.’ )
Killian had not even deemed it worth a response. He had stormed out of the baroness's study.
Yet heavily built men had barred his way.
( ‘It seems you've forgotten why I was granted the title of Little Baron. Do you think a handful like you can stop me?’ )
( ‘Are five grown men truly incapable of stopping one person? If you're that incompetent, I ought to sack the lot of you.’ )
Faced with his grandmother's threat to those men's livelihoods, Killian had been left with no choice but to yield.
Someone had once described Baroness Blackwell as “a woman whose heart beats only for money.” The description was not far from the truth.
And so, he had been dragged to Oakbridge against his will.
To him, Oakbridge was akin to hell. From the moment he stepped off the train, the town's quiet, idyllic atmosphere had suffocated him.
On top of that, the heavy scent of rose clinging to Miss Ashford had been the very spark that hurled him back into a twenty-one-year-old nightmare.
( ‘Young Master, how would you like to go somewhere fun?’ )
His nanny, whose makeup had been thicker than usual that day, had reached out to him with trembling hands.
To Killian, who had lost his parents at an early age, that woman had been like a mother. Taking her hand had felt natural, a simple source of comfort.
Yet…
( ‘Young Master! You wouldn't want to live in a world without me, would you?’ )
That woman had kidnapped him…
And when she had nowhere left to run, she had held him tight and leaped into the sea.
Even now, the pungent perfume he smelled that day haunted him like a phantom.