Who gets married for that reason? - Chapter 13

For days after their last encounter, Lydia and Marquis Esteban remained suspended in a liminal space between unease and distant politeness.

Their daily routine persisted—checking the curse’s status, ensuring its advance remained at bay—but the marquis barely spent any time near her. If he wasn’t away from the estate all day, he was sequestered in his study, entirely unreachable.

Lydia had hesitated numerous times before his closed door, debating whether to knock, but her wounded pride ultimately held her back.

Was it truly something worth getting so angry over?

The more she pondered, the more she convinced herself that she had done nothing particularly wrong. The remark he had taken offense to did not, in her opinion, amount to overstepping any boundaries. Yet, his reaction had been sharp, almost excessively so.

Irritated and restless, she abandoned the confines of her room, wandering the estate aimlessly.

“The weather is far too pleasant for this…”

Leaning against the balcony railing, she gazed down at the meticulously cultivated Esteban family gardens.

A sea of crimson roses blossomed in breathtaking splendor, the scene exuding an air of undisturbed serenity.

From afar, the murmur of voices drifted toward her—gardeners busily tending the hedges, their words carried by the breeze.

Unfamiliar faces… Have they hired more hands?

Despite the mansion’s vast size, it was oddly understaffed, necessitating occasional outside labor for upkeep.

With the approaching wedding, the estate was undergoing a transformation, and it seemed today was another day for additional workers.

Even so, Lydia’s current surroundings remained eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the bustle elsewhere.

Quickly growing bored of the monotony, she wandered further down the halls.

It was then that she noticed a group of servants at the corridor’s far end, carefully lowering a massive framed painting from the wall.

That painting…

Covered in pristine white cloth for as long as she could remember, it had always intrigued her. But today, the veil had been removed, revealing an elegant portrait beneath.

Drawn by curiosity, Lydia approached.

“Be careful with that. Don’t hold it like—”

The house steward, Frederick, who had been issuing stern instructions, noticed her presence and turned.

“Ah, Lady Lydia. Do you require something?”

“No, I was just taking a walk… This painting…”

Lydia’s gaze remained fixed on the image.

At the center sat a striking young woman with long golden hair, poised with an air of commanding confidence. Beside her stood a boy, barely past childhood, whose youthful features were unmistakably familiar.

“This woman… Who is she?”

The resemblance between the golden-haired woman and Illian was undeniable—her noble countenance, the intensity in her eyes. Lydia quickly deduced her identity: Katrina, Illian’s sister, now the Countess of Rodrigo.

But the frail-looking boy standing close to Illian was a mystery.

Unlike the other two, he bore no obvious resemblance to them, his hair a soft brown rather than gold.

“This is the late Young Master Ethan,” Frederick answered.

“Young Master Ethan?”

The steward’s eyes lingered on the painting for a long moment before he spoke again.

“There was… an unfortunate accident years ago. Afterward, this house, and most of all, the marquis himself, changed considerably.”

A quiet sorrow rested in the old man’s gaze, its depth impossible to measure.

Lydia turned back to the painting.

Illian’s expression in the portrait was far gentler than she had ever seen. His hand rested lightly on Ethan’s shoulder, an unfamiliar warmth in his demeanor.

“I had no idea…”

“His Lordship does not speak of Young Master Ethan. Not even to me. After the tragedy, he ordered the painting covered and has never once mentioned him since.”

“Then why move it now?”

“With so many guests expected for the wedding, we can no longer leave it in open view. It will be stored away.”

As the servants carefully wrapped the frame in cloth, the painting disappeared from sight once more.

Frederick turned to Lydia with quiet sincerity.

“I have served His Lordship since his youth, and I know that he has a tendency to push people away, to build walls around himself.”

“…What do you mean?”

“I do not wish to excuse his behavior. I merely hope you will be patient with him. It has been a long time since he has chosen to keep anyone by his side.”

Lydia found herself unable to respond.

She could hear the unspoken plea in the old steward’s voice, the deep affection he held for Illian.

And yet… this was all an elaborate farce. Their marriage was not real. It was doomed to end, and when it did, she would inevitably disappoint him.

“I have always worried that His Lordship would isolate himself completely. Since Lady Katrina left, he has dismissed many of the staff, keeping only the barest household necessary.”

For the first time, Lydia regretted becoming entangled in this deception.

It wasn’t merely a matter of fooling someone—it was the knowledge that, in the end, she would hurt those who had placed their trust in a falsehood.

Barely managing to find her voice, she murmured, “It’s fortunate that the marquis has someone as loyal as you.”

“I should be the one grateful.”

A faint smile touched the old steward’s lips.

“I have not seen His Lordship care for someone in years. Nor have I seen him smile, even in the smallest way.”

Lydia was at a loss.

It was strange to think that Illian, who had mocked her so often with his sharp smirks, had been known for his kindness.

“Preparing for a wedding naturally brings difficulties, but if you ever need an ally, you have one in me.”

“We didn’t fight,” Lydia said quickly.

It wasn’t an argument—Illian had simply been sulking, his foul mood evident but unexplained.

Frederick chuckled.

“If it had been a true quarrel, I would have urged you to demand an apology. The marquis can be insufferably stubborn, so I’d have suggested you make him kneel in remorse.”

His shrewd assessment of his master’s personality drew a small, reluctant smile from Lydia.

“Thank you… Oh, by the way, is this where all unused belongings are kept?”

Following the servants into the storage room, she found herself taken aback by the sheer disarray.

“Yes,” Frederick replied. “Items too valuable to discard but no longer of use end up here.”

Lydia wandered deeper inside, scanning the haphazard collection of forgotten possessions.

“Then… should this painting really be here?”

“His Lordship wished to dispose of most of Young Master Ethan’s belongings. But I could not bear to do so. A few things from the capital estate remain here as well.”

“I see…”

Lydia understood that feeling.

Sometimes, a person’s presence could become too painful to remember, making even the smallest reminders unbearable.

Some wounds never healed—they remained, raw and unforgotten, impossible to turn into mere memories.

And Illian, it seemed, carried such a wound.