Episode 59
“Killian?”
As she approached, steadying herself against the cold stone wall, she saw him before a tombstone, looking up at a statue. It was a statue of a young woman seated, her face steeped in sorrow. Rowina read the characters engraved in the marble beneath the statue.
“Herace Monica Devonshire.”
“She was the sister of the duke two generations back. To me, she is a great-aunt.”
Rowina, tracing her memory at the somehow familiar name, suddenly recalled the matter at the ducal castle.
“I’ve seen her portrait before.”
She was the woman she had seen while walking through the corridor with Count Benedict Sussex. The one who was said to have been forced to marry a grand duke of a foreign land while still holding her lover in her heart.
“I heard it was quite a long time ago……”
Rowina muttered to herself and compared the grave of the previous duke beside her with Lady Herace’s grave. Though their times of death differed, the engraved script and the statues were as alike as twins.
“Because they were commissioned from the same sculptor.”
As if reading her unspoken question, Killian opened his mouth plainly and continued.
“This grave is empty.”
“Empty…… did you say?”
“She hanged herself in a foreign land as a married woman. To the family, she was a disgrace—an existence that ought to be erased.”
Rowina listened quietly to his words. She had known him and been by his side for no short time, but it was the first time she was hearing such a personal story.
“Both the portrait and this family tomb were installed here after the death of the duke two generations back; the previous duke, pitying her, had them placed here.”
He spoke in an even tone, as if discussing the affairs of some distant family rather than his own grandfather and father.
“And Your Grace?”
Staring at his profile lost in thought, Rowina moved her lips.
“Do you think she was pitiful? Like your father?”
“Not at all.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed slightly at the word ‘Father,’ and he denied it decisively.
“The duke two generations back was right. She tarnished the family name with personal sentiment and burdened us with an indelible disgrace.”
“……”
“To ruin everything over such petty sentiments is utterly pathetic.”
No. In truth, Herace Devonshire had at least possessed some courage. Rather than live with an unwanted man, she had made her own decision and left this world without bringing an unwanted life into it. Compared to her, his father was an even more pathetic human being, having played around with some actress and meeting his end in a carriage accident with her. He should have at least committed suicide by poison together with her before consummation to preserve his chastity, or eloped with her the night before with the resolve to abandon everything.
Frederick Jennen Devonshire was a coward lacking the courage to die with the woman he loved and the courage to throw everything away. He was so pathetic that he had put his mistress’s name into the son his wife bore.
As he looked at the two graves in turn with scorn, Rowina held a bitter smile at words so utterly characteristic of Killian Devonshire.
“Then why are you standing before it?”
“You said something not long ago.”
Killian, who had been staring at the statue as though nailed to the spot, turned his head.
“You asked if I would grieve if you died in an unexpected accident someday.”
“That was a joke……”
She hadn’t expected him to remember words spoken half out of spite. Flustered, Rowina tried to make an excuse, but he cut her off.
“I shall likely take another wife before long. The position of duchess is not one that can be left vacant for long.”
These were not words one should say to a woman on the eve of their engagement. Had hoping for his heart to be torn apart been too grand a dream? Perhaps this man wouldn’t bat an eye even if she were to disappear. Rowina looked at him wordlessly. Staring persistently at Rowina, who showed neither anger nor sorrow, Killian moved his lips.
“But I promise you one thing. This place—the spot beside me where I will be buried—is yours.”
A chilling sensation dug in from her fingertips. Though it was a chilling declaration, it struck deeper into her mind than any other words. Killian caught the arm of Rowina, who was stepping back, and raised her chin. In the darkness, blue eyes flashed dangerously.
“No matter what woman stands beside me, in the end, only you shall remain.”
“Killian……”
“Be it a hundred years or two hundred years, we shall lie side by side in this place.”
It was both an answer to her previous question and an overwhelmingly arrogant declaration. Her violently pounding heartbeat seemed to pierce through her left breast and echo in her ears.
Any other young lady might have blushed, calling it a heart-wrenching love confession. But Rowina lowered her eyes, and instead of meekly sinking into his embrace, she moved her lips.
“……Then what of your unborn fiancée?”
His true love had been his dead unborn fiancée. To the extent that he had toyed with her and his ex-wife as mere replacements—two women.
“What are you talking about?”
Killian raised his eyebrows at the sudden topic. He seemed about to say something, but she cut him off before he could.
Rowina, having shut her eyes tightly before opening them, continued in a low voice.
“Since you remember what I said before, I will ask this once more.”
“……”
“The matter from five years ago. Even knowing everything, do you truly have nothing to say to me?”
She had heard of his life lived without a single person to trust. She had also heard that five years ago, in his own way, he had acted for her. That did not connect to forgiveness. Nor did she intend for it to. But she wanted to hear one word: sorry. I was wrong. I misunderstood. I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you. They were words any human being should naturally say. On that cruel night, considering the heart with which she had abruptly left this island. If he spoke those words, though she might not forgive him, she thought she could at least understand him. Then she would be able to disappear before him without any lingering attachment or resentment, feeling light and free.
“Do you truly have nothing?”
Rowina looked up at him with a desperate heart. A longing so intense that hot blood coursed from her head to her toes surged within her.
At the two questions, silence descended upon the chilly underground chamber. In the flickering lamplight, his face, tinged red by the glow, was expressionless—not a hint of disturbance.
After a long silence, Killian swept his hand through his hair.
“I shall compensate you.”
“……Pardon?”
“I shall let you live your entire life in wealth, glory, and honor. To the extent that you cannot recall the poverty of the past three years.”
The moment she heard his answer, the blood throughout her body rapidly chilled. From her fingertips, Rowina slowly grew cold. It felt as though a sharp, cold dagger carved from ice had lodged directly in her heart.
“Is there anything else you need?”
What she needed?
She, whose expression had been contorting, let out a hollow laugh as though exhaling a held breath.
“Ha…… Haha.”
What on earth had she expected?
The incident five years ago was, to Killian Maximilian Devonshire, much like a beggar being struck by the carriage he was riding in. It was the coachman’s responsibility, yet he would pay the medical expenses out of a sense of moral duty. It was not a matter of whether words got through or not. The man before her was as different from her as the environment he had grown up in and the background he had been given. Their ways of thinking were different, their values were different, and the standards of their conscience and morality were different. Trying to understand him was in itself a foolish act. She could never understand him. Just as he could never understand her.
The realization was instantaneous. Rowina faced her own heart, left as desolate as a barren field swept over by a typhoon. It was the same as before. There was nothing. Nothing at all.
“Ha……”
“Rowina.”
A large hand wrapped around Rowina’s shoulder as she staggered, strength leaving her legs. The moment Killian tightened his grip and tried to open his mouth again, Rowina whispered with an exhausted complexion.
“I feel dizzy. I want to go back up.”
It was an indirect refusal of the offer he had just made.
* * *
Rowina did not speak a single word on the way back to the villa. Killian, seated across from her, was the same. The carriage interior had such a sharp atmosphere that one would find it hard to believe this was a couple who would be engaged tomorrow. In a tense air diametrically opposed to the day they had enjoyed an intimate meal for two by the seaside, only Jenok broke into a sweat trying to gauge the moods of the two.
“I shall skip dinner tonight. I have no appetite, and I am worried I might get indigestion with the engagement ceremony tomorrow.”
“Do as you please.”
Killian answered coldly and brushed past her.
Joan and Melissa, who had been waiting in the entrance hall, approached with faces asking what was wrong, but instead of answering, Rowina passed them by and climbed the stairs alone.
“Mom!”
The moment she opened the door with a complicated expression, Damian threw himself into Rowina’s arms.
“Damian. You heard everything from Uncle, right? Are you prepared?”
“Yeah! All ready!”
Damian nodded and smiled brightly. Over the deep dimple on his left cheek overlapped the face of a man who bore the same dimple. When Rowina’s smile stiffened, Damian tilted his head.
“Mom?”
“……”
“Mom. My shoulder hurts.”
“……Ah. Sorry.”
Looking down at her hand that had unknowingly tightened, Rowina pressed a kiss to Damian’s forehead.
“My son. You’ve worked hard learning to swim from Uncle every night. If you swim well today, you won’t have to force yourself to swim anymore. You’ve had a hard time being dragged to an unfamiliar place because of Mom, haven’t you?”
Her initially calm voice grew increasingly choked with emotion. Damian reached out with a tiny hand and wiped Rowina’s cheek.
“I was happy, Mom. So don’t cry.”
“Cry…… Huh?”
As Rowina blinked while repeating his words, she felt a hot liquid streaming down from her eyes. Surprised, she hurriedly wiped her tears.