ACMBC 22

Chapter : 22

While they were exchanging trivial conversation, a knock came from outside. Soon, a servant cautiously entered and announced that the Marchioness of Warren had arrived.

“Please show her to the parlor.”
“Yes, understood.”

The servant left the room. Cedric glanced at Loren and extended his arm. She hesitantly placed her hand on his.

“Do you have a knife in your sleeve or something?”
“…Not today.”

Loren adjusted her posture, holding onto Cedric’s arm as they stood side by side. Only then did they look like a couple about to be married.

“It’s unlikely, but if any trouble arises… I’ll take responsibility.”
“You are his aunt, though. Even so?”
“Yes. Isn’t that what a husband’s role is, madam?”
“Of course, Ced. Naturally.”

When Loren first heard the word “madam,” she thought Cedric would frown and scowl as she had, but instead, an unexpected reaction came. She felt like she had just been outwitted.

“Already used to it, then?”
“Since the Marchioness of Warren is waiting in the parlor, I figured I might as well pretend to be used to it.”

Loren shrugged.

“Let me ask you one thing, Cedric. Why did you marry me?”

His hand paused on the doorknob. Cedric was the type who calculated everything quickly. He always weighed gains and losses meticulously. His ability to distinguish friend from foe was almost instinctual.

Yet, only after he placed the engagement ring on his left hand did he realize something. This time, he had been wrong.

“It’s frightening to turn someone unpredictable into an enemy. So I agreed. At least, if bound by a ring, I thought you might tell me what you’re planning.”

A temporary ally, neither friend nor foe. Cedric quietly answered the woman wearing a ring identical to his own.

Loren gripped his arm tightly, crumpling the cream-colored suit beneath her hand.

“Cedric. You know you shouldn’t say that in front of guests, right?”
“Thank you for the advice, Loren. If I may offer one helpful tip…”

Cedric bent slightly and whispered into Loren’s ear.

“When you get a question that’s impossible to answer, just cough to cover it up. People won’t think it’s strange.”

Ah, so that was why she had put on so much makeup but hadn’t applied lipstick. Loren realized the truth about her makeup too late.

When Loren first saw the Marchioness of Warren sitting in the parlor, her first thought was how upright she was.

Her back was perfectly straight, with not a trace of wavering, giving her a soldier-like aura more than that of a marchioness.

Her wrinkled eyes and tightly pursed lips gave off an unapproachable impression. The only feature resembling Cedric was her green eyes, which were much paler than his.

Even if you placed the two side by side, it would be hard to recognize them as relatives.

“It’s been a while, Aunt.”

Cedric wore an unusually polite smile. It was strange to see him with a neutral expression—not frowning, not smirking.

Loren stood beside him, quietly smiling as he greeted his aunt.

Even though she was meeting her nephew after a long time, there was little sign of warmth on her face.

As if it were natural, Elina’s gaze shifted directly to Loren. Loren responded with a formal greeting, looking like a proper young noblewoman.

“You must have had a long journey. I should have come to see you first…”

She looked up at Cedric beside her, trying to mimic eyes filled with affection.

‘That’s not Cedric Collins. It’s a little puppy. Look at him like he’s a small, warm puppy.’

Thanks to some brainwashing, Loren now appeared like a bride deeply in love.

“That’s right, Cedric?”
“That was my mistake. I was too hasty…”
“No, it was my shortcoming.”

Before their conversation could continue, Elina cleared her throat.

“The tea is getting cold, Count.”

Not Cedric, not even Collins—but Count. The formal address made it hard to believe they were aunt and nephew.

‘From the way she’s speaking, they’re not that close.’

It was hard to imagine someone who wrote pink-lettered envelopes acting like this. Tea and coffee were set before them, and a peculiar three-person meeting began.

Elina placed two sugar cubes into her cup of black tea.

“Does Miss Bailey want any?”

She slid the sugar bowl toward Loren. Despite Loren’s role being the fiancée of Count Collins rather than the daughter of Viscount Bailey, Elina did not correct her.

A brief hesitation crossed Loren’s mind, but she decided to comply. She honestly did not want to argue over titles.

“No, I don’t take my tea very sweet…”

At that moment, Cedric wrapped his arm around Loren’s shoulders and pulled her into his embrace.

The smell of wood filled her nose. They had touched before, but this type of hug was new. The brainwashing shattered instantly.

‘A puppy? Ridiculous. This is a bastard.’

She tried to hide her stiffening expression.

“…Cedric!”

Instead, she called his name urgently, leaving out the unspoken “Are you crazy?”

Loren quickly glanced at Elina Warren’s expression. The marchioness had paused with a tiny teaspoon in her cup, her usually expressionless face now even darker.

“Loren, if you shout like that, you’ll strain your voice. You’re not well…”

Cedric, seemingly oblivious to his aunt’s presence, faithfully played the doting husband. No matter how hard Loren nudged his side, he didn’t flinch.

She briefly wondered if he was deliberately tormenting her.

“Count, what are you doing in front of a guest?”
“My apologies, Aunt. My wife seemed cold, so I just—”

He deliberately emphasized “my wife,” indirectly scolding the use of “Miss Bailey.”

It didn’t end there. Cedric called a maid to bring a thick blanket. Loren had no choice but to lean against him, mumbling with a weak voice.

“Cedric, really, I’m fine…”

She murmured in a deliberately feeble voice. Suddenly, she worried how long she would need to pretend to be a frail wife. She reached out with her right hand and grasped the teacup handle.

“We may be late in formalizing it, but she’s a bride-to-be. She deserves to be treated as such.”

At Cedric’s next words, Loren almost spilled her tea. “For life,” he said.

Without changing his expression, he lied skillfully. He even seemed to enjoy draping the blanket over her shoulders.

Loren became certain that Cedric was subtly tormenting her.

The Marchioness of Warren silently observed the two sitting side by side on the sofa.

Loren Collins leaned on Cedric’s shoulder, her face pale and lips bloodless. Her skin was flawless, and her straw-colored hair neat. Pretty enough, but not striking. Her family background was modest, and she appeared delicate—far below the marchioness’s standard.

Yet the most important thing was that Cedric did not hide his emotions.

His tender hands carefully adjusted the blanket, as if forgetting that she was even there, his gaze fixed solely on her.

“Are you warm enough?”

Cedric asked gently, tying the blanket securely around her.

Elina watched quietly and smiled. They were clearly experiencing very different things.

“…She resembles her father in this regard. That’s unmistakably a Collins trait.”

Elina murmured in a softened voice, filling the room with warmth. Loren’s back, covered by the blanket, was damp with sweat.

“Alright, I admit my mistake. Not Miss Bailey—”
“Loren, please call me Loren. It’s not an official occasion, so there’s no need to apologize.”

Fearing Elina might slip and say “Lady Collins,” Loren quickly cut her off.

She would have preferred Elina glaring at her—at least then, she could have just bowed and left like she had done something wrong.