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chapter 2
“Tell me I wasn’t wrong.”
“Would that make you feel better, my lord?”
“At least it would make me feel like it wasn’t my fault.”
“And if I say so, does that change the fact?”
On another day, Keith might have glared at his butler for talking back. But tonight he didn’t have the energy. He didn’t even have the strength.
His butler, Dmitri, gently took the glass from his hand.
“Do you plan to empty every bottle in the house, my lord?”
“Where did you learn to answer questions only with questions?”
“Would you know if I told you?”
Dmitri sighed and then took away the bottle as well.
Keith had thought drinking would either make him drunk or let him fall asleep. Instead, his mind only grew sharper. He sat slumped on the couch, staring at his empty hands.
At last Dmitri muttered, unable to bear it:
“If you keep on like this, it’ll be dawn before long. You should at least rest your eyes.”
“Briony…”
Keith stopped mid-sentence. He wondered if he even had the right to worry about her. The image of his wife’s pale face, when he’d brought up divorce, lingered before his eyes.
‘What did I do wrong?’
‘Am I not the kind of wife you wanted?’
How could he have spoken without hurting her so deeply?
His wife was a calm woman. So calm that even his only living relative, Aunt Lucinda, had once complained, “It’s a problem when such a young lady has so little emotion.” But Keith had always liked the depth of Briony’s amber eyes, and how they met others directly and without wavering.
Today was the first time he had seen those eyes tremble.
‘I shouldn’t have said it that way.’
Sooner or later, the subject of divorce had to be raised. But it was the worst possible choice of words for their first real face-to-face conversation in weeks. He had never wanted to wound her. Nor did he want to drive her to declare divorce herself, unable to bear his coldness, or worse—shift the blame onto her. That was why he had chosen his words carefully. And yet…
“…How should I have said it?”
“…”
Dmitri gave no reply. If he had at least rebuked him—‘Why did you say such a thing?’—Keith could have attempted some excuse. But Dmitri’s silence was unlike him. It only meant that Keith’s mistake was too heavy even for excuses.
Keith forced himself to shake off the image of his wife’s small pale face, her trembling amber eyes, and the slender hand pressed tight against her chest.
“Would it be better if I told Sir Gideon Arlington directly?”
Sir Gideon Arlington—Briony’s father. The viscount and his wife had long been estranged, much like Keith and Briony for the past three years.
The difference was that Keith felt no real emotion toward Gideon at all. The man was greedy and narrow-minded; his only virtue was wealth.
“You should ask my lady’s opinion on that, my lord.”
“I can’t have Briony deliver her own divorce news.”
“That is your thinking, my lord.”
“I’ll write a letter.”
Without another word, Dmitri brought pen and paper. Keith dragged himself upright and sat at the desk.
How would Gideon react when he learned that the marriage he had schemed for had fallen apart after only three years? Keith fully intended to return every coin of Briony’s dowry. If restitution was demanded, he would sell land to raise double the amount. Even if it ruined him with debt, so be it.
‘If only this could all be solved with money…’
The late Earl Dalmore—Keith’s father—had been a poor noble.
The Dalmore estate, Ebony, spanned fifty thousand acres and was not bad land. But inherited debts had ballooned, and his father had been a master at squandering money. He had a good heart, but trusted people too easily, and once even had a steward run off with all their funds. Their finances had only spiraled closer to ruin.
In his later years, the earl lost the daughter he cherished most. His illness worsened, confining him to bed for two years, draining yet more money. That was why Keith needed a wealthy bride.
‘Keith, I can only close my eyes in peace once I see my only remaining son wed.’
‘Then stay alive, Father.’
‘Living like this will only bury you deeper in debt. It’s shameless of me to ask, but I wish the Dalmore line would not end with you. Bring home a bride, and promise me you’ll continue our house.’
‘A bride with a large dowry, you mean?’
‘Yes. And a good, kind girl.’
‘Father, all I have to offer is the title you gave me. No kind woman would bring a fortune only to marry a poor man.’
‘…You’re right. Perhaps I’ve asked too much.’
‘Far too much.’
And yet it was as good as a dying man’s last wish.
Had his younger sister Kitelin lived, Keith would have sold off a ninth of the estate before ever forcing himself into a loveless marriage. But as his father’s only remaining child, he had no choice.
His mother had died long ago. The only family he had left was his ailing father. So Keith resolved to marry.
That spring, he attended nearly every ball in the capital. As one of the kingdom’s most eligible young earls—tall, handsome, and titled—he caught the eyes of countless women. Until they learned how little income his estate brought in, weighed down by debt.
He could no longer recall which ball it was, or even the venue, when the well-connected marchioness leaned close and whispered:
‘Lord Ebony, next time, you should dance with Mistress Arlington.’
‘Mistress Arlington…?’
‘The viscount’s daughter.’
A viscount was still only half-noble. For an earl, to be advised to court a viscount’s daughter was unseemly. But the marchioness’s voice held meaning, so Keith listened.
Mistress Arlington was surrounded by young men.
The woman who would become his wife wore a honey-colored gown embroidered with gold thread, which suited her pale skin and dark hair.
‘She just debuted this season.’
‘They say her dowry is enormous.’
‘Sir Gideon insists only a baron at the least may court her.’
‘Two ranks higher? He may as well buy a title outright!’
‘Well, he isn’t the true heir of the Arlington family—he only married into it…’
He heard whispers behind him.
Keith waited silently for his turn. Most of the men around her were barons’ or viscounts’ sons. With his earldom secure, he outranked them all.
When his turn came, he bowed without even meeting her eyes. Winning her father’s favor mattered more.
‘I am Keith Dalmore, Lord of Ebony. May I have this waltz?’
‘If you wish.’
Her voice was dry. Perhaps nerves, perhaps exhaustion from endless suitors after her dowry, or perhaps she was simply tired of hearing the whispers behind her back.
‘…A haughty lady would have been easier.’
Pride was predictable. If you bowed low enough, you would win them quickly. But Mistress Arlington was neither haughty nor easy to read. That wasn’t what troubled him. What troubled him was how weary she looked. Surrounded by chatter, yet alone.
So he led her to the floor. Stood as a wall between her and the whispers.
Held her gloved hand, so small in his.
Yet she was stiff with tension, the feel of her hand so at odds with her fragility.
When the music began, Keith asked softly:
‘Are you tired, my lady?’
‘A little.’
‘Shall we step out for fresh air after this dance?’
From there, events unfolded as both fathers wished.
The dowry exceeded even rumor, and along with it came a pale, quiet bride. When Keith formally proposed, Briony had only said dryly, “I accept.”
One side needed a title, the other wealth. Everyone in society called it the perfect political marriage—an example that would be spoken of for at least two seasons.
Only Aunt Lucinda had complained, “The girl doesn’t even smile.” Keith had said nothing, because he knew part of the reason Briony never smiled was himself.
Not long after the wedding, Keith’s father passed away. Keith felt he had done his duty to the family. He had no intention of wooing his unhappy wife into bearing children.
So he had offered her freedom.
‘We are married, but you needn’t do anything you don’t wish to. Within Ebony Heights or beyond, do as you please.’
‘But Father told me to serve my husband well.’
‘You don’t need to. I married at my father’s wish, but he is gone now.’
‘Doesn’t a countess have duties?’
‘Yes, but you can hire a capable steward if you dislike them. I’ll find someone competent.’
‘Can I at least try them first, and choose what I want to do?’
‘That would be a kindness to me. And if you need anything, tell me or Dmitri at once.’
Only then had Briony smiled faintly. He had noticed for the first time that when she smiled, a dimple formed only on one side.
That smile made him vow to do his best as her husband, no matter how pragmatic their marriage was. He wanted to protect that rare smile.
‘Thank you, Lord Ebony.’
‘Call me Keith.’
‘Then call me Briony.’
And so, three years passed with them maintaining only the appearance of a marriage. She did not look especially happy. But she seemed content enough, with duties as countess to occupy her. She disliked society, had few close friends, yet managed well. With her dowry strengthening Ebony, the estate had revived.
If she wished it, he wanted to let life go on this way.
“…Dmitri.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I’ll call if I need you. Leave me now.”
Dmitri bowed silently and left the room.
Keith let out a long sigh. His pen hovered unmoving over the blank paper for a long time.
He did not want to part from Briony.
But to protect her, he had no other choice.
