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Chapter 2
What Kind of Person Are You?
Grace quickly walked down the stairs.
When she entered the drawing room, she saw her father sitting in a chair, drinking tea.
His large build, straight posture, and neatly groomed beard showed a strict and rigid personality without any gaps. Anyone could tell at a glance.
Edward Broyton—he was not an easy man.
His expressionless face, where not even a trace of emotion could be read, turned toward Grace.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
“Yes. I have something to say.”
“You saw the newspaper, I assume?”
“Are you talking about the marriage?”
“Yes.”
Her father was not a man of strong emotions.
He was someone who never showed what he felt, someone who spoke about even his daughter’s marriage without any feeling.
“Why didn’t you tell me in advance? This is my marriage. How does it make sense that I didn’t even know?”
“If you had shown your face in society earlier, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Society—one of the things Grace hated the most.
“At the very least, shouldn’t marriage be based on love?”
“Love?”
Her father let out a dry laugh, as if the air had escaped him.
It was the first emotion he had shown—genuine disbelief.
“What a childish thing to say. That is not important.”
“Then what do you think is important in marriage?”
“Your value—and how that value is calculated.”
“So in the end, you mean money.”
“Don’t speak so carelessly.”
The Broyton family was a noble house that was gradually declining.
Her parents only maintained a formal marriage, and both had separate lovers.
Their indulgence and luxury grew day by day, and endless spending brought even a once-eternal count’s house to ruin.
On the other hand, the Turner family had no title, but possessed enormous wealth.
They monopolized the nation’s railway business and expanded into real estate and resort development. Starting from railways, their connected industries built astronomical wealth.
There was a reason they were called the “Railway King.”
And the only thing the Turner family lacked was a title.
One side wanted money. The other wanted a title.
It was a perfectly aligned marriage of interests.
Ridiculously, the only one excluded from that agreement was Grace herself.
Her father lifted his teacup and took a sip of black tea.
It was an elegant movement.
Seeing his calm attitude, Grace felt her insides boil.
“This kind of marriage makes no sense!”
“Do not act rashly. The only reason someone like you can marry at all is because you are the daughter of a count.”
“Someone like me? Who do you think is the only one in this house earning that ‘important money’?!”
“Live in a way befitting a noble family. Stop doing useless things.”
For nobles, economic activity was taboo.
They considered labor disgraceful, even the work needed for survival.
The only acceptable income for nobles was unearned income like real estate and investments.
This was another thing Grace hated.
“I am simply working honestly!”
Grace shouted, but her father gave no reply.
After finishing his tea, he stood up.
“Where are you going? We’re not done talking yet!”
“I don’t have time to listen to your foolish talk. If you have any sense, think about appearing in society before the wedding.”
“That marriage is—!”
Her father took an envelope out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor.
Grace frowned.
“If you are so curious about your husband, check it yourself.”
His footsteps echoed as he walked away, and his straight figure disappeared beyond the door.
Breathing heavily, Grace glared at the envelope on the floor.
As Filson approached to pick it up, she reached out to stop him.
“Filson, I’ll get it. It’s fine.”
The small envelope was the only thing she gained from that conversation.
She steadied herself and returned to her study.
On the small table beside the armchair, there was tea and biscuits.
Only then did she realize she hadn’t eaten lunch yet.
Sitting down, she took a sip of tea.
The fragrant scent helped calm her mind.
Taking a bite of a biscuit, she carefully examined the envelope.
It was fairly thick.
On the red sealing wax was the letter “T,” the symbol of the Turner family.
On the front, it read:
“To Miss Grace Broyton. From Aiden.”
The handwriting was elegant.
Well… at least the handwriting passes.
Grace traced the letters with her finger.
Even she, who avoided society, had heard the name Aiden many times.
The eldest son of a powerful wealthy family without a title.
A man with a bold personality and outstanding looks.
The heir to the Railway King.
A perfect match anyone in society would dream of.
A person completely incompatible with someone like her—who stayed at home every day, quietly writing.
Grace opened the sealed envelope with a knife.
She expected only a photograph, but inside was a letter.
With slight suspicion, she unfolded it.
“To Miss Grace Broyton.
Grace, this is my first letter to you since our marriage was decided.
The air of May is growing warmer. The flowers that bloomed under spring sunlight are falling, and green leaves are welcoming early summer.
By the time the greenery becomes full, we will be holding our wedding.
By the time you read this, our marriage will already be official.
I thought this process might surprise you, so I am writing this letter.
Perhaps you are worried.
But I want to tell you to put aside your worries.
I will make this marriage perfect.
This marriage will receive God’s blessing, be carried out with the support of our families, and be completed under the declaration of a bishop.
Every step will proceed without flaw.
And I will personally see that everything is perfect.
Of course, together with you by my side.
Please trust me.
Believe in our future.
May God’s grace always be with you.
—Aiden.”**
The hand holding the letter tightened.
Grace bit her lip so hard that her chin trembled.
What is this arrogant letter?
How can he say he will make everything perfect when the bride and groom haven’t even met?
What is he so confident about?
Other than the neat handwriting, there was nothing she liked.
He’s marrying for a title, and yet he dares to talk about trust?
Grace suddenly stood up and moved to her desk.
She pulled out paper and grabbed her fountain pen.
Without hesitation, she dipped the pen in ink and began writing.
Compared to Aiden’s neat handwriting, her writing was wild and free.
“To Mr. Aiden Turner,
Thank you for worrying about me and even sending a letter.
You seem like a kind person. Your neat handwriting must reflect your character.
When early summer comes, our wedding will approach.
Though I do not even know the date, I look forward to that day.
A wedding unknown even to the bride, and a groom whose face I have never seen—
no matter what happens, nothing could be more surprising than this.
I will probably wait for the wedding like a child waiting for her birthday.
However, since I do not know the date, I cannot even count the days.
What color are your eyes?
What color is your hair?
How am I supposed to trust a husband whose face I do not even know?
I believe that what matters in marriage is sincerity and noble love.
What can be found in this marriage?
What will our marriage be the result of?
Thank you for your kind letter, but I am still confused about everything.
In this situation, like the eye of a storm, the only thing I can rely on is myself.
Sincerely,
Grace.”**
After quickly writing the letter, Grace waited for the ink to dry.
She took out an envelope and sealing wax.
She folded the letter twice, placed it inside, melted the wax over a candle, and sealed it.
Then she stamped it with the “B” of the Broyton family.
On the front, she wrote:
“To Mr. Aiden Turner, from Grace.”
She wondered how to deliver the letter to a fiancé she had never even met.
In the end, she decided to entrust it to Filson.
He would find a way.
Throwing the letter onto the messy desk, she leaned back in her chair.
It was a posture that would horrify May, who always scolded her about elegance—but she didn’t care.
“Marriage… this makes no sense…”
A quiet groan escaped her lips.
Grace was twenty-three years old.
It was a bit late to be without even an engagement, but not so late that she had to be married off like clearance goods.
It wasn’t that she had no thoughts about marriage.
She simply wanted to meet naturally, fall in love, and promise a future.
She wanted to avoid this kind of marriage at all costs.
Her gaze drifted, then landed on the letter on the desk.
She had written more honestly than expected—and left some things unsaid.
The questions that couldn’t become words rose inside her.
What kind of person are you, Aiden?
I want to see your true eyes, not your reputation.
What color are your eyes? What color is your hair?
I see the world with emerald eyes and greet it with platinum-blonde hair.
Aren’t you curious about me?
I am curious about you.
Your thoughts, your beliefs, your heart… I want to know them.
Are you satisfied with this kind of marriage?
What will our marriage become?
I want to believe in the power of love…
Do you believe in love?
