Chapter 5
The two confessed their feelings, became lovers, and lived happily ever after.
That was how most of the fairy tales she’d read as a child ended. Of course, if anything was missing, it would be the wedding of the protagonists.
But Jane was more than satisfied with how things stood now. Wedding or not, this was her happy ending.
After their feelings had finally aligned, the first person Jane went to see was Bianca.
Bianca, who had endured a full week of their representative’s disappearance, had been about to fling herself at Jane—only to freeze at the sight of the striking man beside her. Then her gaze caught the faint kiss mark lingering at Jane’s neck, and she let out a silent cry.
‘So it finally happened…! Our boss devoured him!’
Everyone close to Jane had known about her one-sided love. They had simply agreed—without ever saying it outright—not to tell her that it was one-sided. And yet, if she ever realized her feelings on her own and things worked out with the young lord, none of them had intended to stand in the way. At the end of the day, they all wanted their lady to be happy.
Camilla and Glen might not have been particularly fond of Ruelne, but Bianca, over time, had come to view the young lord favorably.
So when Jane stood before her, now a lover and even speaking of an engagement ceremony, Bianca merely nodded.
‘It’s about time our boss moved on to this stage of life.’
Jane looked happier than she had at any point in the past ten years. That alone was enough.
After that, Jane went everywhere with Ruelne.
“……A picnic was your wish?”
“Yes, Jane. I never properly went on one as a child….”
It was usually like that.
Even after becoming lovers, Jane was not someone who frequently went out or sought amusement. So Ruelne would quietly confess, one by one, the small things he’d always wanted to try.
Jane, too, had spent her entire twenties working. Aside from a few occasions with family, there were many things she had never experienced. To do them now with the man she loved filled her with quiet joy.
So she went on a picnic to Etella Lake Park, said to be the most popular destination for couples.
She attended a charity event hosted by Camilla at his side.
They visited an art gallery, stood before the latest work by “Kaye,” and debated it with infectious enthusiasm for hours.
At times, they went to garden parties or evening banquets.
Whenever they did, Jane used the false identity she had crafted. Ruelne never minded. He simply told her to do whatever she wished.
At the same time, Jane knew. Ruelne was one of the most talked-about men in the capital. If she continued to appear at his side, her fabricated identity would eventually unravel—and her true identity would come to light as well.
She found she didn’t particularly care.
‘It’ll come out soon enough that I was his patron anyway. Better to carry the name Shirley than hide behind some nameless young lady or businesswoman.’
She would be lying if she said there wasn’t calculation in that thought. Even if people cursed her, they would at least do so more carefully.
As expected, rumors began to circulate.
The aloof Scharnhost heir, once likened to a flower blooming on a cliff, had taken an older lover.
And when it became known that Ruelne was from Kademel, the addition of an older lover made the gossip inevitable—and ugly.
“So even the noble Scharnhost heir is the same as any other in the end.”
“Well, of course. He had no money back then, did he? Perhaps he was being sponsored. Or maybe… something dirtier?”
“Oh my, what fault does the young lord have? Isn’t it the woman who behaved loosely?”
Contrary to Jane’s expectations, her identity did not spread easily. Kademel, wary of incurring the wrath of House Shirley, refrained from naming the family that had supported the Scharnhost heir. And Glen, her capable lawyer, had crafted her false identity with such meticulous care that it proved difficult to unravel.
As a result, the rumors surrounding the two only worsened with time.
‘I knew this would happen.’
One day, at a banquet, Jane felt the pointed whispers and frowned.
It was a gathering hosted by a noblewoman celebrating her birthday—she had invited Ruelne personally. By unfortunate timing, Ruelne had stepped away to fetch her a drink after she mentioned her throat felt dry. Strangely enough, no one dared gossip when he was present. But left alone, Jane found herself under naked stares that made no attempt to hide their contempt.
Among them were nobles who had long grumbled that their dignity had been stolen by a mere painter when the Marchioness of Seymour’s marriage ceased to be the scandal of the season and withered like a fading flower. Having found a new target, they seemed to bombard Jane with relentless insults. It helped, too, that none of them knew who she truly was.
But not everyone reacted negatively.
Though Jane rarely engaged in social activities, she had once attended a reading club under her false identity. It had been some time ago, but for several years—during a period when she’d been thoroughly absorbed in it—she had been an active member.
At this banquet were several of the young ladies from that club, along with married women, young female entrepreneurs, lawyers—women of various professions.
“Jane, it’s been so long!”
Jane remembered that she had used her real name at the reading club—it was common enough. Despite the time that had passed, they greeted her warmly.
“When our club’s benefactor suddenly stopped showing up, you have no idea how worried we were.”
“That’s right! You paid the venue fees and even provided materials every month so we could continue—how could you just disappear like that?”
Only then did Jane recall something else. So immersed had she been in the club that she had Bianca arrange several years’ worth of rental payments for the venue and stock it with books. She had even instructed that new books be purchased monthly—something she herself had momentarily forgotten.
Now she understood the source of their boundless affection and concern, and a soft laugh escaped her.
Their playful teasing was neither malicious nor unwelcome. If anything, it made her grateful.
As they exchanged pleasantries, one young lady and a businesswoman shared a glance.
“Jane, please don’t pay attention to what those people are saying.”
“That’s right. They’re just jealous, aren’t they?”
Jane’s eyes widened slightly. She had grown accustomed to overhearing whispers, pretending not to care while caring very much. This was the first time someone had said such things openly.
“Everyone had their eyes on the seat beside the Scharnhost heir. Who would’ve guessed the rumored bride would be you?”
“You two look wonderful together! Especially him—he’s absolutely smitten. It reminded me of the first time my husband saw me. Though in his case, he was an utterly ugly fool.”
One noblewoman burst into hearty laughter, entirely unladylike.
“Jane, shall I tell you something amusing?”
“Yes?”
“Those people over there? Let’s just call them old relic nobles. It’s less tiresome that way.”
She leaned in and whispered.
“They bring up the Marchioness of Seymour every time and act as if older-woman–younger-man couples or female patrons are something scandalous. Look at them even now.”
“…….”
“So what if they do? I married my husband who’s five years younger than me, and we’re perfectly happy. I happened to see the Marchioness of Seymour recently, you know?”
Not just Jane, but the other women leaned in eagerly.
“Oh? And how is she?”
“My goodness—her skin! Her skin looked incredible. Do you think that’s just money?”
“Oh my.”
“That’s what happens when you live happily with the man you love.”
Giggles erupted.
“Exactly! Who even criticizes age gaps these days? It’s their choice. Like you said—relics.”
“They’re just bitter because they ended up in marriages they never wanted.”
“Better to date freely and marry someone you love than be miserable even after marrying.”
The woman speaking winked playfully at Jane.
“And if you’re wealthy on top of that? Isn’t living happily the best outcome of all?”
Most of the women in the reading club were content in this new era of free love. The old-guard nobles didn’t merely criticize female patrons—they disparaged professional women, business owners, even fellow noblewomen who refused to behave as expected.
Their anger was justified.
“Perhaps that heiress of House Shirley is living quite happily herself, sponsoring someone and enjoying life.”
“Oh, at her level? She could openly keep several lovers.”
“I think one would be enough for me. As long as he’s absolutely perfect.”
Jane had to swallow back a cough.
It was difficult to keep a straight face while hearing herself discussed so brazenly—especially when it was these women, who had just defended her, doing the talking.
She admitted she had been too trapped in her own prejudice. Or perhaps she had simply been too afraid. The world had changed. There were people—like the women before her—who thought this way.
Maybe I should start attending the club again—
“Jane Shirley!”
A voice she should not have been hearing here. A voice she was not prepared to face.
It rang out sharp with fury—familiar, and deeply unpleasant.
Jane turned.
A slickly handsome man in shabby clothes stood there.
Marcus Karoman—once her fiancé.
Marcus Karoman felt wronged. Utterly, profoundly wronged.
‘Damn it—I could’ve had it all!’
How elated he had been when he discovered, among the belongings left behind by his incompetent, foolish grandfather, a certificate that was nothing short of treasure. He had gone straight away, and when he saw a woman who looked exactly like the portrait, his heart had surged with exhilaration.
“So you are the heiress of House Shirley! My, how beautiful you are…!”
She had unusual pink eyes. Though she appeared modest and almost plain at first glance, the more one looked, the more inexplicably captivating she became. Even the way she lowered her clear eyes at him with faint disdain had pleased him. And though her clothes concealed it, Marcus—well-versed in debauchery—could tell at once: beneath that fabric was a lush, voluptuous body.
She had accepted their engagement. At the time, Marcus himself hadn’t understood why it had been agreed to—but what did it matter? Spellbound by her faintly mocking smile, he had even handed over the original portrait. That he had failed to make a copy—that he had so foolishly surrendered the original—remained his greatest regret.
After that, he tried—truly tried—to be a devoted fiancé. Yet she was like a woman carved from stone. His appearance, which had drawn attention everywhere else, meant nothing to her. She seemed irritated whenever he visited.
“Marital duties can wait until after the wedding.”
And worst of all, she would not give him the body he had most anticipated. Enraged, he began seeking her out elsewhere. Unlike his old-fashioned hometown, the capital overflowed with spectacles—and women. He indulged himself in decadent masquerade balls. House Shirley even provided him with funds to maintain his “dignity,” and he squandered the money lavishly, unaware that every expenditure was being quietly recorded in ledgers.
He felt deeply wronged about the affair and the two-timing that had led to their broken engagement.
What was he supposed to do when that bitch—married, no less—wagged her tail at him and spread her legs? Wasn’t it only natural, as a man, to take what was offered? Sometimes he longed for the old days. Back then, if you forced yourself upon a noble lady, you could end up married and rise in status.
And now? Now he found himself groveling beneath a woman who strutted about with her wealth, trying to secure marriage. The humiliation burned in his chest, driving him to greater excess. At times, Jane Shirley’s mocking face surfaced in his mind, and his tastes grew fouler by the day.
Then everything collapsed.
Despite begging Jane in desperation, he was cast aside. His life plummeted.
He was wronged. Wronged, wronged beyond measure…!
It was all because of that woman who had refused to sleep with him—Jane Shirley. If she had been faithful to her fiancé from the start, he would never have strayed, never fallen.
That was when someone approached him. A man claiming to be affiliated with House Scharnhost said a wicked woman had attached herself to his precious relative, the Scharnhost heir. Having seen Marcus’s skill at charming women at masquerades, he had a proposal—and offered a substantial sum.
Marcus, who prided himself on his expertise in seduction, had no reason to refuse. And when he went to see for himself—what luck! The woman at the Scharnhost heir’s side was none other than Jane Shirley, who had broken off her engagement with him.
With a hefty advance already in hand, he decided he would thoroughly humiliate her before leaving the capital.
He dressed himself to perfection. The finer he looked, the more people would listen.
At last, the moment of revenge had arrived.
Jane stared at Marcus Karoman in shock.
‘What happened to him?’
She had received occasional reports about him. The last she’d heard, he had been clinging to noblewomen or attempting to become a kept man, only to be cast out. Yet the figure before her looked little better than a ragged drunk.
“Well, if it isn’t my lovely and proud former lover. My former fiancée.”
He had already shouted her name, drawing every eye in the room. Even the women from her reading club were staring at her in disbelief.
Jane raised a brow.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Do you know who this woman standing before you is?”
If Jane had possessed any means to silence him, she would have used it immediately. But Karoman was faster.
“She is the heiress of House Shirley—Jane Shirley. The famous woman whose name was never even publicly known!”
He grinned viciously. The murmurs began to spread through the hall in an instant. Jane had always known her identity would one day be revealed—whether exposed or by her own admission. But not like this.
“And is that all? This woman is a witch who ensnared the innocent Scharnhost heir. Everyone here surely understands what it means when a woman sponsors a man younger than herself.”
His voice turned oily. Some frowned in displeasure; many more listened despite themselves.
“How dare you behave so rudely? Guards! Where are the guards? Remove this insolent man at once!”
One of the women from the club stepped forward, unable to bear it any longer. Marcus paid her no mind.
“Oh, my lady. There’s no need for that. Once this righteous revelation is complete, I shall take my leave. After recounting the depravity of this woman—who is no better than a pervert! She sponsored a man seven years her junior, and now shamelessly parades before you as his lover. Aren’t you curious about the secret process behind this result? What, I wonder, did she force upon that innocent young lord?”
Marcus spoke quickly, choosing only the most provocative words to stoke interest. Jane knew she had to stop that damned mouth—yet she stood rigid.
Because his words pointed directly at the scenario she had feared most in secret.
“Of course, the naïve young lord who couldn’t even tell what kind of woman she was and fell headlong for her shares some blame. But what can you do? By imperial law, a lord is not a duke… and when the woman is wealthier and older than you, you bow your head—ghk!”
Marcus Karoman pitched forward in an undignified sprawl. An elegant leg came down over him without mercy.
“Kh—kgh, cough! What is the meaning of this… my lord?”
The one who had kicked Marcus aside was Ruelne, a wineglass still in hand. With cold eyes, he ground his heel into the man’s back and calmly poured the wine over him.
“Agh! Wh-what do you think you’re doing!”
“Some vermin is yapping.”
Ruelne’s face had gone frighteningly still. Marcus felt a chill crawl down his spine. He had trained as a knight. He was broad-shouldered, solidly built. And yet—
‘I can’t move…!’
Where on earth had he stepped? His body wouldn’t budge an inch.
A glove dropped onto his head with a soft thud. Ruelne had thrown it.
“For the crime of insulting my only benefactor and my fiancée, I stake all my honor and fortune to challenge you to a duel.”
His icy voice made everyone watching flinch.
A duel—an almost obsolete tradition, fading with the old era. And yet no one could refute him.
No one except Marcus.
“D-did I say anything wrong?!”
The one who had put him up to this had told him so: if he knew Jane, even better. Humiliate the woman and trample Ruelne’s honor. It had been the request of a distant relative who had once blinded Ruelne with false kindness.
“You’re merely a lord who failed to formally inherit the ducal title! You needed wealth to rebuild your house and receive the Emperor’s recognition! So you latched onto a rich woman to save your family and line your pockets, didn’t you? Otherwise, why would a man like you be with an older, ugly— Aaaagh!”
“Duel or no duel, I should cut out your tongue first.”
Ruelne clicked his tongue in annoyance.
He swept his gaze across the room. Those who met his eyes flinched and quickly looked away—but the contempt lingering there was clear. Contempt aimed at him meant nothing.
But if it was aimed at Jane, that was different.
‘She’s the type to take this kind of talk to heart as it is.’
Irritation surged.
The wedding was practically at hand. He stood on the brink of achieving his goal—and now some crawling insect dared interfere with his plans.
Worse, if he dealt with this bastard here and now, the rumors would cling to her like filthy tar, haunting her long after.
Ruelne glanced at Jane.
Their eyes met. She had been staring at Marcus; now she slowly lowered her gaze. As if apologizing to him.
Still… she looked less shaken than he had feared. He had rushed over half-expecting to find her in tears.
A quiet laugh curled inside him. She always had a way of surprising him.
Maybe that was why he had fallen.
He slipped a hand inside his coat. He hadn’t expected this situation exactly, but moving through crowded gatherings like this, he had prepared—just in case. In case someone, out of amusement, jealousy, or sheer malice, chose to insult her.
He had been waiting for that moment.
For something people could never nitpick again.
Something dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
“From the start, I had no need of the Shirley family’s support. I was already a duke.”
On the ground lay a certificate bearing the Emperor’s seal.
“I began courting my fiancée after I became a duke. And even if I had reclaimed my position with her help—if I am satisfied, who dares call it an insult?”
Ruelne’s lips slowly curved upward.
“Fortunately, there’s an excellent law granting a duke the right to execute anyone who insults him—without consequence.”
An ancient statute, forged in the era when nobles could swat down even birds mid-flight. Though archaic, it had never been repealed. After all, only one ducal house remained: Scharnhost.
The nobles lowered their eyes.
“My fiancée, Miss Shirley, saved my life and helped me reclaim my rightful place. She is my precious benefactor. This works out nicely.”
“Aaaagh!”
Without the slightest change in expression, Ruelne pressed his foot more firmly against Macas Caroman’s neck and lifted his chin. No one dared speak against such elegant brutality.
“Let this serve as a warning. From this moment forward, anyone who insults my fiancée will be punished—using every authority granted to Scharnhost.”
It might have been dismissed as youthful arrogance.
But once they understood that he meant it—truly meant it—no one dared wag their tongues.
Ruelne knew they wouldn’t. He had expected as much.
Then, at last, Jane—silent until now—spoke.
“And since it’s come to this, I may as well add one more thing.”
Ruelne turned. She was smiling quietly.
Was she angry? It was hard to tell. Something simmered beneath that calm expression.
A flicker of unease passed through him.
After today, she would fully understand the sort of whispers that followed him. True, with his title publicly restored, no one would dare insult her so openly again—but relics of the old nobility did not shed their outdated thinking so easily. There would be more talk. In shadows.
Could this make her reconsider me?
‘If that’s the case, I…’
Just as his vision threatened to darken, Jane spoke.
“From now on, anyone who lets their tongue run wild will learn exactly how capable a Shirley lawyer can be.”
Her tone was calm.
Its meaning was unmistakable.
“Fortunately, even if I sue every single person here, I can afford to pay my lawyers as much as they please until the day I die.”
She would use the Shirley fortune to hound them to the bitter end.
Every aristocrat present had some revenue stream—a business, a mine, something. And a Shirley could crush any of them with money alone.
The only strange thing was that she had lived so quietly until now.
In an era where capital was beginning to swallow the world, there was no one more suited to make such a declaration than the heiress of the Shirley family.
Only then did everyone understand just whom Marcus Caroman had dared to provoke.
He had picked a fight with both pillars of the Empire’s elite—the ruling nobility, and the gentry whose wealth might rival even the imperial family.
The spectators felt as though they had woken from a dream.
And they carved the couple’s warning deep into memory.
No one would recklessly wag their tongue like that fool again.
Not if they valued their lives—and their futures.
“One more thing.”
A knight came running from afar. The nobles tensed at the sight of the Scharnhost crest on his armor. When had the ducal house regained such firm footing?
“As for my fiancée—I was the one who begged her to meet me first. I’d appreciate it if everyone here remembers that.”
He smiled angelically.
Then, pressing down lightly on Marcus’s foot as the knights hauled him upright, Ruelne thought coldly: there would be no mercy for a man who dared attack his woman with a filthy tongue.
This one would never see the light again.
“That’s all right with you, my lady?”
Jane’s eyes widened.
Then she smiled—a little playfully.
“Of course, my dear.”
And in that moment, Ruelne understood.
All that time he had run—
It had been for this.
On the way back.
In the end, the two of them couldn’t remain at the banquet until the end. Not because of hostile stares.
Quite the opposite.
“Good heavens, Miss Jane—y-you’re the heiress of the Shirley family?”
“No wonder you seemed so generous!”
“M-Miss Shirley! May I have a word—!”
“Do you remember? Our trading company—”
People swarmed her without pause, so she chose to leave early. Ruelne, in a similar situation, followed as if he had been waiting for the excuse.
If there was one small injustice, it was this: while people hesitated to speak to Ruelne outright, none hesitated with her.
Perhaps that was simply a matter of faces.
“Tomorrow’s papers will be full of me. And you too, Ruelne.”
“Really? That’s wonderful news.”
“What do you mean wonderful? Becoming the talk of the capital?”
“No. Being mentioned alongside you—even in the papers.”
Jane faltered.
She stopped walking. The garden leading to the main gate was quiet.
She studied the man beside her—her lover, and after tonight, officially her fiancé and future husband.
She had never imagined things would turn out like this.
She had gone along with his title earlier, but between them, marriage had never been formally discussed. More precisely, Ruelne brought it up subtly once a day, and she gently deflected each time.
Even now, some small part of her still considered his possibilities. Not that she wanted to let him go—but what if there were better options for him than her? A final shred of conscience.
‘When Marcus insulted me earlier…’
What shocked her wasn’t the severity of the insult.
At first, fear had approached exactly as she’d expected. Her body had gone rigid.
But the moment Ruelne appeared—when he denied every mockery and punished it—
The insults that followed no longer touched her.
Only then did she realize: what she had truly feared wasn’t ridicule, nor scorn, nor stares.
It was his reaction.
If he had flinched, or grown uncomfortable—if he had regretted being with her—
Nothing would have hurt more.
And the worst part?
Even if he had, she no longer trusted herself to let him go with patience like she once could.
But Ruelne hadn’t cared about the mockery at all.
That was why she felt genuine relief.
Why she trusted him.
“Maybe the world’s prejudice… was nothing after all.”
Even though she had begun speaking abruptly, Ruelne listened with obedient focus.
She liked that gaze—blind, unwavering, as though she were the most beautiful person in the world.
And she knew she always would.
She would never regret giving this man her support, her body, and now her heart.
Of that, she was certain.
“I’m older.”
“You don’t look it, but… yes? And?”
“So… anyone I date, I have to marry.”
Ruelne’s eyes widened slightly.
“But you’re young, Ruelne. You have your whole life ahead of you. Plenty of chances to meet someone.”
She took his bare hand—he had thrown his glove earlier. When had he trained with the sword? Calluses brushed her fingers.
Ruelne clasped her hand and lifted it, pressing a graceful kiss to the back. Flawless etiquette.
“If I were a commoner, perhaps. But I was raised in a rather conservative household.”
He had lost his parents young, yet he said it brazenly.
“So I decided I’d spend my life devoted to my fiancée alone.”
His gaze lowered slowly.
Gentle, yet intense.
Jane felt heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.
“Someone gave me a house, gave me money, stole my heart… and then insisted it was all just meaningless patronage.”
“…How terrible.”
She tried to sound composed, swallowing the lump in her throat. But she couldn’t hide her reddened nose and shrank slightly.
Ruelne did not allow even that small retreat.
“Yes, terrible. So I hope you’ll take responsibility for me for the rest of your life.”
He leaned down.
Their eyes met. Their noses brushed.
“In exchange, give yourself to me.”
Jane’s eyes shimmered with tears as she nodded calmly.
“All right.”
She sank into his embrace.
“But, Ruelne… there’s one thing I have to ask.”
After a moment, she peeked up at him from his arms. He thought she looked adorable but suppressed it, widening his eyes innocently.
“How did you know who I was? When we met at the briefing—you already knew.”
“Hmm, well…”
He hesitated briefly, then confessed shyly—so much so that Jane’s eyes flew wide.
“You knew it was me when I gave you the pocket watch?!”
“Yes.”
How could that be?! So he’d known all along and still pretended to fall for her clumsy act?
Ruelne hugged her tighter so she couldn’t escape.
“My eyesight was gone, so my sense of smell sharpened. Survival instinct, I suppose. I recognized it. The same scent that clung to the letters. I knew then—the person with this fragrance is the beautiful, wonderful patron who saved my life.”
“….”
“I had nothing to give. So I decided I’d give this person my entire life.”
Jane’s chest swelled.
“Ruelne… I love you.”
The words slipped out without calculation, soft and unguarded. Even she was surprised—but they were true.
After a moment of startled silence, Ruelne smiled more beautifully than anyone in the world.
“I love you too, Jane.”
In that moment, they were complete.
A firm, comforting embrace. And the precious presence she had gained in exchange for abandoning her last fragments of conscience and restraint.
For the first time, she felt utterly whole.
Their shadows overlapped.
The kiss deepened.
Meanwhile, as he held her and kissed her, he slowly opened his eyes.
His gaze, resting on his beloved patron with her eyes closed, darkened languidly.
The corner of his lips lifted.
At last.
I have you.
My lady—who always slipped just beyond my grasp.