The End of the Special Contract Romance (5)
Iris couldn’t bring herself to accept it right away, so she denied it without thinking.
“Why are you so certain? It could just be simple human fondness, or maybe because you see him as a close friend.”
“Miss, there isn’t a soul in this world whose heart races just from thinking of a friend.”
“…”
“You don’t mull over a friend without reason, or feel needlessly hurt by some imagined slight over nothing at all. Has that ever happened with any of your friends, Miss?”
It hadn’t. Not even with the handful of male friends Iris could count on one hand.
“…But when I’m with him, surprising things happen. It could be that my heart races from the fear or the fluster I feel in those moments.”
Still unable to embrace Mila’s view, Iris countered desperately, like a last-ditch effort. After all, her heart might have been thrown into disarray from the shock of tumbling down that ladder.
Mila pondered the words for a moment before shaking her head.
“Then it would be trauma making your heart pound when you recall that time or face something similar. Not just from the mere thought of him alone.”
“…”
“It seems your friend has a crush on him, after all.”
Mila drove the point home with a kind, oblivious smile. Iris, utterly at a loss for words, clamped her mouth shut.
That night, Iris lay awake the entire time, her thoughts consumed by Eric from dusk until dawn.
From their first meeting, when Madam Kelly had introduced him as a promising young scholar with an impeccable reputation; to the moment she proposed their contract romance; to the time they attended the theater together; to showing up as her partner at parties; to the way he had comforted her in her moments of distress…
As she revisited every instance, a sudden realization struck Iris. She had believed they’d kept clear boundaries during their contractual courtship, but unbeknownst to her, she had seeped deeply into his life—and he into hers.
The past two years weren’t entirely filled with Eric, but without his presence, the voids would have been vast indeed.
Like the hem of a dress slowly soaking through in a gentle drizzle, his existence had quietly permeated her, settling into the very core of who she was.
‘I… I’ve fallen for Viscount Roberts.’
As dawn broke, Iris finally admitted it to herself.
No one—man or woman—could resist losing their heart to someone who extended a hand whenever needed and always knew just what to say.
Iris Hugo was in love with Eric Roberts.
Not mere fondness, but a clear, romantic affection between two souls.
* * *
She had thought acknowledging her feelings would bring relief, but reality proved otherwise.
Iris carried an inexplicable unease through her days. It felt as if a heavy stone weighed upon her chest, a stifling oppression she couldn’t shake.
Why on earth was this happening?
Was it the continued silence from Eric? Or the sinking dread that she alone had grown sincere in their pretend romance?
She couldn’t pin it down herself, which only deepened her frustration. Yet even in the midst of it all, Iris tackled her assigned duties with steady resolve.
Work had to be done, no matter how hard things got.
“Iris, the aide can’t stop singing your praises. He says you’re not only clever but diligent to a fault—truly remarkable.”
Marquis Hugo beamed with pride at his daughter, whose talents shone brighter with each passing day. His gaze upon her brimmed with admiration.
For a fleeting moment, it allowed Iris to bury her tangled emotions and bask in unadulterated joy.
But the respite didn’t last.
“I’d be over the moon if our son turned out to be even half as capable as his big sister one day. Wouldn’t that be something? Ha ha ha!”
Iris’s expression darkened as she watched her father laugh with his usual hearty gusto.
Satisfaction from mere recognition was no longer enough. With that acknowledgment came a budding greed, a hunger to grasp something tangible in return.
Oblivious to his daughter’s inner turmoil, the marquis patted her shoulder reassuringly.
“Bear with it just a little longer, Iris. My hand’s getting better by the day, so I should be able to pull you out of this work hell before long.”
“…Really?”
Her heart plummeted at his words. She had only just discovered work that suited her perfectly, and now she faced the prospect of surrendering it all.
She had no desire to return to that old life of reading books, stitching embroidery, and attending social gatherings.
“Of course! As a reward for all your hard work, I’ll grant you anything your heart desires—so think of something you’d like.”
The marquis pledged boldly. Iris’s eyes gleamed with sudden intent, and she spoke up impulsively.
“Father, then… what if I were to forgo marriage and…”
…stay with the family, contributing my work instead? That’s what she meant to ask. But her father’s response came a beat faster.
“Marriage? Funny you should mention it—May’s been bringing it up more and more lately. She teared up when we sent Ari off, and if I had to do the same with you, Iris, I don’t know how I’d bear it.”
“Father, I…”
“But these are my feelings to sort out, so don’t mind me—marry whenever you’re ready. I’ve got your mother and Adrian to keep me company.”
Faced with a father willing to steel himself for her sake, Iris couldn’t bring herself to voice her reluctance to wed. She trudged out of the study in a daze.
She longed to retreat to her room and soothe her churning thoughts in solitude, but fate had other plans: she ran straight into the marchioness in the corridor.
“Oh, Iris! There you are!”
“…Ah, Mother. Were you looking for me?”
Seeing her mother stride toward her purposefully, Iris schooled her gloomy features and mustered a faint, habitual smile.
“Yes, there’s something I need to discuss with my daughter.”
“What is it…?”
A vague sense of foreboding gripped Iris, putting her on edge. She wanted to clamp a hand over her mother’s mouth and stave off whatever came next, but the marchioness pressed on regardless.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and what if you married Viscount Roberts by the end of the year?”
“…Out of nowhere like that?”
Iris’s face stiffened instantly. Unaware of the shift, the marchioness gave her daughter’s shoulder a gentle, encouraging pat.
“You two have been courting for a full two years now! If you keep putting off marriage and let the years slip by, you’ll be the one who suffers most as a woman!”
In her mind, it was the right thing—hastening her daughter into a proper union for her own good. Iris’s thoughts spun in dizzying chaos, grasping for words to fend her off.
“And the other day, I spoke with Countess Roberts myself—they’re quite favorable to the idea of a marriage.”
As Iris hesitated, tongue-tied, the marchioness barreled ahead without pause.
The revelation that their mothers had already broached the topic, even loosely, drained the color from Iris’s face. She had only just come to terms with her feelings for Eric—marriage talk felt like it was hurtling forward at a terrifying pace.
“But…”
“Oh, come on, is it because Aracila rushed into marriage so hastily? Preparing from now until year’s end feels plenty generous, doesn’t it?”
The faint resistance was crushed without mercy. The Marchioness placed a hand on her cheek and beamed with delight.
“I can’t wait, Iris. Just imagining our daughter as a radiant new bride—how breathtaking she’ll be.”
“…”
“Let’s have a proper talk with young Roberts first, then arrange a family gathering.”
Iris’s lips parted as if to speak, but no real response came. Mistaking it for bashful reticence, the Marchioness shook her head with a fond, teasing exasperation.
“You two are so pure-hearted, like children. If we don’t nudge you along, you’d move at a turtle’s pace. So please, listen to your mother—talk to Eric. All right? And then come tell me all about it.”
With that, the Marchioness let out a merry chuckle and drifted away. Iris stood frozen in place like a statue, rooted to the spot.
How long she lingered there, she couldn’t say, when someone gently tapped her shoulder.
“Sis, you okay…?”
She turned to find Adrian standing there, his face etched with worry, as if he’d appeared out of nowhere.
Determined not to show weakness to her little brother, Iris quickly smoothed her expression into one of calm composure.
“Yes, Adrian. I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Of course, really.”
Iris even flashed him a bright smile before affectionately ruffling his hair and stepping away.
Only once she’d retreated to her room did her strength finally ebb. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap. The marriage she’d put off and pushed away for so long had at last descended upon her, unyielding, and a whirlwind of emotions churned within.
It’s true that I like Eric Roberts… But could we really make a life together after marriage?
Doubts crowded her mind, leaving her uncertain, and Iris hugged her knees to her chest, curling in on herself.
She couldn’t very well pour out these feelings to Eric himself, and in that moment, she longed for anyone—anyone at all—to lend an ear to the quiet cries of her heart.
* * *
The welcome guest arrived at the Marquis Hugo estate on a weekend morning.
It was Aracila, back from her honeymoon and paying a heavy-handed visit to her family home, arms laden with gifts. She swept her tail-wagging little sister into a hug, then passed out specialty chocolates from the Kingdom of Roshan to the family.
The Marquis fussed that it was a shame to devour the treasures their daughter had brought, while the Marchioness inquired with warm interest about her trip.
“Dad, it’s fine—just eat them. I can always buy more next time. And the honeymoon went wonderfully. Damian was supposed to come with me today, but something came up with the knight’s order, so he couldn’t.”
“What a pity. I was looking forward to seeing my son-in-law after so long…”
Adrian, who had already unwrapped and popped a chocolate into his mouth, pulled a long face. Iris laughed and pinched his cheek hard.
“Ow!”
“Hey, Ad, don’t you look so glum. Were you not looking forward to seeing your big sis?”
“Of course I was. Ugh, that hurts.”
“Now, now. You’ll be starting at the academy next year—can’t be such a baby about it.”
Even as she teased, Aracila eased the pressure from her fingers. Adrian, his brows drooping pitifully, rubbed at his freed cheek.
“Oh dear, come to think of it—next year, this house will be empty as a tomb.”
The Marchioness remarked suddenly, mid-sip of her tea. Aracila tilted her head in confusion.
“Why empty?”
“Well, as you said, Adrian will be off to the academy, and Iris will be married. All our children flying the nest, just like that.”
“…Iris is getting married?”
Aracila’s eyes widened round as saucers; she’d never heard a whisper of this. A sudden pang of emptiness tugged at her, and only then did she realize Iris wasn’t there. She pressed on.
“But where is she?”
“She’s come down with a bit of a fever and is resting in her room.”
“Did she catch a cold?”
“No, not quite. She’s been helping your father with his work lately and overdid it, it seems. Probably just a low-grade fever from the stress.”
“Iris helping Dad with his work…?”
The more she heard, the more it all sounded like news from another world, leaving Aracila utterly bewildered.
After a moment to collect her thoughts, she raised her hand.
“I’ll go see her, then.”
“Go on. But don’t fuss over her too much.”
“Got it.”
Rising from her seat, Aracila bounded up the stairs without hesitation, making straight for her sister’s room.
She knocked and waited a beat, and soon Mila opened the door, stepping out to give them privacy. Iris, looking noticeably gaunt and worn, sat propped up in bed and greeted her sister with a faint smile.
“Aracila, you’re here. Sorry I couldn’t come out to see you.”
“No, Iris. Are you feeling all right?”
“Mmm, it’s nothing—just a little fever. I’m fine, so come sit over here.”
Iris gestured to the chair beside the bed. Aracila settled into it and stared openly at her sister, whose hollowed eyes and pallid face told a story of deep fatigue, before finally asking.
“Iris, have you been worrying yourself sick?”
“…Huh? What’s that out of the blue?”
Iris let out an awkward laugh, feigning nonchalance. Aracila crossed her arms, her expression turning stern as she narrowed her eyes.
“You pushed yourself helping Dad and ended up like this. If you didn’t want to, why force it…?”
“That’s absolutely not it.”
Iris’s brows furrowed in a rare show of resolve, her voice firm and edged with something sharper. She even seemed faintly annoyed, which caught Aracila off guard.
For a noble lady like Iris, raised on etiquette and refinement, her father’s duties must have been an overwhelming burden, no doubt. Yet there was no trace of that strain in her sister’s demeanor now.
This isn’t what’s troubling her, then.
Hmm, so if that’s not the cause…
There was only one possibility left.
