A Definitive No

Well, this is a fine mess.

Doing my level best to look unbothered, as if nothing in the world could faze me, I raised my teacup and swallowed hard.

Of all the people she could have beaten to a pulp, it had to be that one.

I had my own reasons for finding the Valentine siblings so insufferable.

Starting with the elder of the two, Sylvia.

Things had soured between us all the way back at the academy.

Or, to be more precise, from the moment I refused to join her little clique.

She may have been only a count's daughter, but she insisted on being the very center of high society at all times—and to a woman like that, a marquis's daughter like me was nothing but a thorn in her eye.

So her plan, I suspect, had been to fold me into her circle and put me in my place from within.

Unfortunately for her, even back then I had little interest in society life.

So when I turned her down, the harassment began. Not that you could really call it harassment—mostly just being frozen out.

For someone like me, who preferred solitude and living on my own terms, it actually made it easier to focus on my studies.

So I ignored it.

Which only made the harassment worse.

Then, right after I inherited the marquisate, she abruptly changed her tune.

"Don't you think it's about time you started looking for a husband, Marquis? All the girls our age already have fiancés or at least suitors."

"I couldn't say. I don't particularly need one."

"Oh, don't be like that. As it happens, I'd be delighted to personally help you find a match."

And with that, what she thrust in front of me was none other than her own baby brother—the very potato sitting across from me now.

Jerold Valentine.

Four years my junior, and a young lord whose scandals were the talk of high society.

And she had the gall to push him at me as a husband candidate.

Her scheme is painfully transparent.

She was obviously after my title and the Zacherete fortune.

The Valentine family, Sylvia's marital home, was hardly wealthy. If her brother, who couldn't inherit his father's title, married me and took over the marquisate, the Valentines would gain access to Zacherete money and a powerful backer in a marquis house.

Which is exactly why I refused.

But these two simply did not know the meaning of the word.

Not only Sylvia—Jerold himself, I'd heard on more than one occasion, was going around blabbing that he was practically my lover already.

On top of that, he kept sending me absurd love letters, and every time our paths happened to cross, he would doggedly pester me. I was reaching my limit, truth be told.

And then she went and knocked him flat. Thoroughly.

Honestly? A small part of me found it deeply satisfying.

"I am furious! To ruin such a handsome face like this—I won't claim he's some peerless beauty, but he has a face that never loses to anyone, anywhere, and look what's become of it!"

Sylvia shrieked, on the verge of swooning where she sat.

I turned my gaze to the young lord beside her, still growling with indignation.

Was it because I'd recently taken in a man who was practically an angel?

That's... handsome?

I could not, in good conscience, call that face handsome, even if I greased my tongue before saying it.

Of course, I knew I was hardly qualified to judge appearances. Still.

He was a good handspan shorter than me, and roughly three times my width. The kind of build that seemed like it would simply roll away if a strong breeze caught him.

And his face was utterly overflowing with mischief.

That's not even the half of it. The man's notorious for his womanizing, and rumors say he's drowning in drink and gambling debts besides. Does he seriously not know?

As you can see, there were a great many reasons this match was impossible—but the biggest one was something else entirely.

The simple fact that he was Sylvia Valentine's brother.

"Haaah. Erna, let's drop the formalities."

Sylvia, who had been huffing and puffing, took a long, deliberate breath and continued in a voice she apparently thought was gentle.

"I know Jerold isn't exactly to your taste. But that's no excuse for treating a person this way. And as I've said before—marriage is not something you can decide all on your own. So do try not to be so stubborn."

I drew a slow breath, lifted my head, and answered evenly.

"First, I'll offer the young lord Valentine my apologies. It seems we had rather different understandings of the situation, but seeing him again today, I'll admit my response was... excessive."

Then I shifted my gaze to Sylvia.

"And I'll speak plainly with you too, Sylvia. My marriage is my decision to make. I would ask that you stop involving yourself in this matter."

"Decide it yourself? And what exactly do you think you can do? You climbed into that seat, and all you've managed is running a single business venture."

Irritation was beginning to seep into Sylvia's voice.

"Speaking of which—I still remember what you said at the academy graduation. In front of all those girls worried about your future, you stood up and declared you had no intention of ever marrying."

Sylvia let out a small sigh, pressed a hand to her chest, and shook her head.

"The academy is a marriage market in its own right, you know. Do you have any idea how much they whispered about you behind your back back then? Of course, I did understand. Your father, the late Marquis, fell in battle so suddenly that there was no elder left to arrange your match—it was a decision born of necessity. Hardly your fault."

"......"

"But Erna. You're not the same girl who inherited the marquisate unprepared. The family is back on solid footing now, and your businesses are doing reasonably well, aren't they? It's time you found a partner to spend the rest of your life with. Marriage is the means of continuing the line—a noble's most sacred duty. You were the top of your class at the academy; surely you understand that better than anyone."

Sylvia reached out and clasped my hand, the picture of concern.

"You're my dear friend. I truly worry that you'll grow old and lonely in some corner of your estate—"

"Thank you for the concern. But this really is my affair. Let me say it once more: my choices are mine to make."

I swiftly pulled my hand free. My apologies, but I had just about reached my limit.

Did she think I wouldn't see through her?

Despite the years, Sylvia hadn't changed a whit from her academy days.

Always pushing her will through other people, and whenever things turned against her, escaping behind a performance of sadness or wounded concern.

I had watched that up close—and been burned by it. There was no chance in hell I'd let it happen twice.

Besides, I'm a marquis. My circumstances are hardly those of some ordinary noble daughter.

In my case, the choice of whether or not to marry rested with me.

"If you keep this up, you'll miss your marriageable years entirely. Then you might end up wed to some old man with a pack of children in tow. Would you prefer that? Honestly, at that point you'd be better off with Jer—"

"No. I won't marry your brother. So please—no more visits on this pretext, and no more scheming behind my back."

"Excuse me? Scheming? What on earth are you—"

"I do have ears, you know. I'm well aware of the little rumors you and your brother have been quietly spreading."

That struck home—Sylvia flinched. She was practically thinking, How did this dim little thing catch on?

My apologies, but I have two eyes and two ears of my own. Possibly more than you do.

There was a reason I'd let the strange rumors circulate unchallenged, despite knowing full well they were out there.

Because it was convenient.

Even if I wasn't a legendary beauty, a noblewoman with a prestigious name and deep pockets attracted no small number of suitors.

I may never have received a proper confession of love, but proposals had been pouring in since before I'd even graduated the academy.

Which I declined, every last one.

But turning down proposals was a tedious process in itself.

Amid all that, the Valentine siblings' scheming for the Zacherete fortune had actually been rather useful—it scared off the rest.

It had simply gotten out of hand, that was all.

I straightened in my seat and spoke with firm finality.

"Just as you say, my lady—even if I remain unmarried until I'm a bent old crone, I will never marry the young lord."

"Ugh...!"

At that unmistakable refusal, Sylvia bit down on her red-painted lip, as if she'd never imagined I would reject her brother so coldly.

Well, I suppose she assumed that once the flow of proposals dried up, I'd have no choice but to marry eventually.

She was trembling with such fury that anyone watching would think she was the one who'd been jilted. The confident gleam in her eyes from moments ago had gone cold and sunken.

"I was trying to help you. You spat on that kindness. Just wait—before the day is out, you'll regret this."

"I see. I'll manage that regret somehow or other, Countess Oscar."

"This is no idle warning. I'd advise you to remember it, Lady Marquis. You will learn—bitterly—precisely what it is you've dared to touch."

Which is exactly why I keep telling you—I didn't touch anything first.

I'd been sitting quietly, and you two came running at me demanding marriage.

All I did was refuse.

But Sylvia looked about as willing to hear my side of things as a stone wall, and she was already gathering herself to leave.

Not that I minded. The sooner she vanished, the better.

"Oh, and by the way, my lady. You're not wearing your ring today? The one you always have on."

I'm sorry—what?