Looking up at him calmly, he flushed red with anger, clearly feeling insulted.
With his black hair and gem-like green eyes, his handsome face even at this young age promised to grow into a stunningly good-looking man. If he ate a bit more and stopped contorting his face in anger, that is.
“You and I are both here because we were forced to be, that’s all there is to it.”
“Wha— How dare you…!”
He likely didn’t expect that response. He was at a loss for words.
But the sharp, stinging hostility in the air remained.
(Well, this is troubling. I was planning to casually turn him down, but that’s not going to work.)
Marriage for someone of decent social standing is a business transaction, not just in this world but everywhere. However, even though he’s four years older than me, this heir is still only thirteen.
It must be unbearable to have a fiancée thrust upon him—someone he isn’t interested in and who isn’t even cute—all for the sake of family convenience during his prime playful years.
Moreover, mentally, I’m an adult woman with children from my previous life. I can’t possibly marry a child, and it would be cruel to burden anyone with a strange wife like me.
That’s why I’ve decided not to marry in this life. As the name suggests, I plan to enjoy being a “noble single.”
But somehow, turning him down like this might make things worse for this boy. That... wouldn’t sit right with me. It would surely weigh on my conscience forever. This situation is far from a happy ending—an alarming predicament, in fact.
“So, here’s a proposal: even if we’re engaged, why don’t we play along for a while?”
“What?”
I narrowed my eyes suggestively beneath my hat decorated with flowers, leaned closer, and lowered my voice so the maids wouldn’t hear.
“Eventually, you’ll need to be engaged to someone. If you happen to fall in love with someone, I’ll break off the engagement for you right away. Until then, why don’t I act as your placeholder?”
“…You’re lying.”
Startled by my sudden approach, he stood firm, looking down at me.
Up close, I noticed the skin on his neck was reddened from the stiff collar of his shirt. Fake affection disguised as harassment is a nasty tactic.
“You don’t trust a verbal promise? I’m not like your stepmother, lying through her teeth.”
“What!?”
(Oh, I’ve surprised him.)
He—Raphael de Sorel—was an outcast in this viscount’s household.
He was the son of the first wife, who had married purely for political reasons, and didn’t get along well with his stepmother or his half-brother. I’d heard that his father, the viscount, intended to choose the more capable of the two boys as his heir, making his child-rearing strategy very calculating.
Taking advantage of this, the stepmother was reportedly bullying Raphael in subtle ways. Her enthusiasm for this lackluster marriage with me was probably tied to that.
(If I remember correctly, his real mother divorced when Raphael was only three years old.)
Being stuck at home all the time, I often overheard the maids’ gossip. Thinking I was too young to understand, they talked freely, and I remembered everything. My memory was annoyingly sharp.
Neglected by his birth mother and now living in fear of his stepmother, Raphael had no allies among the servants. Even though it wasn’t his fault.
I couldn’t help but feel guilty. My parents and brother had accepted even my odd behavior, but Raphael had no one to support him.
The way he glared at me, his expression hard and hostile—it was heartbreaking. He was still at an age where he should be protected, yet he was surrounded by enemies.
If he hadn’t been so embittered, to the point of revealing his anger to a girl he had just met, I might have been able to handle this more easily and leave quickly.
But it wasn’t love keeping me here; it was parental instinct.
The person I was in my previous life urged me to take his hand, to help this boy who was intentionally hardening and sharpening his heart.
“Let’s secretly write up an agreement and swear before God that we’ll break off the engagement in the future. So, you don’t need to act so hostile.”
“…Hostile?”
“Yes, it means deliberately showing your bad side to make people dislike you.”
Raphael’s face drained of color as if I’d hit the nail on the head.
He still wasn’t very good at maintaining a poker face. Seeing a glimpse of his childishness was a relief.
In noble marriages, it’s not uncommon for engagements to be broken off.
However, in this world, only women are allowed to call off engagements. It would be a huge disgrace for a man to break one.
That’s the norm here, regardless of social standing.
Men often resort to strategies like intentionally cheating or mistreating their fiancée, pushing her to initiate the breakup. Even if it means being accused of dishonesty and paying a settlement, men will do anything to preserve their honor.
On the other hand, women calculate these moves, preparing for their next marriage while waiting for the right opportunity. It's a complex game.
Frankly, I find the whole thing tedious.
He must not have expected a nine-year-old girl to know the inner workings of broken engagements.
As he tried to hide his surprise at being seen through, I nodded.
“I don’t want to get married, but I’d like to be friends with you, Raphael.”
“What? Friends?”
“I’ve been stuck at home all my life, following my grandmother’s orders. So I don’t have any friends.”
When I smiled wistfully, the atmosphere softened just a bit. My pale complexion likely helped evoke sympathy.
“I can’t go out much, so would you visit me at home? Not just me, my brother’s there too. Let’s play together.”
“Your brother…”
At the mention of my brother, Raphael’s interest was clearly piqued. For a thirteen-year-old boy, friends of the same gender are naturally more appealing than those of the opposite.
It’s not ideal, but I’ll ask my brother for help later. He’s an easygoing and kind-hearted person who tolerates his eccentric sister, so I’m sure even the rough-around-the-edges Raphael will warm to him.
“My brother is the same age as you. I can’t play chess with him… do you like chess?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“My brother will be thrilled. So, until you find someone you like, why don’t we be friends? The engagement is just for show; you don’t have to worry about marriage.”
I gently squeezed his hand for emphasis. His nails, cut so short they almost revealed the flesh beneath, looked painfully raw.
Raphael glanced down at our joined hands, hesitating for a moment—and just as I’d hoped, my plan worked.
★ ★ ★
At thirteen, I became engaged.
My fiancée was Mia de Bèlle, a baron’s daughter four years younger than me.
When I shook hands and accepted the engagement, which was presented like a business deal in exchange for the opportunity to hang out with her brother, I never doubted it would end quickly.
The de Bèlle baronial family belonged to the exploited side of the aristocracy, where everyone watched each other’s failures like hawks.
The Baron himself was a family man but somewhat absent-minded.
The Baroness was shy and not good with words.
Their son, Tiago, was too nice for his own good, and their daughter, Mia, was rumored to be a sickly recluse.
The barony, far from the capital, was known only for its good-quality timber. Unlike my home, the viscounty of Sorel, it had no other notable products. My stepmother had intended to weaken my position in the viscountcy by saddling me with a less-than-desirable match, and at first, it seemed like her plan was working.
But as ten days passed, and then a month, my stepmother’s and stepbrother’s expressions changed. Though they had once declared that I could stay at the baron’s house as long as I liked, they didn’t seem so happy once I started spending more time there.
It seemed to anger them to see the stepson they’d mistreated growing healthier both physically and mentally.
Even when they tried to wield their higher status, saying, “Don’t meddle with our son,” the well-meaning baron and his wife, too dense to catch the undertones, simply replied, “Don’t worry,” and “If he’s engaged to our daughter, he’s like our own son,” with full sincerity. There was no stopping them.
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