For the Lady's Wise Regression - Chapter 11

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 11
A man who had spent forty-some years building walls between himself and the world.
No matter who approached, he offered them nothing but a cold face and a distant gaze—enough to earn him the strange epithet of “the flawed duke”—so there was no reason he would ever welcome marriage.
In that sense, Ian had remained exactly as he’d been in childhood, she’d thought.
Yet even now, the face he’d shown her in her past life—the one who had spoken to her so abruptly on her birthday—remained vivid in her memory.
That taciturn man had been gentle only then, softer than she’d ever imagined possible. She’d been struck by the thought: could this man really produce such a voice?
Perhaps that was why she’d convinced herself that Ian Ruscliffe wasn’t entirely made of stone.
A mistake of her own making.
The man to whom she’d proposed marriage was not Ian Ruscliffe in his forties, but Ian Ruscliffe in his twenties.
Vanessa exhaled softly, setting the letter down on the table beside her bed.
‘It’s a Contract Marriage anyway, isn’t it?’
There was no need to feel hurt, just as there was no reason to let herself be dragged along mindlessly doing as he wished.
Why pour such effort into a wedding ceremony that held no excitement, no real ceremony at all—merely a formality to be completed?
After all, there was only one thing she truly wanted.
‘I have to make sure the Lennard Marquessate never obtains a dukedom.’
That wasn’t even the end of it. She meant to ruin them completely, so thoroughly that not even the foundation of their Estate remained.
To take that first step properly, she had no time to waste on emotional exhaustion.
This marriage was something she’d forced into being for her Revenge.
Living a life where you relied solely on others, only to be disappointed, only to be wounded by misplaced trust—wasn’t once enough?
So she would stop reading meaning into Ian’s actions.
She mustn’t confuse the forty-year-old Ian with the twenty-year-old Ian.
Even if the man in his forties had been tender toward her, the Ian Ruscliffe of his twenties would be nothing of the sort.
With resolve crystallized into certainty, Vanessa finally closed her eyes.
‘Think only of Revenge.’
***
‘The lady was so adamant in her wishes that… she said if we didn’t remove the Jewels, she would wear a plain Dress….’
Early in the morning, Ian let slip a quiet laugh at the Salon employee’s words as they stood in the Estate.
A plain Dress. She’d always been careless with her words, even years ago.
After telling them to do as she wished and sending the Salon’s madam away, Ian gazed absently out the window.
‘Was she really so averse to it?’
He’d assumed she’d enjoy it, given how often she wore Jewels and ornaments.
Picturing Vanessa in her gown at the ball, Ian habitually lifted a Cigar to his lips.
“…It’s a pity. It suited her so well.”
The Jewels set in neat rows had sparkled as they caught the light of the chandelier.
Yet the brilliance of the stones had captured nothing of his attention.
She was beautiful enough to transcend the mere glitter of any adornment.
Each time the Jewels at her neckline caught the light, it seemed as though a brilliant glow had been cast upon her face itself.
Of all things, he’d hoped she would wear that one piece.
As his thoughts spiraled, the Cigar between his lips burned down at double its normal pace.
“Why was it me?”
Had he been in her position, he would never have chosen “Ian Ruscliffe” as a marriage partner.
He’d hoped she would refuse, even as he handed over that absurd contract.
He’d thought it better she never marry him than to see her one day speak of divorce.
Yet what could motivate a woman of ordinary judgment to accept conditions even a sensible person would reject, pushing forward with the marriage nonetheless?
He’d burned with curiosity, yet never dared ask.
The truth was, he already knew—but he shrank from hearing it confirmed by her own lips.
And yet, finally, without mercy, she’d made it clear: harbor no such hopes.
‘Why would I feel sorry? After all… it’s a Contract Marriage.’
A Contract Marriage, she’d said.
Learning that her heart harbored nothing for him, he felt something ugly bloom in that hollow space—disappointment.
He’d endured so much, and failed to bear that one thing.
“…Is it because of him again?”
Carlisle Lennard.
The man who should have become Vanessa’s husband.
Ian didn’t know what had gone wrong between them, but he despised being Carlisle’s replacement.
So he’d sought to probe Vanessa’s true feelings, enacting one by one the things he’d long imagined would please her.
‘…If it had been Carlisle instead of me.’
Would Vanessa have refused, calling such things excessive?
“Damn it.”
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
He’d put off giving her an answer about the marriage out of fear that she’d discover his secret, but then he’d gone and agreed anyway—tacking on conditions because he couldn’t bear to lose her—and now he was terrified of being divorced.
If he was that frightened, he should never have consented to the marriage in the first place.
Ian Ruscliffe, out of his mind.
Ian, who’d been savagely berating himself in silence, suddenly stubbed out the half-spent cigar and threw the window open.
“Denian!”
The butler came running at his master’s shout.
“What is it, sir?”
“Open every window in this house right now. Not a single one left closed.”
“Every window? Why…?”
Before Denian could finish, a carriage emblazoned with a red rose design rolled into view.
“Ah…”
“Hurry. Move.”
Ian fixed Denian with eyes as sharp and cold as frost, then turned to sprinkle perfume across his body from the bottle on the desk.
That wasn’t all. The way he smoothed his tousled hair and straightened his clothes—such care was impossible unless one desperately wanted to look good in the eyes of someone they cherished.
‘If he cares for her that much, why impose such conditions?’
Denian kept the thought to himself and instead set about faithfully executing his master’s orders.
“Everyone, stop what you’re doing and open the windows! The mistress of the Estate has arrived!”
At Denian’s booming voice echoing through the first floor, Ian’s jaw clenched.
He’d always suspected it, but that man was surely worse than even the Crown Prince, who visited occasionally.
A butler with no regard for what he couldn’t say to his own master, and matched perfectly with the Crown Prince in finding ways to torment his master—there was no doubt about it.
Though he’d deny it vehemently.
In any case, by the time Vanessa knocked on the Estate’s door, every window had been successfully opened.
‘A three-month salary reduction should do.’
Without that shout of his, they surely wouldn’t have managed to open all the windows in time.
Three months seemed fitting punishment for mocking his master.
“Vanessa.”
“Ian.”
“I said I hoped you’d visit at a convenient time, but I don’t recall suggesting you drop by unannounced.”
“I had something to say to you. But… do all the doors in this Estate usually stay open?”
Vanessa, wrapped in a Cape white as snow, shivered visibly.
Though winter hadn’t yet arrived, there were days when the wind blew with the sharp bite of a blade, and today was one of them.
“I run hot.”
It was a flimsy excuse, but Ian gazed down at Vanessa with utter shamelessness.
He didn’t know what reason, what thought had guided her choice of him.
Keeping his secret hidden while winning her heart would be difficult.
But.
‘It’s not impossible.’
Now that she had walked into the tiger’s den of her own accord, Ian had no intention of letting this marriage end as a mere contract.
Not in the slightest.
***
Vanessa examined Ian’s thin clothing once, glanced at the disheveled interior of the Estate behind him, and then met his gaze again.
No matter how much someone ran hot, surely they didn’t keep every door in the house open when the wind was still this cold?
She let her eyes drift to observe the Estate’s servants, and just as she suspected—
It appeared Ian was the only one who ran hot.
Especially that butler. Denian, wasn’t his name?
The moment the wind from the open windows struck him, he trembled visibly.
Vanessa let out a small sigh.
“Is this how things will be even after I move into this Estate?”
“Everywhere except your room, yes.”
“I suppose I should be grateful you’re not letting me get the wrong idea.”
“What do you—”
“I’ve already sent word to the Salon to remove the Jewels from the Dress neckline. No matter how I thought about it, it seemed like too much. But since it’s a Dress you prepared for me, I wanted to see you and say so in person.”
Before Ian could finish his sentence, Vanessa had poured out her business, and now she exhaled as if relieved.
“That’s all I had to say. I’m leaving. I’ll see you on the wedding day.”
“Vanessa—”
Bang. Unlike when she’d demanded the marriage, the Estate door shut without mercy, and Ian stood frozen with a blank expression.
“Good heavens…”
A sympathetic sigh drifted from behind him.
It was obvious who had sighed without even looking.
“…Denian, your salary is reduced for three months.”
“What? No, sir, that’s……!”
“Six months.”
“Three months was such merciful treatment.”
They understood well enough why their master had opened the window, but from the perspective of the future mistress who knew nothing, his bewilderment was only natural.
Though their master seemed utterly unaware of it.
Yet knowing his master’s yearning affection as he did, Denian could not bring himself to say that the lady’s perfume was simply too strong to bear; instead, he accepted the gagging order in silence.
For it was a curse upon his master.
Unable to dispel that one curse, how could he presume to fathom his master’s heart—the heart that could not even betray a hint of feeling before a love so long cherished.
Thus Denian quietly gestured to the servants standing behind him to close the window.
There was no need to keep it open now that there was no scent left to drift away.
Moreover, as one who felt the cold keenly, Denian found himself clenching his teeth against the chill that streamed down his spine from the draft.
Had he let his discomfort show in the presence of the mistress, she would surely have misunderstood.
Watching his friends bungle their way through things was delightful, refreshing, exhilarating—but watching his own master flounder was agony.
One misstep, and the fallout would land squarely on his shoulders.
‘Well done, Denian.’
Just then, as the wind swept past again, Denian curled inward without thinking and muttered under his breath.
“Goodness, it’s freezing.”
“Gagging order, six months.”
Denian’s silent scream went unheard.
Perhaps it was the result of getting along far too well with the Crown Prince. His mouth had grown loose and unguarded.
“Six months, sir? Your mercy knows no bounds—I could weep.”
He would have to postpone that date with Anisha, who had just opened a new flower shop in the Capital, until six months from now…….

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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