Chapter 25
The Color of My Sorrow

Through the carriage window, Matthias caught sight of her.

Layla, with a radiant smile he had never once seen before, was running down the lane. Her long, unbound golden hair streamed behind her in the wind.

His fingers tightened unconsciously. She wasn’t running toward him. Her destination was clearly the man walking ahead—Bill Remmer.

Matthias almost gave the order to slow the carriage, but instead pressed his lips shut. In that short moment, Layla had already reached her goal.

She leapt into the gardener’s arms as lightly as one of his birds taking flight.

He lifted her high with ease, and in his burly embrace, Layla looked no more than a little girl. She smiled as if lit from within by the brightest of lights, and the gardener roared with hearty laughter.

The carriage rolled past them, leaving the scene behind.

Matthias turned his gaze away from the window. He looked down at his hand—the hand he had almost raised, the hand that still seemed to carry the warmth and scent of that day.

The engagement was nearly here.

The thought, strangely, brought relief. The carriage crossed the gates of Arvis.

Layla’s wish had come true.

Now that Uncle Bill was back, everything was all right again. She was no longer alone. And because of that, the sorrow of growing up, the memory of that dreadful kiss, all the confusion and despair—it all seemed bearable.

Morning and evening winds grew steadily cooler, days shorter, and Arvis shimmered with the bright anticipation of celebration.

“Don’t even get me started! It’s as if they’re trying to cook every dish in the world.”

Madam Mona, snatching a moment to rest in the woods, shook her head in mock outrage.

“If the engagement feast is this grand, I dread to think what the wedding will be like.”

She plopped onto a chair beside Bill Remmer and began her grumbling in earnest. Returning from milking the goats, Layla greeted her with a bright smile.

“Just wait, Layla. Once tomorrow is past, you’ll get your fill of delicious food. With all the guests they’ve invited, I doubt they’ll even eat half of what’s prepared.”

Madam Mona beamed. Layla’s hand unconsciously clutched at the front of her blouse.

The red mark on her neck, left by the duke, had not faded even after several days. Each time she glimpsed it in the mirror, shame and humiliation burned through her.

“Is the engagement really tomorrow already?”

“Already? Don’t say that, Layla. I just wish the wretched… well, anyway, I just wish it were over with.”

“Tomorrow…”

She whispered, then smiled again.

“Yes, Madam. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As if to banish a nightmare, Layla forced her smile brighter. Since that day, the duke had not once returned to the woods. That, at least, was a mercy.

“I like chocolate cookies. And raspberry cake too!”

“Chocolate, raspberries—it’ll all be piled high. I’ll bring you plenty.”

“And how will I ever repay you?”

“Repay me? Just eat well and grow up strong.”

“Strong like Uncle Bill?”

“Good heavens, Layla. That would block every marriage prospect you’ve got.”

Madam Mona laughed, waving her hands. Even Bill’s heavy brows twitched before he finally chuckled.

After she left, the cottage slipped back into its ordinary evening rhythm.

Supper with Uncle, tidying the house, then Layla returned to her textbooks. She meant only to study a little, but when she next lifted her head, dawn had come. The day of the duke’s engagement.

She rubbed her tired eyes, left her glasses on the desk, and opened the window. The early air was sharp and cool.

As morning broke, the sky deepened into a clear, transparent blue—the exact color of that last candy. And she realized: the duke’s eyes had been that same blue.

Claudine chose a pale pink gown, silk overlaid with chiffon, making her every bit the star of the night—graceful, radiant.

“You look exquisite, Claudine!”

Countess Brandt exclaimed with pride, while the servants behind her wore matching expressions of awe.

Claudine offered a modest smile, though in her own eyes, reflected in the mirror, her pride was unmistakable.

It had been her decision to hold the engagement at Arvis. Officially, it was to show deference to the House of Herhardt. But in truth, she wanted her presence as Arvis’s future mistress to be undeniable.

“Marie, where is she?”

Claudine turned slightly, asking her maid.

“She should be here by now… Ah! There, just coming up from the garden!”

The maid pointed out the window. Countess Brandt’s brow furrowed as she followed the gesture. Layla Llewellyn, basket of roses in hand, was ascending the marble steps between the rose garden and the mansion.

“You called that girl again? Honestly, Claudine Brandt!”

“It’s all right, Mother.”

Claudine’s blue eyes glinted coolly.

“I only need flowers for my hair.”

“And why must it be her who fetches them?”

“Why not? Two birds with one stone.”

Claudine shrugged lightly and turned back to the mirror. Her smile was gone now.

“If I’m to take the roses, why not also accept congratulations from an old friend?”

The ducal mansion buzzed with preparation, welcoming the evening’s guests.

Layla entered through the servants’ passage at the rear. No matter how many times she wiped her shoes, she still felt clumsy stepping on floors that gleamed like mirrors.

Claudine had sent for her directly, ordering her to bring roses for her hair. From the moment Layla received the message, she understood: it wasn’t roses Claudine wanted.

The higher she climbed the east wing’s four flights, the slower her steps became. Her knuckles whitened around the basket handle. Her lips were dry.

No.

She told herself firmly.

That afternoon she fell from the tree—it had only been an accident. Perhaps even the duke had dismissed it as such. Surely he had. So it was fine.

By the time she reached Claudine’s chamber door, her heart hammered unevenly. She knocked.

“Good day, my lady. I’ve brought the roses.”

As always, her greeting was polite. Claudine wore a gown the same pink as the roses Layla carried.

“How do I look? Do I seem well?”

She beamed as she stepped forward.

“You’re beautiful, my lady.”

It was sincere. Today, Claudine was as radiant as a rose in full bloom.

“I was so nervous. But hearing you say that eases me. I wonder if His Grace will think the same?”

“…Yes.”

The man’s name on her lips made Layla’s eyes falter.

“I’m sure he will.”

Her voice trembled faintly despite her attempt to cover it. She felt like a thief, guilty and wretched, though she herself had been the one wronged. The shame gnawed at her pride, pride she had fought for years to preserve before Claudine.

At a nod from Claudine, the maid took the basket and handed Layla money. More than usual—too much, cutting all the deeper.

“Well? Aren’t you going to take it?”

The maid frowned at her hesitation.

Layla gripped the coins and bowed her head. She had done this countless times before. There was nothing new about it.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Her voice was steady. Claudine’s expression softened again into a smile.

“Not at all. It’s I who should thank you, Layla. Thanks to you, this engagement will be perfect.”

With that, Claudine turned away, dismissing her.

Relieved, Layla hurried from the room. She wanted nothing more than to escape this place. Still, she had to keep her composure.

She straightened her dress, gripped the empty basket, and walked as quickly as propriety allowed. But just before reaching the servants’ door, she nearly collided with the duke himself coming up the stairs.

“So, you’ve come on Lady Brandt’s errand, Layla.”

Behind him, the butler Hessen smiled kindly.

Layla bowed and pressed herself to the wall. Please, just go. Just pass by.

But Matthias paused, looking down at her.

She risked a glance upward, and when their eyes met, she flushed and lowered her head again. Just that, and her heart raced. Foolish. He looked utterly unaffected, as though nothing had happened. As though he had forgotten it all.

Only when he strode past, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, did Layla flee the mansion.

The rest of the day passed in routine. Evening drew near, and guests began to fill Arvis for the engagement celebration. Yet deep in the woods, the cottage remained quiet, a world apart.

Layla kept busy with her chores: weeding the garden, cleaning the goat pen, simmering stew for supper, folding the laundry. When everything was done, she wandered into the forest. Walking without aim, she eventually came to the riverbank.

She climbed her favorite old tree and sat there, watching the evening landscape. It was beautiful—the birds wheeling above, the Schulte River glowing red with sunset, the white swanlike villa drifting on its surface. Everything before her eyes was beautiful.

And as twilight deepened into a blue as clear as that candy from her memory, she realized: the duke’s eyes were that same shade.

You carry the color of my sorrow in your eyes.

The thought made her laugh faintly, hollowly. And then—

“Layla!”

At the base of the tree stood a familiar face. She brightened instantly.

“Kyle! How did you know I was here?”

“You love summer walks. And when you walk, you always come to this river.”

His gray eyes, usually mischievous, were today deep and gentle. She studied him quietly, a little unsettled by the change. The leaves rustled, the only sound between them.

“Layla.”

At last, Kyle spoke. She tilted her head in answer.

“Marry me.”

The words, so unreal, drifted up with the evening breeze. She blinked, dazed, as though in a dream.

And then he said it again, this time with firm conviction.

“Let’s get married, Layla.”