Chapter 31
The Gentle Cold-Hearted Man

Was it because the coin had missed?

When Layla heard the news of the Duke of Herhardt’s return, that was the first thought that came to her.

He had said he would remain in the Imperial Guard for another year, yet here he was, back. He announced that he would give up his life shuttling between the capital and the estate, choosing instead to stay in Arvis for good. The Dowager Duchess, grown frail, wanted her grandson by her side, tending to the estate. It seemed Matthias could no longer deny her wish.

Whatever the reason.

Stretching long, Layla tied her apron tight. It no longer concerned her—it was part of a world that had nothing to do with her. All she regretted was that missed coin and the wish left unfulfilled.

‘Please, let me never cross paths with the Duke of Herhardt again.’

She had prayed so fervently when she tossed the last coin he had given her into the fountain.

Since he’d left the estate last summer, Matthias had not returned even once. She thought those days would continue until his service in the Guard ended. If she left Arvis before then, her wish would come true.

Shaking herself from thought, Layla stepped into the backyard. Perhaps the wish was coming true, after all. Even if the duke had returned, she would soon be leaving these woods.

Her heart lighter, she busied herself with the animals and the vegetable patch. Just as she finished her chores, Phoebe, the pigeon sent to the Etman household, fluttered back. Tied to her leg was Kyle’s letter.

Mother wants to invite you for dinner tonight.
See? I told you so, Layla.

She could almost hear Kyle’s voice in the words.

He had promised her that his mother would come to like her, that everything would be fine. That come autumn, they would be married and walking the university campus together—happy, so very happy.

“Uncle, I’ll be having dinner at the Etman house tonight.”

She hurried over to Bill as he returned home.

“Mrs. Etman invited me.”

“See, Layla?”

His booming voice echoed Kyle’s words.

“Didn’t I tell you everything would work out?”

When he laughed warmly, Layla smiled too. Her chest throbbed with nerves. She told herself it was hope.

Matthias arrived in Arvis late in the afternoon. As his carriage stopped before the mansion, tension ran through the row of assembled servants.

It was all routine: their deep bows, his curt replies, the grandmother’s joyful embrace, his mother’s pleased smile.

Passing the gardener, Matthias’s eyes dropped out of habit. Beside the old man’s boots stood a pair of neat brown shoes—small, delicate. Layla Llewellyn always stood next to Bill Remmer. Not after this summer, though.

Without turning his head, Matthias walked past. His eyes fixed forward—toward the grand staircase that rose from the hall.

“Ah, so you’ve brought the bird back too,” said Elise von Herhardt with a light laugh. In the golden cage carried behind him was the canary he had taken from Arvis last summer.

“How curious. You, who never even kept a dog, fussing over a bird like this.”

“If you’ve taken to birds,” the Dowager Duchess added kindly, “why not expand the conservatory and bring in more?”

“That won’t be necessary, Grandmother,” Matthias replied with a polite smile.

“One is enough.”

With that dry, measured answer, he stepped inside the mansion.

At the stairs, he lifted his gaze to the grand chandelier, and beyond it, the lofty ceiling adorned with the Herhardt crest.

He was born beneath that crest. He would live beneath it. He would die beneath it. Breathing beneath it was as natural—and as easy—as life itself.

Lowering his gaze, Matthias climbed the stairs in long strides.

“If he was going to retire this year anyway, why in the world did he say he’d serve longer?”

Countess Brandt’s voice carried her annoyance without disguise.

It was Matthias who had insisted on extending the engagement another year out of respect for his own choice to remain in service. Had she known it would come to this, she would have pushed for the wedding before summer ended.

“I didn’t think Matthias would be so fickle.”

“Still, it’s fortunate the Duke has returned to the estate early,” Claudine said calmly.

“You’re far too easygoing. I’m on edge that the wedding won’t be held this year.”

“There’s no need to worry, Mother. Better to take time and prepare properly than rush into a clumsy ceremony.”

“A year is a long time, Claudine. Who knows what may happen in that span?”

“Think back on the last year—it was short, and peaceful. The next will be no different. With him here in Arvis, preparations will only be smoother.”

“Men can’t be trusted. And an engagement isn’t the same as marriage.”

“This man is Matthias von Herhardt, Mother.”

Claudine smiled serenely.

“The man who will never, ever love anyone but himself.”

Had she not heard of Layla Llewellyn’s marriage to the doctor’s son, Claudine might have felt uneasy. But with that variable gone, her mother’s fears were nothing but needless fretting.

“To him, even this engagement is a matter of Herhardt pride. There will be no threat to it.”

Confident, Claudine folded away her embroidery.

The gentle cold-hearted man.

He had always been like that. While other cousins teased her, Matthias had been courteous, kind. Which only made him seem more distant, more unapproachable.

Did he even possess emotions?

She could hardly imagine him angry, grieving, overjoyed. It seemed he would descend into death as he lived—smiling arrogantly, elegantly, surveying the world from above. And it was that Matthias von Herhardt whom she desired.

“I’ll visit Arvis next week,” Claudine said, rising with lightened heart.

“I’ll see the Duke—and also congratulate my friend on her marriage. Two birds with one stone.”

“Friend? Don’t tell me you mean that gardener’s orphan.”

Countess Brandt looked scandalized. Claudine smiled all the wider.

“Layla is my friend. And I’ll give my old friend a wedding gift.”

After much thought, Layla put on the white dress she had bought for her trip to Latz. She braided her hair neatly and tied her cherished ribbon at the end.

It wasn’t her first visit to the Etman home, yet she felt as nervous as if it were. This time, it was with the thought of marrying Kyle—and at his mother’s invitation. That made it different.

“How do I look, Uncle?”

She stood solemnly before Bill. Seated by the open window, pipe in hand, he laughed aloud at the sight.

“So the girl who never cared for finery starts dressing up the moment marriage comes near.”

“It’s not like that. I’m just nervous about meeting Mrs. Etman.”

“You’ve met her more than once already.”

“But tonight is special.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about. You look perfect.”

He stubbed out his pipe and rose, smiling warmly.

“Just be yourself, Layla. That’s all you need.”

His hand on her shoulder was as gentle as his smile.

She knew it was subjective, and hardly reliable, but she nodded anyway. Only then did she realize just how anxious she’d been all day. Kyle arrived at the cottage just then.

“Kyle, do I…”

“Perfect.”

He cut her off before she could finish.

“You’re enough, just as you are.”

His smile, like Bill’s, was full of warmth.

“That’s all I need, Layla.”

“Hm. Funny—someone else said the exact same thing.”

Hearing the same words from two men with similar smiles, Layla couldn’t help but laugh.

“What? Who? Which fool?”

“Stop your nonsense and get moving, you whelp.”

Bill smacked Kyle hard between the shoulders. Unprepared, Kyle staggered, scowling.

“But Uncle, someone just called Layla—”

“That fool was me!”

“Wait… what?”

“You cheeky brat. Maybe I need to rethink giving Layla to the likes of you.”

Gruff words, but his hand on Kyle’s shoulder was tender. From a few steps away, Layla watched them bicker.

The two dearest people in her life. The ones she wanted to protect. A smile spread over her lips, warmth filling her chest. Layla could not imagine life without them.

It was for them that she had finally chosen marriage. Kyle’s endless proposals, her endless refusals—their closeness had begun to fray. If she couldn’t accept his heart, then letting go would be the only honest choice. Kyle had tried tirelessly to bridge the gap, but in the end, only two paths remained:

Marry, or part ways.

Layla had wanted to remain a lifelong friend, keeping him close but not too close. But that wish had become meaningless. Through autumn, winter, spring, she had grieved over it.

Marriage, the future Kyle painted—it was still vague, even frightening. What if she asked for too much? But if marriage was the only way not to lose him, she wanted to be brave.

The decision came on that late spring day, when she had sobbed after being humiliated by the Duke. When she had thrown his coin into the fountain, desperate to rid herself of anything he had given her—and then turned to find Kyle had come looking for her.

The moment she saw him, the pain faded. He was like the warm glow of their cottage’s lamp, shining after a dark walk through the woods, where Uncle Bill waited. That glow that comforted every wound and sorrow from the world beyond.

As always, Bill and Kyle’s squabble ended in laughter. Still smiling, Kyle turned to her.

“Let’s go, Layla.”

He held out his hand, as though it were the most natural thing. Layla hesitated, then brushed her fingers into his. Kyle’s eyes softened. He shifted his grip, closing his hand firmly over hers—enveloping it.

Their new closeness was awkward, embarrassing, but she didn’t let go. She couldn’t. Not of Kyle.