Chapter 65
A Suitor

“I’m fine now. I’ll go on alone from here.”

With a slightly awkward smile, Layla looked up at the man walking beside her. He still didn’t seem willing to part, his easy smile lingering as he gestured toward the road ahead.

“No, it’s fine. We’re almost there anyway—I’ll see you home.”

“Really, I mean it. I… I’ll go by myself. My uncle is very strict, you see.”

Layla kept glancing around nervously, worried someone might pass by.

Being seen in Arvis with another man was never wise. Even if there was nothing between them, once a few tongues started wagging, rumors would grow wild and twisted on their own.

“Ah. I see.”

The man let out a sigh, as though disappointed.

“Then I’ll leave it here for tonight. But how about having lunch together this Sunday instead?”

“No, I…”

“If you’re busy this week, next week is fine too! Unless you find it unbearable to even sit across from me—let’s meet just once more.”

Though his face flushed with embarrassment, he spoke with a surprising firmness.

“A quick cup of tea felt far too short. I’d like to sit down again, just once, and talk for a little longer. If, at that time, your heart is still the same as now, I won’t trouble you further.”

His stubborn expression made it clear he wouldn’t leave without an answer.

She barely knew him—just the son of the general store owner who sometimes delivered goods to her school. So when she had been called to the headmaster’s office that afternoon and suddenly found him waiting there, she had been utterly thrown off. Discovering the headmaster was his distant relative, intent on playing matchmaker, had left her mind blank.

Flustered, Layla looked around again. That was when the sound of an approaching car reached her from behind. Impossible… She wanted to believe it was her imagination, but the noise only grew nearer, clearer.

While she stood frozen, headlights swept over the street, illuminating the dusk. The car slowed as it passed the two of them, before resuming speed and turning the corner. It carried none other than the Duke of Herhardt.

“Miss Llewellyn?”

The man’s cautious voice snapped her out of her daze.

“I’m sorry.”

She bowed her head in apology.

“I… I don’t think I’m ready for this. Truly, I’m sorry.”

Though she had been pressured into tea by the headmaster, Layla had no desire to meet anyone on the premise of marriage. Someday she might marry, but for now, she only wanted to work hard and live ordinary days.

“I see…”

Disappointment flickered across his face, but he still respected her decision. He even apologized himself, saying it was his fault for pestering the headmaster to arrange the meeting, making her uncomfortable.

With a crestfallen air, he left.

Layla felt uneasy for having hurt someone good-hearted, but this was the only choice she could make. If she let herself be dragged along, she would only end up hurting him worse—just as she had hurt Kyle.

The memory of that name deepened her gaze.

She often wondered how he was, but she knew wishing him well was the most she could do. No matter how much she longed for him, the days when she could walk beside Kyle, laughing and carefree, would never return.

She lingered on the darkening street even after the man had gone. Memories faded, only to be replaced by a fresh wave of dread. What if she turned the corner and found herself face-to-face with the Duke? The fear drew her mind back to their first autumn, that strange season.

Breathing in the cold air, slow and deep, Layla tried to imagine the spring ahead—a season of starting fresh in a new place, with a new heart.

She wanted a room with a wide window, if possible. With good sunlight, solitude wouldn’t feel so heavy. If a tree could be seen through that window, even better. And if not, then perhaps a park or forest nearby, so she could still smell grass and leaves whenever she missed Arvis.

With such thoughts, her heartbeat finally began to settle. Gripping her bicycle handlebars, Layla cautiously turned the corner. Thankfully, the avenue of plane trees lay empty, filled only with silver moonlight and tall shadows.

Relieved, she mounted her bicycle with lightened steps. The lively rhythm of her pedals echoed along the quiet road.

At the mailbox, Kyle’s face was tense as ever. When he pulled out a handful of letters, a flicker of hope lit his eyes—only to vanish into a bitter smile. Though he had written to her every week, Layla had never once replied.

With a quiet sigh, Kyle trudged up the dormitory stairs. His room was on the east end of the third floor. While the halls bustled with students packing for the holidays, his room was as silent as always.

Inside the darkened room, he set the letters on the console by the door: an invitation from a social club, a letter from home. He left them unopened, collapsing onto his bed. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, striping him in pale silver.

‘Why not travel during your first break?’

His father, Dr. Etman, had suggested only days ago. Among the wealthy students in the capital, grand tours across the continent were practically a trend. Of course, Kyle knew his father had another reason for bringing it up.

He had only mumbled that he would think about it. But what was the point? He knew going back to Layla was meaningless. Yet wandering the world aimlessly would be just as empty. Better to lock himself here in the dorms, half-crazed with study as he had been all semester.

‘Kyle, there’s no place in this world where only the two of us can be happy.’

The words returned with painful clarity. Layla’s sad smile, his own helpless silence, his uselessness. And always, the memory ended in loathing. He despised himself—for being powerless, for failing to protect her, for being nothing without his parents’ shadow.

If he became a doctor, could he find such a place for them? But that day was impossibly far. How could he endure the years without her? A few months already felt like an eternity driving him mad.

Lowering the arm that covered his eyes, Kyle stared at the ceiling.

He was of age now. The inheritance his grandfather had left him could finally be used as he pleased. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

Rising abruptly, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. After staring blankly at the air, he strode to his desk, fumbling urgently for pen and paper.

“Why is everyone suddenly so eager to find you a husband?”

Bill Remmer frowned in confusion as he watched Layla set the table. She had just finished recounting how the headmaster had pushed her into meeting the general store owner’s son.

“Everyone…?”

“The Dowager Duchess herself asked Hessen if he knew any suitable young men for you. Madam Mona told me today.”

“Madam… why would she say that?”

“Who knows? Perhaps she’s taken a liking to you.”

Bill’s face carried unhidden pride.

“That can’t be.”

Laying fresh bread on the table, Layla chuckled as she sat across from him.

“Otherwise she wouldn’t be thinking of finding you a husband herself. Well then, what do you think?”

He studied her carefully.

“Uncle… you’re not saying you’re tired of me, are you?”

“What nonsense is that?”

“If not, then I’ll just live with you forever.”

“You’d even turn down the Dowager Duchess’s suitors?”

“If there were a man finer than you, I’d gladly meet him. But sadly, I don’t think such a man exists.”

Layla laughed brightly, but the words struck Bill like a thorn. If she kept refusing suitors, it had to be because of Kyle. Yes, because of Kyle.

The boy still sent letters. Each one Bill intercepted only deepened his guilt. To stand in the way of such devotion was cruel, but to reunite them seemed impossible. It drove him mad.

“What if, Layla…”

The thought slipped out before he could stop it.

If she still carried feelings for Kyle, perhaps he should cut ties with the Etmans altogether and help them marry. There would be an uproar, of course, but the two would live in the capital anyway. He couldn’t remain gardener here, not after that—but for Layla’s sake, what did it matter anymore? Maybe, someday, if they gave her a grandchild, even that dreadful Mrs. Etman might soften.

“Uncle?”

Her eyes narrowed as she noticed his silence.

“I mean… the chickens! Yes, chickens.”

“Chickens?”

“Wh-what if we slaughter one tomorrow? Yes. That’s what I meant to ask. Getting forgetful in my old age, always losing track of what I wanted to say.”

He covered clumsily. Better to think it through before blurting out such rash thoughts. Thankfully, she seemed not to suspect. She only chuckled, shaking her head.

“Sure, Uncle. Let’s roast a chicken tomorrow!”

Matthias turned the gramophone up slightly, then faced the room. With the lights off, the bedroom glowed only with the warmth of the fire.

He sank into his chair, the flames’ heat seeping into him. From the armrest of the chaise, his canary fluttered down to him. When Matthias whistled along to the waltz playing, the bird chirped in perfect harmony.

The bird was clever.

Though never trained, it had begun to sing with the music all on its own. Many nights he found himself listening to waltzes with it. Sometimes a symphony, sometimes a piano piece—but to his ear, his canary sang waltzes most beautifully.

When the music faded, only the crackle of the fire remained.

Matthias brushed a finger gently over its small head in praise. The bird, used to his touch, rubbed its beak against his hand as if in affection.

With a faint smile, he carried it back to its gilded cage. As soon as he lowered his hand, the bird flew inside and nestled into its perch.

Locking the cage door, Matthias switched off the gramophone. Lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, he let out a weary sigh.

“Good night.”

He turned his head and spoke to the bird. And as though it understood, the canary soon dozed peacefully in its nest.

But Matthias’s eyes, resting on the cage, no longer held a smile.