Deceived, Yet Drawn to You - Chapter 7

Without thinking for long, Blair nodded, picked up her book, and rose from her seat. Her steps quickened as she left the garden and headed toward the mansion. She had to hurry if she wanted to greet her father, who had been away for four days, and his guest without delay. Since there was no mistress in the household, all matters of receiving guests and maintaining the family’s dignity fell solely to Blair.

Upon entering the mansion, Blair stopped by her room on the second floor to hide the book with the drawing tucked inside, then came back down to the first floor. Standing before the parlor door, she raised her hand to knock, but hesitated when she heard laughter from inside.

“The strongest alliances have always been forged through marriage ties.”

“Indeed. It’s an honor to be able to negotiate with you, Marquis, in such difficult times.”

“It’s fortunate that we both have an unmarried son and daughter of age.”

Blair swallowed hard without realizing it and instinctively leaned closer to the door, pressing her ear against it.

“If the marriage proceeds smoothly, I’ll grant full access to the overland route in our territory leading to the northern Glassford trading port.”

“Excellent. That means I’ll be able to ship raw materials directly without going through middlemen. I’ll also assign a portion of Hampton Factory’s shares under your name. You can confirm the details in the contract.”

“I must ask, though, about the advance payment….”

“I’ll pay one hundred thousand flangs the moment the ceremony is held, so you needn’t worry about that.”

“Generous as always.”

Another round of laughter burst out from the parlor like firecrackers. Blair took in a trembling breath. With only the thickness of a door between them, the atmosphere inside and outside felt like two entirely different worlds.

She had always known that a marriage between noble houses was a matter of profit and loss. Yet hearing with her own ears that she was nothing more than a trade commodity before being a living, breathing person—a daughter—struck her differently.

Sensing movement nearby, Blair turned her head. A few maids, carrying trays of refreshments, were staring at her curiously. Blair composed her pale, drained complexion and knocked softly on the parlor door.

“Come in.”

“You’ve returned, Father.”

Blair stepped inside, her posture formal and composed. Seated in the parlor were a man and woman in their forties, who appeared to be a married couple, their eyes gleaming with interest.

“Greet our guests. You remember them from the charity event after the concert, don’t you?”

The face of the man seated across from her father, with a low table between them, looked familiar. Blair recognized him immediately.

“Of course. It’s an honor to see you again, Marquis Dorman. And… Marchioness, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Blair Twyford.”

“The pleasure’s mine. My, you don’t resemble Henry in the slightest.”

For a moment, the Count of Twyford’s face flushed red, but he said nothing. Ten years ago, he might have answered that she took after her mother, who had been renowned for her beauty. But with that woman gone, such words could no longer be spoken.

Forcing a polite smile, Blair turned her gaze toward the Marchioness. The woman, wearing heavy makeup, covered her lips with one hand and smiled.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Twyford. I wish I could’ve greeted you at the charity event, but I wasn’t feeling well that day.”

“I’m glad we could meet at last, Madam.”

The Marchioness of Dorman, once said to have been an opera singer in her youth, laughed softly. Even as she did, her eyes moved quickly, scanning Blair from head to toe.

“Miss Twyford, could you spare me a moment of your time?”

“How could I refuse a request from the Marchioness?”

Mrs. Norris, who had followed them in, poured tea into the guests’ cups. Blair offered a brief word of thanks and motioned for the head maid to leave.

“Did you know in advance that we would be visiting?”

“No, Madam.”

“I thought so.”

The Marchioness exchanged a satisfied smile with her husband. Taking a sip of tea, the Marquis glanced briefly at Blair before turning a genial smile toward the Count of Twyford.

“To think she dressed so perfectly without even being told of our visit.”

“It’s my daughter’s habit to keep herself neat in both body and mind every morning. Courtesy and grace are second nature to her.”

Her father wore an immensely proud expression, as if presenting a porcelain doll that he’d dusted and polished with a silk handkerchief every single day.

“I’m beginning to trust your word more and more. You weren’t exaggerating after all.”

“Of course not. Didn’t I tell you several times already?”

“She’s the very model of a perfect woman, like something straight out of a manual. My wife could learn a thing or two from her.”

“Oh, stop that!”

The Marchioness playfully scolded her husband, then leaned in toward him to whisper.

“Look at that thick, beautiful hair, dear. And her face is quite pretty too….”

“Hm.”

“It’s a shame she’s so slender. A woman should at least have curves where they’re needed.”

The Marquis swept his gaze up and down Blair, appraising her like merchandise. Pretending not to hear, Blair lifted her teacup and took a sip of the hot tea. Unfortunately, the Marchioness’s full, resonant voice continued.

“At least Isaac won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m not so sure. Women tend to sense these things better than men.”

“What nonsense. It’s men who see through the secrets behind the veil far more sharply.”

It was midday, and bright sunlight poured through the parlor. The cream-colored wallpaper adorned with golden patterns shimmered under the light. From the velvet sofa embroidered with elegant designs and the antique coffee table wafted the soft fragrance of tea. There was nothing about the space that should’ve felt suffocating, yet Blair found it hard to breathe, as though she were submerged in thick seawater.

“If you simply sit still upon the stand, you will always be treated as merchandise.”

She didn’t know why that deep voice came to mind now. Maybe because she was being treated like an object valued only for utility, not as a person with feelings.

A commodity had no will of its own. Even when potential buyers examined it from every angle, gauging its worth, and handling it freely, it couldn’t protest.

Blair didn’t want to sit quietly through this distasteful situation. Yet she couldn’t leave without permission either. In a setting like this, with her father present, it was impossible for someone as obedient as Blair to imagine how she could respond.

So of course she couldn’t say it. That she didn’t want to marry a man she didn’t even know. That if possible, she wanted to marry someone she truly desired. Like her mother, who had once run away with the stablehand.

There was no way she could ever say such a thing.

“I have news to share with you, Miss Twyford.”

After finishing that dreadful conversation, the Marquis of Dorman lifted his chin as if bestowing a great favor.

“Though our families have already discussed the marriage, I thought it best for the two of you to meet at least once before the ceremony. My son also expressed a wish to see you.”

Blair’s heart began to pound. The realization that she was completely excluded from the marriage arrangements concerning her own life left her shaken all over again.

Even if she somehow gathered the courage of a speck of dust and confessed to her father that she wasn’t ready to marry anyone, would that cancel this engagement?

“It seems our son’s school friends who attended the banquet must have mentioned Miss Twyford to him. I wonder where you were hiding that day, for him not to have met you even once. Tsk tsk.”

“Don’t say it like that, dear. He told you himself, didn’t he? He was too caught up in greeting old friends he hadn’t seen in years.”

“In any case, we’ll arrange the meeting soon. What do you think?”

“…Understood, Marquis.”

“Good.”

Satisfied, the Marquis turned his attention away from Blair and drank his tea. The perceptive Count of Twyford jerked his chin toward the door.

“You may go now, Blair.”

“It was an honor to meet you, Marquis and Marchioness.”

Blair rose gracefully from the sofa, offering a polite bow before turning to leave. She hadn’t realized until that moment that her palms were damp with cold sweat. Her breathing was ragged, as though she’d barely escaped drowning in a dark sea, and it took her a long time to steady her pounding heart.

***

A telegram arrived from the House of Dorman only a few days later. As expected, it was for a private meeting between Blair and the Marquis’s only son. And Blair, of course, had no say in the matter.

The meeting time notified from the other side was five in the afternoon, and the place was a lounge bar by the riverside. By day, it served tea, and as evening approached, the lights dimmed while wine and cocktails were offered. By the time Blair arrived, dusk had already fallen.

She drew in the unfamiliar air and looked at the clock on the wall. Though the appointed time for their meeting had long passed, the other party still hadn’t arrived.

‘How much longer do I have to wait?’

Sitting alone as a woman, she could feel gazes darting toward her from every direction, making her uncomfortable. Since it wasn’t proper to leave her seat freely, she thought it might’ve been better if she’d brought a book. Just as that fleeting thought crossed her mind, a man dressed in a bright, water-blue suit leisurely entered the lounge.

“Miss Blair Twyford?”

Though it was their first meeting, the man recognized her at once. Approaching to a close distance, he gave a bright smile on his slick face and extended his hand.

Blair’s eyes dropped for an instant. It was an exceedingly white and smooth hand, the kind that had likely never done a day’s hard work.

“I’m Isaac Dorman. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”