Woman of the Month - Chapter 2

2. Ernest Wording

“It’s surprising that you suddenly want to go to Newport. Explain what you mean by that.”

Charles Harold’s gaze rested silently on Graham. He and Graham had just returned to the office, leaving the Marchioness in shock. Standing straight with the desk between them, Graham gave a brief nod and replied with determination.

“I want to work at the Newport Harold, Father.”

The Newport Harold was a daily newspaper founded a few years ago by the Winchester family in Newport, Virginia, in the New World. At the time of the announcement to establish a newspaper in Newport, many had opposed the decision of the Marquess of Winchester.

The distance between Lydon and Newport was excessively far, which made it impossible to efficiently manage the Newport Harold. Considering that time was both money and life for a media company, their argument was reasonable enough.

Nevertheless, shortly after its founding, the Newport Harold became the leading newspaper in the eastern region of Virginia. The Marquess of Winchester’s judgment had proven correct.

Charles Harold had strong reasoning for pushing forward with the project despite opposition. Ever since smallpox and the potato famine swept across the continent a decade ago, countless people had been pushed toward the New World, Virginia, in search of jobs.

Virginia’s national power was rapidly growing, supported by its vast lands. Natural resources and various agricultural and livestock products poured out from its extensive territory, and industrial goods produced by cheap immigrant labor held unparalleled competitiveness.

As a result, the population of Newport, Virginia’s largest city, had increased exponentially. There was also a prevailing prediction that its economic size would soon rival Lydon’s.

Therefore, Winchester’s media expansion into Virginia—particularly Newport—was essential. Entering the emerging market first and overcoming an initial adjustment period would result in clear dominance. The earlier they entered, the easier it would be to accumulate business know-how, establish distribution networks, and secure loyal customers.

“The Newport Harold?”

“It’s difficult to start from the bottom in Lydon, so I think it would be a good choice to learn gradually.”

With that, Graham closed his mouth.

Thoughts fell like dominoes, creating a strange pattern as they clattered down rapidly. The first tile had fallen when the Marchioness mentioned the engagement issue. That word had dropped like a droplet of water, toppling the smallest, trembling piece of wood at the edge.

The chain reaction happened quickly and unpredictably. When the cascading waves reached the final block, Graham Harold realized that living as a proud and exemplary great noble was not at all pleasant.

Dominoes were the most tedious game in the world. Aligning tiles according to the desired pattern, spacing them perfectly, and setting them up required immense time and effort. Even a small mistake was unforgivable. A single slip meant repeating the pointless labor of standing up and rearranging all the fallen blocks.

In the wide, undisturbed space devoid of vibrations, Graham Harold was like a beautiful and enormous domino. Not only his parents but also everyone around him carefully selected the colors, imagined the patterns, and calculated the dimensions to create the perfect portrait of the next Marquess of Winchester.

And now, as its completion neared, Graham had reversed the dominoes and ruined it. Just as those who left for the New World in search of new opportunities, he had made the same decision. A fresh start from the beginning, to conceive a completely different design than the one he had drawn so far. What that design would look like, he still did not know.

“So you’re grandiosely saying that you don’t want to stay here and don’t want to get engaged.”

Charles Harold smirked.

“…Father.”

Graham hesitated and looked at him. Charles, with a mischievous smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, observed Graham.

“I’ll let you do as you wish.”

The Marquess of Winchester said, tapping the desk with the end of his quill.

“A man should try pursuing what he wants.”

“Are you serious?”

Graham Harold widened his eyes and asked. Having been prepared to pester his father multiple times, he was taken aback by how quickly Charles consented.

Lately, Charles and Graham had clashed in silent battles more often than ever. Graham Harold’s exhaustion and disappointment were the reasons. Fatigue and disappointment were byproducts of overcoming the gap between ideals and reality—a fate that all Winchester men were destined to bear.

Nevertheless, as had been the case for the men of the Marquess family for generations, Graham would also endure this period of growing pains and eventually swim back to where he belonged. Charles believed this without question.

Charles Harold himself recalled the time when, in his youth, he had declared to the previous Marquess that he was quitting everything and had recklessly crossed the Doven Strait. He suppressed the slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright. If you’re done, leave.”

At his father’s dismissal, Graham was about to leave the office when he turned back toward Charles, who was already buried in a vast amount of documents.

“Father. May I ask for one more favor?”

“As long as it’s something I can grant.”

The Marquess replied absentmindedly, without looking up from his papers.

“Could you create a new identity for me to use in Virginia?”

“A new identity? Why?”

The Marquess raised his head, and his gaze met Graham’s in the air. After hesitating briefly, Graham stiffened his neck and spoke his desire.

“I want no one to know who I am. I would prefer not to reveal the name ‘Graham Harold.’”

“…Not a bad idea.”

It was an old habit of the Marquess of Winchester to tap his desk with the tip of his quill when he was deep in thought.

Graham listened to the sound spreading in a regular rhythm across the polished ebony surface. Once the brief resonance ended, his father would, as always, deliver a fitting conclusion.

“It would be best to disguise you as a commoner reporter. You won’t need any servants to attend you, will you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll learn diligently so as not to disappoint you.”

Hearing his son’s determined response, Charles Harold gave a brief nod. Graham’s pale blue eyes glimmered with anticipation and joy.

***

Graham Harold smiled as he looked at the identity card in his hand. It bore the name by which he would be known in the New World.

He stood on the deck of a large passenger ship that had just departed from a harbor in the midwestern region of Ingrint. After spending about a month aboard, he would arrive in Newport, Virginia. There, a life entirely opposite to the one he had lived as the Winchester heir awaited him.

Since impulsively telling his father he would go to Newport, Graham’s preparations for Virginia had proceeded seamlessly. He calmed the vehemently opposed Marchioness, created a false identity, and made all the necessary arrangements to work as a reporter for the Newport Harold. Thus, the process of shedding his identity as “Graham Harold, the Winchester heir,” was completed smoothly.

A cold wind, blowing from the North Sea and cutting through the waves, wildly tousled Graham’s fine silver hair. The season had already turned to winter. As he brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead, he exhaled a faint breath into the air.

“Are you also heading to Newport?”

At that moment, a man dressed in shabby clothes standing beside Graham suddenly spoke to him. The man, who spoke in a typical Ingrint middle-class accent, wore cheap clothes but maintained a neat appearance.

“Ah, yes. That’s correct.”

Graham’s response came out quickly in the Lydon dialect. After months of practice to avoid using the posh intonation of the nobility, he could now converse quite naturally in the language of commoners.

In Ingrint, accents distinguished a speaker’s status and education level. Graham guessed the man’s profession was likely a doctor, lawyer, or accountant. He wasn’t a noble, but he showed signs of having received a higher education.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve also secured a job in Newport. I’m Percy Moore, a lawyer.”

The man extended his hand with twinkling eyes that radiated kindness.

Graham Harold’s guess had been correct. Graham firmly shook hands with Percy Moore and replied.

“I am… Ernest Wording.”

***