Chapter 61
“…Was it that bad?”
“If I were the Ducal Lady, you’d be off my husband list immediately!”
At Dillon’s firm words, Caesar felt his already low spirits sink even further. Of course, he knew he hadn’t acted desirably. But was it really such a grievous offense that he’d be struck from the list entirely…? No, it wasn’t as though there had been any real hope to begin with…
Dillon, who had been watching Caesar deflate endlessly under the weight of his own regrets, suddenly gasped as if struck by a good idea.
“Commander, what’s done is done. No point digging yourself into the ground like that. Why don’t you just go apologize like a man tomorrow?”
Even as Caesar looked at him with an expression that all but said, What kind of b******t is that?, Dillon remained confident.
“You know I hear a lot of things, right? The eldest Lady Estern is already married. The second, third, and fourth ladies apparently have no intention of marrying and won’t even accept suitors. That’s common knowledge in the capital. But it seems the youngest lady is planning to marry obediently as her parents wish. That’s why the ducal house is supposedly swarming every day with young nobles trying to propose. So I’m saying—why don’t you drop by and at least make an impression?”
Caesar, pretending not to care, found himself annoyingly intrigued by Dillon’s words, which only hurt his pride.
Still, it was undeniably tempting. What really got to him was the part about the duke’s estate being overrun with suitors.
‘I don’t even need to see it to know.’
Just imagining a swarm of buzzing flies crowding around Beatrice, all vying for a single glance, made his blood boil again.
“Isn’t tomorrow a little too soon?”
Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, Caesar mumbled, and Dillon grinned slyly. He hadn’t thought his commander was such a softy, but the rumors about the youngest Lady Estern’s beauty must’ve been true.
Dillon knew full well that during nearly ten years in the mercenary corps, Caesar had never so much as glanced at a woman. The others often teased that he must be a eunuch, living more chastely than a temple priest.
So seeing him make such an expression over a noble lady in the capital was, to Dillon, endlessly amusing. If the commander used an apology as an excuse to go see her, it would practically be a formal courtship. And if it worked—great. If not, well, still a good story.
“Apologies are best when made quickly. Waiting a few days would just make things awkward. If it were me, I’d go tomorrow. Isn’t the reason you’re this bothered because you like her, Commander?”
“Well… I suppose. But going to see a noble lady out of the blue will make it look like I’m courting her…”
Sensing Caesar about to retreat, Dillon quickly scrambled to boost his confidence.
“Come on, it’s not like your status is lacking anymore. What, is a man gonna die just because he courts a woman? You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Dillon was secretly excited about the spectacle to come. He wasn’t the one risking embarrassment, after all. And yes, maybe a small part of him—just a little—wanted to see his taciturn superior find a bit of happiness with a wife.
Completely unaware that his deputy was spurring him on out of his own amusement, Caesar began to seriously plan his visit to House Estern.
What had once felt impossible now seemed urgently necessary. Because if he didn’t act, someone else might snatch her away right in front of him.
So the next day, like a man possessed, Caesar bought flowers and headed straight for the ducal estate. It was a long-standing habit of his for his body to move before his brain did.
True to his role as a loyal deputy, Dillon eagerly helped with preparations, from choosing clothes to personal grooming, even recommending the bouquet.
As he entered the drawing room under a servant’s guidance, he saw several fools who had arrived before him shooting wary glances his way. He glared back and sat casually on the sofa, but he quickly felt the creeping urge to bounce his legs from nervousness, tension, and embarrassment.
Well, if you think about it, the possibility of marriage with you isn’t the worst proposal Ducal Lady Beatrice could get, right, Commander? Maybe back in the mercenary days, sure, but now? You’re a Margrave.
Trusted by the Crown Prince, financially well-off, and with a bright future. Be confident!
Repeating his aide’s words like a mantra, Caesar tried his best to stay composed.
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