Chapter 274
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
“If you hadn’t been so cutting, Killian would have recovered long ago. Honestly… I think we should look for another doctor.”
Unlike my father, my mother was a warm person, but she worried too much.
“He has to improve before the military academy entrance exam…. If he can’t answer during the interview, what’s the point of all this preparation for the written and practical tests?”
Then why was I being forced to prepare for such a pointless exam in the first place?
If my father crushed one’s spirit with shouting, my mother did so with worry.
Do you know that gentle concern, once it crosses a certain line, can be more painful than cold verbal abuse?
They said they were worried for me, because of me. And if I dared to snap back, I became the ungrateful son. That made it worse. I couldn’t rebel openly against my mother the way I did against my father.
They didn’t say such things only in front of me. They said them before relatives, their friends and even my friends. In those moments, I felt as though I were stripped naked and hung in the middle of a public square.
I used to speak easily. I even liked being in front of people. But gradually, everything became uncomfortable. And by the time I was about nine, I stopped talking.
I shut myself off completely from my father. With my mother, I answered only when spoken to and briefly. I avoided strangers altogether. After years of living that way, the only people I could truly converse with were my brother, a few cousins and childhood friends, and the servants who had known me since I was young.
Everyone except me found it frustrating. I didn’t. If anything, it was easier when people avoided me on their own.
‘How am I supposed to return the parasol?’
It was only after meeting you that my inability to speak to strangers began to feel unbearable.
One day, I poured that maddening frustration into a golf ball. None of the people at that golf gathering were close to me. I spoke not a word the entire time, only stepping forward when it was my turn to swing. To others, I must have looked like someone utterly devoted to the game.
In truth, I was there because the night before, I had overheard a boy inviting you and followed him.
Whether my ball landed in the hole or the bunker, my thoughts were fixed entirely on you and on the parasol hidden in my golf bag.
You glanced at me occasionally, but whenever our eyes met, you smiled awkwardly and looked away. You weren’t interested in me. Not like that. At the first dinner, when we exchanged greetings, you had blushed bright red, but it clearly wasn’t out of attraction.
You were startled because the boy who had seen you fall into the stream turned out to be the master of the estate’s son.
“Miss Loveridge, I’d like to apologize for startling you the other day. Were you injured at all?”
Whenever it wasn’t my turn, I whispered the words I’d prepared over and over to myself. They sounded natural when I practiced in front of a mirror. Yet even then, I felt foolish practicing words others spoke without effort.
‘Just the first sentence.’
If I could say that much, the rest would flow, I had practiced it that thoroughly.
‘You can do this.’
Of course, the spectators were the problem. With so many eyes on us, I felt I’d never manage even the first word. So I waited, for the moment you stepped away from the group, or for the game to end.
That was when the incident occurred.
“Miss Loveridge, for a lady lacking strength and technique, it would be wiser to use a mash nib rather than a pitching nib in situations like this.”
The boy who had invited you spent the entire day interfering, trying to instruct you.
“Is that so? I’m afraid the pitching nib feels more natural in my hands.”
“Bad habits should be corrected early. The more skilled you become at golf, the harder it is to change them.”
“Then I suppose it’s already too late.”
But you already knew how to play golf. Not just passably, you were quite good. One look at your swing made it obvious you’d trained under a professional. I’d heard the Loveridge family spared no expense in your education. It seems golf has been included.
By contrast, that boy had no business teaching you anything. He wasn’t blind, he must have known. Yet he persisted. His goal was obvious.
He wanted your attention.
Even if it meant irritating the person he liked, he seemed desperate to carve his name into your memory.
“Wow! Miss Loveridge, that landed perfectly on the green!”
“Hmm… Sometimes an unwise choice produces a good result. But one shouldn’t rely on luck alone.”
“……”
I wanted to bury him beneath the green and shove a golf ball straight into his mouth.
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