Chapter 4: Cedric’s Mind.

A month has passed since Cedric first met Amelia face-to-face.

His initial impression, honestly, wasn’t favorable.

When he learned that his fiancée—now his wife—would move into his annex, Cedric felt exasperated.

He’d heard she was Lady Amelia of the Fabir border count’s family.
Older, frivolous, and a spendthrift, or so the rumors went.

As the second son of a ducal house, used as a bargaining chip, he held no expectations.

His only wish was that she wouldn’t cause him harm.
That was all.

Reading alone in the annex was his sole source of peace.
Having anyone other than a servant intrude, even a wife, was unwelcome.

His ideal was, “Go play as you like, just don’t involve me.”

But Amelia defied both his wishes and expectations.

The rumored recklessness hasn’t shown itself once this past month.
When he quietly asked the servants, they said her outings were limited to buying cloth, paper, or food—never at night.

Normally, servants handle provisions, but she insists, “I want to cook myself,” and goes shopping.

Her cooking is, in fact, delicious.
Talk of her chasing men is unthinkable.

—Can a person change this much after marriage? he muttered to himself countless times.

At first, he suspected a trap. Flattery, calculation, some future payoff.

But as days passed, her demeanor stayed constant.
Her words soft, her gaze direct, never overstepping yet never distant, maintaining just the right space.

Those three days of nursing—her hands quietly changing cold cloths through feverish nights—Cedric can’t forget their warmth.

After that, he stopped doubting her.

Today, at Amelia’s suggestion, they invited a tutor.
Under the theme of noble education, they studied estate management and etiquette from scratch.

Neither Cedric nor Amelia is expected to become a head of house.
One could argue there’s no need to learn.

But Amelia insisted, “It may not be needed now, but it’s too late once it is.”
Her knowing tone made him curious, but he didn’t press.

He enjoys learning, and time with her is pleasant.
The male tutor taught estate matters, the female one etiquette.

Drawing a map on a slate, they discussed mill placements along rivers, granary management based on harvests, tax collection, winter preparations.
Amelia furrowed her brow at the numbers.

Despite her rumored playfulness, her focus on study never wavered.

“If spring rains are prolonged, where would you cut expenses?”

The male tutor posed the question.
Cedric answered promptly.

“Reduce seasonal festivities and travel. Workers’ wages can’t be cut.”
“Good judgment. And reserve grain?”
“Use older barrels first. Strengthen pest control, feed spoilage to livestock.”
“Well observed.”

The tutor nodded, satisfied.

Beside him, Amelia whispered, “Amazing.”
Her small praise filled Cedric with pride.

She traced her own numbers, asking the tutor,

“For rice and wheat ratios in this case—”
“If cold persists, prioritize wheat, but consider villagers’ preferences.”
“Villagers’ preferences…”
“Yes. Forcing diets tires people. Prolonged strain breeds conflict.”

Amelia nodded seriously, murmuring, “I see.”

Those who ask without shame and delight in learning are strong.

She’s capable, Cedric thought.

In the afternoon, dance practice.
They parted briefly to change into dance attire.

Then, in proper outfits, they began. When Amelia appeared, Cedric froze.

A ball gown layered in cherry-pink fabric.
Sheer silk sleeves, hair loosely tied up, a single red ornament gleaming.

His heart skipped, and his mouth moved unbidden.

“…You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. You look splendid too, Lord Cedric.”

Her compliment warmed him, but he doubted his own appearance.

His clothes were his stepbrother’s hand-me-downs.
Shoulders sagging, sleeves and hems too long.

Hardly flattering.

Funds were available for new clothes, but he hadn’t bothered, a regret now as she saw him like this.
Then a strange realization hit.

(Why do I care so much about looking bad in front of her?)

He pondered but found no answer.

Practice began.
Cedric paired with the female tutor, stepping to the music.

He knew his movements were stiff.
It was early in his training, so he accepted it.

“You’re doing well,” the female tutor encouraged.

After the dance, Amelia added, “Well done, Lord Cedric.”

Her words lingered oddly.
He wanted to improve.

Then it was Amelia’s turn, dancing with the male tutor.

Her dress hem swayed like waves, her wrist angles graceful.

She was genuinely skilled, but…

Watching her, a small thorn pricked his chest.
Not frustration at his own lesser skill, but something else.

The male tutor touched her without hesitation—and Cedric didn’t like it.

He still hesitated to touch, haunted by his magic outburst.
—Yet he was her husband.

(…I see. I feel for Amelia—)

Before the thought finished, the music stopped.

“How was it?”
“…Very beautiful.”

He hid his feelings, smiling.

“Good.”

Her smile tightened his chest, and he instinctively took her hand.
As if to overwrite where the male tutor had held it.

“What’s wrong?”
“…Nothing.”

His chest was too full for words.

“I just… want to attend a ball with you someday.”

He managed that much.

“Yes, let’s go together.”

Her instant, joyful reply lit a small flame in his heart.
He wasn’t enough to stand beside her yet.

Not in height, strength, or presence.

To grow, he needed to eat, sleep, move.
He finally understood why Amelia urged, “Eat more,” at every meal.

After practice, parting from Amelia, he gave the servants orders.

“For dance tutors, no men.”
“But who will partner Lady Amelia?”
“Find a female tutor who can dance the male part.”
“Why, if I may ask—”
“Just do it. That’s an order. Understood?”
“Y-Yes, sir.”

The servant, startled by Cedric’s rare authority, bowed.

That night, he ordered double his usual portion at dinner.
Amelia’s eyes widened at the plate.

“Oh my…!”
“I want to eat properly from now on.”
“Yes, please do.”

Her delighted smile had a hint of watching over a younger brother.

Like adults watching children at an orphanage.
That wasn’t enough.

Not as a brother or child, but as a man.

He ate steadily.
Chewed meat. Pushed through discomfort.

Amelia said nothing, just watched gently.

That made him frustrated.
By the time he cleared his plate, his stomach was heavy, his body sweaty.

“Lord Cedric, are you overdoing it?”
“I-I’m fine…!”

He answered bravely.

But that night, walking the corridor after dinner was tough.
Sinking into his room’s chair, gazing at the night outside, he chuckled.

The warmth of her hand when they held hands came back to him.

His stomach ached, but his mood wasn’t bad.
Strange, he thought, keeping the budding flame in his chest alive.