Chapter 5
The rain continued into the next day.
Rowena did not leave her bedroom for the entire time it rained.
Perhaps because she made sure not to skip her meals, no one attempted to drag her outside. Killian, too, kept his word—he did not enter her room, speaking to her only from beyond the closed door.
“I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
His tone was polite. Calm. As though everything that had happened over the past week had been nothing more than a trivial disturbance.
“It would be wise not to starve yourself while I’m gone. Unless you’d like your husband bursting into your bedroom in the middle of the night.”
“……”
“…I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
When Rowena did not respond, he ended the one-sided conversation in a voice that had sunk even lower.
A moment later, the sound of leather shoes echoed down the corridor. His footsteps were firm, unmistakable—free of hesitation. She could almost see him descending the stairs.
The familiar sound faded away. Soon, the vibration of a car engine hummed outside the window, followed by the crunch of wheels rolling quickly over gravel.
Once the master of the house had left, the tension pressing down on Ravenhill eased noticeably. From across the corridor came the muted voices of servants in quiet conversation.
The moment all signs of movement around her bedroom disappeared, Rowena threw back the covers and rose from the bed.
The dress revealed beneath was a simple gray-brown one-piece. No lace, no bright patterns—at a glance, it could have been mistaken for a maid’s uniform.
Standing before the mirror, Rowena neatly braided her smooth blond hair. Over it, she carefully wrapped a deep-violet scarf, hiding every strand.
The woman reflected in the mirror no longer looked like the daughter of the Count of Bernier, nor the wife of Killian Vale.
She picked up a small travel bag and slowly opened the door, stepping into the corridor. Moving silently down the stairs, she heard the maids laughing in the kitchen. No one paid any attention to the small shadow slipping past the hallway.
Rowena headed for the side door beside the storage room—the one servants occasionally used when bringing in supplies or firewood.
The moment she opened it, damp air rushed in. The scent of wet earth and crushed grass filled her lungs.
Under the gray sky, heavy raindrops fell like iron nails, mercilessly beating down the flowers. The autumn wind lashed at the scarf wrapped around her head, trying to tear it loose.
She stopped for a moment.
‘Please… let me make you love me, even just a little.’
An unforgettable voice echoed somewhere deep in her mind.
She hated rainy days—hated them to a painful degree.
But dying here, like this, would be far more unbearable.
At last, Rowena stepped into the gray curtain of rain. Cold droplets streamed down her shoulders and spine, but she never once looked back.
The autumn rain swallowed the sound of her fleeing footsteps and erased even the last trace of her presence.
—
After traveling some distance beyond Ravenhill, one would reach Richmond Central Station, located at the heart of the capital, Kensington. From there, trains offered the fastest way out of the city.
But Rowena did not choose that route.
Richmond Central was the core of the Grosvenor Railway—and the man who had designed and built that vast rail network was none other than Killian himself.
Most of the country’s tracks began in his hands and returned to them again. The moment Rowena set foot in the central station, news of her escape would reach him almost instantly.
The Grosvenor Railway was not merely a transportation network. It was a massive information web that ran through aristocratic society—a surveillance system belonging to Killian Vale.
Who arrived at which station, which train they boarded, where they were headed—if he wished, he could know everything as easily as looking into the palm of his hand. If necessary, stopping a single train would pose no difficulty at all.
Worse still, some of the station staff already knew her face. If luck turned against her, she might be seized before she even boarded a train.
For those reasons, Rowena headed not to Richmond Central, but to a small station on the outskirts of Kensington.
Branley Halt lay alone at the edge of open fields, little more than a solitary platform. There was no proper waiting room, no ticket office—and no sign of station staff.
Express trains passed it by without stopping. Only the occasional local train or freight cart would halt there. Aside from nearby villagers, outsiders rarely visited the place.
From there, Rowena planned to ride a freight cart to Whistler—a quiet small town not far from Kensington, sufficient for hiding herself away for a time.
If she had her way, she would board a train bound for somewhere far, far away and vanish forever. But the divorce proceedings—barely begun—still bound her feet.
As long as she bore the name ‘Vale’, she could not be free. Simply by virtue of being her husband, Killian had the legal right to seize her and drag her back by force. Perhaps if she could hide forever it might be possible—but imagining such a thing against Killian felt absurd.
Above all, she did not want to end her life as ‘Rowena Vale’.
That was why she could not leave Kensington entirely.
To proceed with the divorce petition, she would have to remain nearby for a while longer.
‘First the divorce. After that… I’ll think about it later.’
She held onto that resolve.
But perhaps even that resolve had been a luxury. From the moment she set out, everything began to go wrong.
The journey to the small station proved far harsher than she had anticipated. Her clothes, soaked through from standing in the rain for so long, clung to her skin, making her feel heavier with every step. Her face flushed, and her fingertips grew numb from the cold.
Even after arriving at Branley Halt, things did not improve.
The carriage that was supposed to be waiting had not arrived. The area around the station was eerily silent. The wind howled across the fields, its sound strange and haunting, adding a chill to the atmosphere.
Rowena straightened her back and scanned the surroundings. Not far off, a man came into view.
Tall, nearly as tall as Killian, but slightly leaner in build. He wore a neatly fitted frock coat over a shirt of refined texture, holding a cane of elegant design in one hand. His face was obscured by a hat, yet the refinement of his posture and attire radiated dignity on its own.
Rowena let out a quiet breath of relief.
But that calm was short-lived.
Soon, two men with disheveled appearances appeared at the station entrance. At first, she assumed they were villagers waiting for the carriage. But she quickly realized their eyes were fixed on her.
She lowered her gaze, hoping to avoid them, but they were already approaching with casual, menacing steps.
The remote halt had seemed perfect for evading attention. That had been the reason she chose it. But the same lack of surveillance that made it ideal for escape also made it attractive to criminals. Rowena had failed to consider that.
Whoosh—!
“Ah…!”
A sudden gust of wind dislodged the scarf she had wrapped around her head. The crimson fabric tore through the gray sky, carried far away by the storm.
Her damp golden hair fanned over her shoulders. The sight seemed only to deepen the leering smiles of the men approaching her.
The sound of their footsteps grew nearer. She froze, unable even to step back.
A strong stench of alcohol drifted with the wind. The aura surrounding the approaching figures was hostile and threatening.
And then—
Thud.
The tip of a cane struck the ground nearby. A shadow in a black coat flickered at the edge of her vision. A calm, subtle scent swept away the stench of alcohol and brushed against her nose.
Rowena turned her head.
Under the gray, rain-drenched sky, a gentleman adjusted his tilted hat and quietly looked down at her.
His face, revealed beneath the brim, was serene and beautiful, like a painting. Golden hair shimmered faintly as if lit by moonlight, framing features that were clear and elegant.
Rowena swallowed hard and looked up at him. In his pale blue eyes—lighter than Killian’s—her reflection shimmered faintly.
Soon, his long eyes curved gently.
“Pardon me,” he said, his low, soft voice brushing against her ears like a gentle breeze. He slowly raised his slightly tilted head.
“You look familiar… I couldn’t help but notice.”
He leisurely adjusted his hat, then cast a commanding gaze toward the two men. The ones advancing toward Rowena flinched, shrinking back.
The man holding the cane in his gloved hand exuded an extraordinary aura. Taller by a head than the others, with a straight, broad-shouldered posture that spoke of disciplined strength.
His refined appearance matched his striking features, radiating a quiet authority—not mere vanity. The coolness in his eyes and his composed demeanor revealed a noble birth.
The moment his gaze fell on them, the two men recoiled in fear.
“So,” he said, his voice gentle as if he had never been sharp to begin with, “what brings Miss Bernier to a shabby place like this?”
Rowena realized at once who the man by her side was. The familiar yet inexplicably striking face she had glimpsed earlier was no illusion.
Arthur Ainsworth.
One of the few nobles with royal bloodlines, and the Duke of Ainsworth, whose family boasted the longest history among them. By birth alone, he was extraordinary—more noble than almost any other aristocrat. Short of the king or the crown prince, none could sit higher than him.
And yet… why was he here?
Rowena hesitated, lifting her head.
“I….”
The moment she parted her lips, her gaze met the fleeing men avoiding Arthur. Her body shivered involuntarily. Perhaps it was from standing too long in the rain. Dizziness swept over her, and her legs weakened.
As she staggered, a gloved hand naturally steadied her shoulder.
The instant the firm fingertips touched her skin:
“You’d best stop speaking arrogantly, Rowena Vale.”
A harsh voice rang in her mind. Rowena recoiled reflexively, shrinking at the touch.
In the brief silence that followed, a coldness seeped into her skin. Realizing her own impertinence, she hurriedly lifted her head. Arthur regarded her without changing his expression.
“My carriage will arrive here soon. I can take you home.”
He withdrew the hand from her shoulder with an easy motion. Rowena shook her head awkwardly.
“No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”
“If you’re waiting for the carriage to Whistler, it won’t come. On days like this, service is often canceled.”
Her already pale face grew even paler.
She had not known that. But more startling than the information itself was that he had understood her situation so precisely.
“If returning home is inconvenient, I can invite you to my estate. I have no intention of informing Ravenhill, so you may rest assured on that point.”
Rowena bit her lips, hesitating as she gripped her wet sleeves. Arthur’s smile deepened slightly, tinged with amusement at her discomfort.
“I know it may be improper to ask such a request of a lady, but my conscience will not allow me to leave someone of noble birth alone in such a dangerous place.”
Under normal circumstances, she would have refused instantly. A married woman staying at a single man’s estate? Impossible.
“Moreover, you do not appear well…”
But perhaps it was the dizziness that made her head spin, or perhaps it was the fact that she no longer felt the need to pretend to be ‘normal.’
She no longer thought of refusing.
“Please… allow me to uphold the duties of a gentleman,” she said, slowly raising her hand.
Tap.
Her cold, trembling fingertips touched the smooth surface of his glove.
“Thank you for your kindness, Duke Ainsworth.”
Arthur’s lips curved in a subtle, quiet smile, and a calm, gentle laugh lifted the corners of his eyes.
