XXXIV

As Marcus walked through the village streets, his mind was consumed by a single thought: "What could Holloway be planning?" The idea that his young butler might do something inappropriate to remove the parson from Grace's life filled him with anxiety. He knew that Simon, in his unwavering loyalty and excessive enthusiasm, was capable of anything to protect him, even something reckless that could lead to irreversible consequences.

He gripped his cane tightly, using it more as emotional support than physical. He forced himself to walk with the feigned frailty he had adopted to avoid raising suspicion among the villagers. Yet, the haste with which he moved didn't go unnoticed. The locals stared at him, whispering to one another as they saw him moving faster than usual, clearly agitated. The marquis tried to ignore the stares, though he could feel the weight of their observation as his mind raced, trying to guess what madness his young footman might have concocted this time.

The fear that Holloway might do something counterproductive gnawed at him. "God, I can't let this get out of hand," he thought, frowning, his heart pounding. His concern wasn't just about what his butler might do, but also the consequences it would have for Grace, for himself, for everything they were trying to rebuild. What if Simon decided to deal with the parson in some drastic way? The situation was slipping from his control, and that unsettled him more than anything else.

With every step, the weight of the mask and cane seemed to multiply. Westlin struggled to maintain his facade, but his mind was too occupied with trying to prevent chaos from breaking loose.

Finally, he arrived near the small parish school. His eyes scanned the windows, and as he approached one of them, he cautiously peeked inside. What he saw left him speechless. There, in one of the tiny desks meant for children, was his young butler, awkwardly trying to fit his adult frame into the small seat. With his knees nearly in the air and a look of intense concentration on his face, Holloway appeared to be fully engaged in the lesson.

Marcus let out a sigh, unsure whether to laugh or worry. The scene was as ridiculous as it was revealing. "At least he's not trying to kill the parson," he concluded with a sense of relief. A bitter smile played on his lips as he observed Simon's face, who, despite being completely out of place, wore a seriousness that only made everything more comical. The marquis noticed how his loyal servant furrowed his brow, clearly baffled by whatever Grace was explaining. The poor lad probably didn't understand a word, but there he was, fulfilling his secret mission with the same dedication.

Shifting his focus away from the confused butler, Marcus turned his attention to Grace. Standing in front of the children, her voice was soft and warm. She was the same woman he had fallen in love with, but in this setting, she seemed even more radiant, as if the life she had built after his departure had shaped her into an even more incredible version of herself. The marquis watched her with admiration, seeing how she moved among the desks, tending to the children with a tenderness that only someone with a heart as pure as hers could offer.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him. Seeing her like this made him recall the terrible intention he once had. To lock her away, to imprison her for something she hadn't done. Sadness overtook his heart, pain coursed through his body, and he tightened his grip on the cane. Luckily, she had fled that night. Despite everything, Grace's decision had been the right one. The hatred he had felt for her, for the Counts of Hesse, would have destroyed her. Yet now, she was living happily, fulfilled. And he had learned the truth. Ten years later, yes, but he had decided that the past should stay behind and that his place was in her future, alongside her son. He didn't care where, he just needed to be by her side.

Just as his thoughts held him captive in a mix of frustration and longing, a shadow appeared in his field of vision. Elior, the parson, was approaching with a determined stride, and the stern expression on his face made it clear that he wasn't bringing good intentions. Marcus, rather than attempting to hide or avoid him, remained still, watching cautiously. He knew that sooner or later, a confrontation with the parson would be inevitable, and he was more than ready. However, he didn't want to cause a scene that might disturb Grace's class, so he moved quietly, ensuring he didn't disrupt the moment.

" Lord Haspirin. " Elior's voice startled him, coming closer than he had anticipated, loaded with a forced politeness.

The marquis turned slowly, with a carefully composed calm, though inside, he was far from tranquil.

"Mr. Hartwell," Marcus responded coldly, offering the slightest nod of acknowledgment.

The parson observed him with a mix of seriousness and disdain. Westlin noticed how Elior's gaze shifted from the mask to the cane, as if weighing his worth. After an uncomfortable silence, Elior motioned for him to join in a walk. Marcus, aware that this conversation could not be avoided much longer, agreed with a nod and began walking beside him.

"I've been in this village for over four years," Elior began, as though making a profound confession. "When I met Lady Grace, I was deeply moved by her situation. A young widow, returning home with a small child after losing her husband..." The marquis gripped his cane so tightly that he heard the leather creak under his fingers. "At first, I thought what I felt for her was pity, a desire to help her. But over time, I realized it was something much deeper."

Marcus's jaw clenched. He knew Grace had built that lie to protect herself, to protect Robert, but each time someone mentioned it, it felt like a slap in the face.

"You've helped her a great deal, from what I understand," the marquis said distantly, though inside he was a storm of emotions.

Elior nodded gravely. "I've done everything I can to ensure she and her son live a decent life," he continued, his gaze hardening as he added, "And I intend for it to stay that way."

Marcus immediately sensed the underlying message. Elior was hinting at something, and he didn't need to be a mind reader to know where this conversation was headed. However, he had no intention of backing down.

"I have no desire to hinder Lady Grace's future," Marcus replied, keeping his tone firm.

The parson stopped, turning to face him with a more serious expression. "You already are, my lord," he accused, his voice laced with barely restrained tension. "Your presence disturbs her. Since you arrived, I've noticed the change in her. Her peace is gone, and you are the cause. She's confused, unsettled."

Marcus stopped abruptly, the weight of the parson's words testing his patience. He turned to face Elior, and though his face was hidden behind the mask, his eyes blazed with barely contained fury.

"And what exactly do you expect me to do?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "Step aside so that you can carry on with your conquest?"

Elior was taken aback by the marquis's harsh tone, though he didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped forward with an even more defiant look.

"I am the best choice for her," Elior declared firmly. "You..." he hesitated, searching for the right words. "You are not a healthy man. You are marked by misfortune, and you cannot give her what a young woman like her needs. I can offer her a peaceful life, a life of stability, and be the husband she deserves."

For a fleeting moment, Marcus felt the urge to rip off his mask and let the parson see the truth. He wanted to show him that he wasn't the weak man Elior imagined. He wanted to strike him with his cane until he understood that he was Lord Westlin, not some mere rival. But he knew he couldn't act now. His revelation had to come at the right time.

Taking a deep breath, Marcus quelled the fury that throbbed within him. He offered a cold smile and responded, "I don't believe it's for you to decide what Lady Grace needs."

The parson glared at him in frustration but couldn't refute his words.

"I only want her happiness," Elior insisted, his voice full of helplessness.

Marcus regarded him carefully, then, with a more confident smile, said, "Then let her be the one to decide who can make her happy."

Elior fell silent, his face betraying defeat.

Satisfied with having the final word, Westlin gave a slight nod and walked away. As he made his way back home, he knew he had to act swiftly. He needed to find the right moment to reveal the truth to Grace—who he truly was—before Elior could take advantage of the confusion his presence had caused in her.

Time was running out. And while he knew the truth might break her heart, he couldn't allow another man to have her. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to protect that bond, even if it meant facing his own past and the consequences his decisions would bring.