Ficorpio
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
On my wedding night, my rumored invalid of a husband tormented me until I was nearly in tears.
And the next morning, I was told, “The groom’s old illness flared up last night. He never came.”
I froze.
Then who had been with me last night?
Determined to find out what had happened, I washed up and went straight to see Edmund Ashford.
He looked exactly as people said he would—handsome in a refined, delicate way, but so sickly he seemed almost unreal. His pale face carried a faint bluish cast beneath the skin. When he looked up and saw me, he smiled and beckoned me closer.
“Clara,” he said, “I got carried away and drank too much last night. I’m afraid I left you to spend the wedding night alone.”
“It’s all right. We have time,” I said with an awkward little laugh.
But inside, I was shaking.
Especially when Edmund started coughing almost as soon as he finished speaking.
He looked as if he might tear apart like wet paper if someone so much as touched him.
If he learned what had happened last night, he might be so furious he’d die on the spot. I was still trying to think of a way to test him without saying anything outright when a voice came from outside.
“Brother, the medicine’s here. How should it be prepared?”
A tall man strode into the room.
Compared to Edmund’s thin, fragile frame, this man looked like a mountain. Broad-shouldered, powerfully built, with sun-bronzed skin and sharply cut features, he carried the kind of presence that made the whole room feel smaller.
And most importantly—
There were three faint scratches running from just below his ear down the side of his neck.
I remembered them at once.
The night before, when I could no longer bear it, I had clawed at the man holding me. Twice. I had even heard his muffled hiss of pain.
My legs went weak.
I stared at him, horrified. “Who are you?”
He paused, clearly caught off guard, then turned stiffly toward the bed.
From where he sat, Edmund gave a faint, weak smile.
“This is my younger brother,” he said. “Adrian Ashford. He’s been away with the army for years and only returned yesterday.”
“Y-You’re my brother-in-law?”
My knees nearly gave out. I had to catch myself on the edge of the table as shame surged through me so violently it felt as if it might swallow me whole.
“Clara.”
Adrian’s greeting came low and rough.
That voice.
Only last night, it had brushed against my ear, thick with want, strained and intoxicating as he murmured, “I could die in your arms.”
The memory hit me so hard my breath turned ragged. Panicked, I snatched the medicine from his hands.
“I’ll boil it,” I blurted. “And see to breakfast.”
Then I fled.
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
For the next several days, I did everything I could to avoid Adrian Ashford. If I heard his footsteps, I turned away. If I glimpsed him in the yard, I hid. Even when we crossed paths by chance, I kept my head down and refused to say a single word to him.
Not until Edmund had recovered enough strength to insist that we all sit down to breakfast together.
“I haven’t properly introduced you yet,” Edmund said with a smile.
Then, turning to Adrian, he began to explain my background as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
“Her name is Clara. She’s the youngest daughter of Lord Whitmore.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to remember something. He looked around the room, puzzled.
“But why didn’t the Whitmores send any maidservants or footmen with her? And what exactly came with her dowry?”
I went cold.
Edmund still didn’t know the truth—that I was not Lord Whitmore’s daughter at all.
I was only Miss Evelyn Whitmore’s maid.
Edmund Ashford had once been the pride of Riverside Market Town: a poor but gifted licensed scholar, handsome, refined, the sort of man everyone said was bound to pass the imperial examinations and rise high one day. Because of that promise, the Whitmores had arranged a marriage with him early on and supported his studies for years, waiting for the day he would earn honors and marry their daughter properly.
But five years passed in failure after failure. He never passed. His health worsened year by year until he was half an invalid, living on medicine. And once it became clear that the Whitmores had begun quietly seeking a better match for Miss Evelyn, Edmund came to their door with the marriage contract in hand and demanded the wedding go forward.
The family refused.
He would not leave.
He made such a public scene that soon the entire town was talking.
Lord Whitmore, afraid the scandal would damage his daughter’s reputation—and knowing the two had never actually met face-to-face—made his decision.
He sent me in her place.
“Clara, how can you agree to this?”
One of the other maids, the one closest to me, had nearly cried in her desperation as she tried to stop me.
“That eldest Ashford son looks polished on the outside, but there’s nothing inside but air. His family is poor, and he’s half-dead already. If you marry him, you’ll be a widow before you’re old enough to know what life is. And besides…” She lowered her voice. “Haven’t you always been thinking of the man who saved you when you were young?”
At that, my fingers tightened around the tiger jade pendant in my sleeve.
Six years ago, on New Year’s Eve, I was knocked into the lake.
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
The whole town had been bright with celebration, the streets full of laughter and lantern light, but not one person dared risk the frozen water to save me. I still remembered the terror of that black, bitter cold—how the ice seemed to close over my head, how the sounds of joy on the shore grew farther and farther away.
And then, when I had nearly given up, a boy jumped in without hesitation and dragged me out.
I never saw his face clearly.
All I found afterward was the pendant he had left behind.
I searched for him for years.
Then one day, when I had gone out to offer incense, I accidentally dropped the pendant. Edmund was the one who picked it up.
He had been standing in the sunlight in a plain long coat, the jade in his hand, surprise bright on his face as he asked, “This belonged to my late mother. It was lost years ago. How did it come to be with you?”
My heart had stopped.
I had hurriedly asked, “Six years ago—on New Year’s Eve—was it you who saved the girl who fell through the ice?”
Edmund glanced toward the elegant carriage waiting by the roadside. He paused for a moment, then smiled—a gentle, warm smile—and nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “It was me.”
No one in Riverside Market Town had been willing to marry Edmund Ashford.
I did.
“Clara.”
Edmund set down his chopsticks—no, his fork—and fixed me with a grave look. “The Whitmores promised us a house for the marriage. They won’t go back on their word, will they?”
“Brother.”
Adrian Ashford frowned at once, displeasure clear on his face. “What kind of man fixates on his wife’s dowry? Our family only gave two chickens and a bundle of old satin for the bride-price. Besides…” He paused, his dark eyes turning toward me. “Clara is too good for this.”
But Edmund either did not hear him or refused to. Even on the day of our post-wedding return visit, he talked of nothing but the house.
To keep up appearances, he even gritted his teeth and spent money to hire a carriage.
“My lord is not at home.”
The Whitmore steward still looked at us with open contempt and refused to let us through the gates.
“How dare you!” Edmund snapped, glaring at him. “You’re nothing but a gatekeeper, and you dare show such disrespect to your betters? Today is your young lady’s return visit.”
“Your young lady?”
The servant looked me over, then burst out laughing. “Licensed Scholar Ashford, have you lost your wits? That’s no Whitmore miss. She’s Miss Evelyn’s maid—Clara.”
Edmund went still as if he had been struck by lightning.
He froze for a long moment, then slowly turned to me, disbelief written all over his face. “Is he telling the truth?”
Paper could not hide fire forever.
I nodded stiffly, shame burning through me. “Yes. But I only—”
“You vicious woman!”