Ryan had tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.
Insomnia was his constant companion, so this was nothing new. But last night had seemed especially long and difficult.
Considering the reason, Ryan soon found the answer.
*I've been sleeping well lately.*
In the army, the days when he managed to fall asleep immediately could be counted on the fingers of one hand.
During war, nerves were always on edge—one never knew when the enemy would attack again.
Even after the war ended, his insomnia persisted. Afterward, he had been dragged through endless Disciplinary Committee meetings and hounded by the press.
And even when he did manage to fall asleep, he was tormented by nightmares.
How his wrong decision resulted in the death of his entire squad. How a shell fell nearby and tore to pieces the comrade with whom he'd just been joking.
It would have been better if he himself had died in these dreams. But he always remained alive until the very end—forced to witness the entire terrible spectacle.
When he woke, he smelled the blood and filth from his dreams so vividly that he vomited several times.
The disgusting sensation of bitterness tearing at his throat made him afraid to fall asleep.
When his condition worsened, he had come to Blissbury.
He'd hoped things would improve here. But nothing had changed, and he had already decided to return to the capital—but...
*At some point, I started sleeping soundly.*
Ryan tried to recall when it had begun. It wasn't difficult.
From the moment preparations for the summer celebration commenced.
It was absurd. Before that, all he had done at Blissbury was wake, eat, walk, read, and sleep.
When he'd had everything necessary for mental and physical peace, he had suffered from insomnia.
But with the start of preparations for the celebration, he had been so occupied from morning until evening that he scarcely saw daylight.
There was so much to keep in mind. Moreover, the physical labor meant Ryan would collapse into sleep immediately after bathing.
It wasn't as though he hadn't tried this method before.
When stationed at army headquarters in the capital, he'd spend entire days on the parade ground. But his body would only tire—sleep would not come. And even when it did, the nightmares still haunted him.
But during preparations for the summer celebration, he had never experienced a nightmare.
He slept soundly, dreamlessly, and woke at dawn to resume work.
---
He tried closing his eyes, but his consciousness only sharpened. Eventually, he stood.
Pulling back the curtain, he saw streams of rain running down the glass.
The clock showed six.
Feeling the chill in the room, he considered briefly, then went out and headed toward the kitchen. He decided hot water would help him feel better.
*Perhaps I should bring some wood for the fireplace?*
If Mr. Palmer heard this, he would be horrified. Didn't he always insist that such tasks be left to him or the servants?
But Ryan enjoyed doing "things like that" himself.
Cutting down dead trees. Hanging a large picture on the wall. Bringing firewood.
He could do it faster than anyone. And most importantly...
*Eloise is pleased.*
Unlike Mr. Palmer, she didn't stop him. On the contrary, she'd say, "Do it quickly!"
She would summon Ryan and ask him to handle this or that. She'd claim it was the manager's responsibility. Once, she'd even come asking him to catch an insect with numerous legs.
When he caught the harmless creature and tossed it outside, Ryan had heard Eloise's enthusiastic praise for the first time.
After that, he'd caught a few more and shown her—only to be scolded and told to stop carrying them about.
Remembering this, Ryan chuckled—then stopped.
*I tried not to think about it.*
But the moment he released his thoughts, they invariably returned to Eloise.
He walked slowly down the stairs, looking at his hands.
He recalled that evening when they had danced in the corridor to the music.
They had moved joyfully until the music ended.
But even afterward, Ryan hadn't released her hand.
He had wanted this. He had wanted to hold her—even without music, without dancing.
That slender hand belonging to the woman who had written in a letter that she hated him to death.
Ryan rubbed his arm, which still seemed to retain warmth from Eloise.
He had attended many balls.
By order. Sometimes on duty. Sometimes to carry out a mission.
He had never once considered a ball anything pleasant. For him, it was simply noisy revelry he wanted ended as quickly as possible.
But at this rustic, entirely informal celebration, he had enjoyed dancing for the first time.
He had wanted the music to never end. The morning to never come.
He knew what he desired.
He wanted the heart of the woman whom, at their first meeting, he had considered shameless and selfish.
---
As he descended to the ground floor, he turned his head and looked down the long corridor. The very one where they had danced.
Even without closing his eyes, he saw the scene from that night vividly.
Ryan clenched his fist tightly. The inside of his palm tingled.
He involuntarily raised his hand toward his mouth—but, startled by his own gesture, flinched and abruptly lowered it. Though no one saw, his face flushed as if he had committed the most shameful act imaginable.
He hurried to the kitchen. The maid, hearing his footsteps, turned.
He asked for hot water for tea, then took the teapot and tea and placed everything on a tray.
"The weather's so dreadful even you can't sleep, Sergeant. And when will this rain stop..." Ryan merely smiled faintly at the maid's grumbling and said nothing.
There were many reasons for his insomnia. But the principal one was Richard's words from yesterday.
*"What are you going to do?"*
A short question—but it carried considerable weight.
Ryan recalled the problem Richard had indicated with the words *"job changes."*
He was right. Ryan would likely be transferred from the 57th Infantry Battalion to another post early next year.
*This winter, the Disciplinary Committee will probably try to close my case.*
The war had ended. And in summer, when everyone went on leave, the committee did not convene.
The committee members were all aristocrats, so they were undoubtedly enjoying themselves in some southern seaside town at present.
But that would last only until summer's end. In autumn, everyone would return to the capital, and the committee would resume its work. And they would likely address his case first.
*"Earl Wallace appears in society daily at Brisham. You know there are many committee members and officers there now?"*
It seemed his biological father had decided to seize the opportunity to completely destroy his illegitimate son's military career. Otherwise, that proud man wouldn't have traveled there specifically to meet people.
*"So what I'm saying is—would you consider going to Brisham for a time?"*
Richard had suggested he go there, present himself to those Earl Wallace had not yet swayed, and—using his former authority as a war hero—avoid punishment.
He had no intention of avoiding punishment. On the contrary, he would have found it easier to accept. He considered it just punishment that should be borne by the survivor.
*But if I confess to Eloise...*
The first thing he would have to do was reveal that he was Ryan Wilgrave.
What if this Ryan Wilgrave became the man everyone pointed fingers at? The one whose past achievements would be erased?
Ryan remembered how she had stood up for him at dinner.
He had been pleased that she believed in him and defended him. But he couldn't be certain she would continue believing him if she learned the whole truth.
Hadn't the people of the capital sworn eternal allegiance to him—then turned away?
*And most importantly...*
Ryan recalled Eloise smiling at him. If he confessed, she wouldn't refuse.
It might have been unfounded confidence, but he was convinced of it.
But would an alliance with him be good for Eloise?
He recalled the torrent of accusations that had rained down on him in the capital. If Eloise were with him, those accusations would affect her as well.
Having thought this far, he made a decision.