Ivan watched his brother — who had apparently forgotten even the standard events of the year — and inwardly thought that perhaps, in some ways, the version of Eugene before him now was better than the one before. Before losing his memories, Eugene had been the sort to shake his head in distaste the moment the mere syllable of “social” was uttered.
Rather than mingling with other nobles, he had preferred exchanging contemplative letters with discontented poets and reading books written by women concealing their identities. Buying the paintings of impoverished artists was, needless to say, practically a daily routine for him.
Count Primrose and everyone else had been concerned about Eugene turning his back on high society and consorting, in a most unnoble fashion, with lowly artists. And this was Eugene Primrose — a son lacking nothing in face, family, or breeding. It was only natural to worry when someone who ought to be out thriving in society was instead shut away in his room.
And yet, no one had forced him outside, nor pushed him into an arranged marriage. That applied to Ivan as well. Kyle, as the eldest son, had been fulfilling his responsibilities sufficiently, and both the count and Kyle — who would be heir — were deeply fond of their younger brothers and had no intention of forcing them into anything. They had left it to Eugene’s own volition, trusting that when the time came, he would feel the need himself.
There was a reason for this. Eugene Primrose had, from childhood, preferred staying home to going out. In his younger years, the reckless young Ivan and Kyle had sometimes dragged him out by force — but he had an absolute aversion to spending time with boys his own age. Physical activity, roughhousing with other boys — he despised it, and would merely watch with a look of disdain without exchanging so much as a single word.
While hot-blooded boys rode horses, kicked balls, and swung swords, Eugene would sit beside the frail countess and read books or play chess. Every man in the household assumed that one day Eugene would grow up to become an administrator handling numbers and ledgers, or a scholar.
As he entered adolescence, Eugene took after his mother and was rather delicate — but there was nothing preventing him from functioning as a young man, and so, as was common among nobles of his station, he was sent to a public school. That was where the trouble began.
When he returned to the earl’s estate for half-term, Eugene had climbed out of the carriage and immediately flung his hat to the ground, declaring “ignorant, idiotic brutes, every last one of them.” The words coming from the lips of the youngest, who had always preferred quiet contemplation, shocked everyone in the estate.
Eugene locked himself in his room without speaking a word to anyone and spent a full week bedridden with illness. He never said exactly what had happened at school, but everyone understood that his time at the public school was anything but smooth.
Each time he returned to the estate, Eugene grew visibly thinner, and his naturally delicate disposition was increasingly overlaid with aggression and irritability. He spoke very little, and the rare times he did open his mouth, cold and pessimistic words poured out.
The Primrose family was deeply shaken by the change in their quiet, fragile youngest boy. When Ivan, unable to stand by any longer, stepped in to try and dig information out of Eugene’s school peers, Eugene found out — and nearly fainted dead away.
He raged that they were trying to make a fool of him, and then promptly did faint — and after that, not a single one of his brothers dared to pry further; the subject became entirely off-limits. From then on, Eugene’s nerves remained razor-sharp, and when the weight of it all pushed him to his limit, he fainted. It was not for nothing that every servant in the household coddled the young master so.
After passing through what seemed like a neverending storm, Eugene began to find emotional stability again — and it was around the time he started keeping company with those artist types.
Sponsoring impoverished artists, exchanging letters about their work — slowly, Eugene’s face found its way back to smiling. Every single artist he wrote to and supported was, without exception, someone on the margins — a critical voice outside the mainstream.
The kind of work that no noble with a taste for the beautiful and refined would ever seek out. Some of it veered into territory that might be considered dangerous, even subversive. And yet Count Primrose turned a blind eye.
Nobody wanted Eugene, who had finally found peace, to go off the rails again. How could a third son with nothing to inherit have been handing out substantial sums in patronage so freely? It had all rested on tacit support from behind the scenes.
And so Eugene’s drawing room filled with artwork that others deemed worthless — while everyone simply looked on, faces caught somewhere between warmth and worry. They were afraid that pushing him might send the son who had only just barely steadied himself back into the abyss.
The reason Eugene had willingly followed his brothers to the townhouse — despite his loathing of high society and peers of the nobility — was precisely because moving to the capital meant access to new artists.
Comparing that Eugene to the one before him now, he seemed far more vibrant and alive. Beyond that, he was more grounded and communicative than the Eugene who had drifted perpetually in daydreams — and he seemed to be actively trying to look at reality rather than retreating into fantasy. That was what Ivan liked most about this new version of his brother. Still a little unfamiliar, of course — but undeniably better.
“So what you’re saying is — we need to put the sons up for sale.”
Eugene’s response, after taking in the rough outline of the situation, was rather pointed. If their father had heard it, he might have reached for a handkerchief. In moments like this, he was unmistakably the same critical Eugene as before. One second he seemed like a completely different person — and the next, Ivan found himself thinking, yes, this is still Eugene. Even without the memories, he’s still Eugene.
“Well, when you put it that way…”
“You’re going to parties to find a young lady worth marrying for the money. Squeezing out whatever funds you have and don’t have to dress up like peacocks, even while you’re strapped.”
“That’s not the whole of it. We also need to show the world that the Primrose family is carrying on without a hitch. If we sit on our hands and do nothing, a furious Lady Chelsea will spend the entire social season painting every Primrose man as a shameless scoundrel.”
Eugene was waving his hand in protest, insisting it wasn’t right — but ironically, Ivan found the sight of him rather amusing. He couldn’t quite make out what exactly was rubbing his younger brother the wrong way so badly. Was it the fact that money was being spent to attend parties when there was none to spare? Was it the idea of getting married itself? Or was it simply the prospect of having to go to parties at all? In truth, perhaps both.
“It’s strange, having to explain all of this from scratch again. You really did do something to your head, Eugene.”
Ivan shrugged once more. But he soon nodded, as though he’d arrived at a rough understanding.
“Though, to be fair — you were never fond of social events to begin with. Still, Eugene… it’s just something everyone does. There’s nothing particularly unusual about it. And besides, the one who needs to worry right now is me far more than you.”
When winter passed and spring arrived, every noble household with unmarried children grew busy. Families with daughters just coming of age and preparing for their debut. Families who had been through three social seasons without securing a suitable match. Young widows with hopes of remarrying. Anyone connected to what could be called the marriage market became occupied.
Ivan and Eugene were both men counted among those people. Ivan had already let two social seasons slip by without finding a suitable match. As a general rule, once three seasons had passed without result, whispers began to circulate that something must be wrong — which meant Ivan absolutely had to make something happen this season. Otherwise, each passing year would make it harder to find a good match.
Eugene, as the third son, had only just had his coming-of-age ceremony the previous year, so he technically had more opportunities than Ivan — but his habitual absence from upper-class events meant he caused the count more anxiety than Ivan did.
And on top of all of this, the eldest son Kyle had smeared the family name — so every effort had to be made to prepare for this social season, enough to silence the rumors. Furthermore, the count hoped that the financial damage Kyle had caused would be offset sooner rather than later, and that his sons’ futures would be settled within this very season — so that the townhouse, which was consuming a staggering amount of money to maintain, could finally be let go. The situation was more difficult than it had first appeared.
“You can’t spend your whole life alone either. Of course, I have no intention of forcing you into anything. But it’s time to at least start showing your face.”
The concept of being entered into the marriage market wasn’t entirely foreign to Eugene, even as a modern person. Back in his original world, people married through matchmaking agencies and formal blind date arrangements often enough. It was simply that, from Eugene’s perspective, the idea of marrying for the express purpose of solving the family’s financial crisis sat uncomfortably with him.
The idea of marrying for a dowry, for the other party’s wealth. It felt genuinely like selling oneself for money, and the thought made him recoil.
Above all, the Eugene from the other world was someone who believed in meeting someone naturally. Not that he’d ever had the financial or time-related luxury to pursue a relationship leisurely. Setting every other concern aside, the departure of the eldest son Kyle nagged at him, and Eugene raised an eyebrow.
“Are you alright?”
The sudden question caught Ivan off guard, and his expression turned puzzled.
“About what?”
“The brother who ran away — he left because he didn’t want that kind of marriage. He abandoned his chosen partner and ran off with the woman he loved. Is there no one like that for you? Someone you love?”
If the first son’s desertion was already sending the household into turmoil — what if the second son ran off too? Even the thought alone felt bleak. He didn’t know the details, but after hearing Ivan explain the marriage market of the noble class, Eugene found he could no longer bring himself to curse Kyle for disappearing.
Meetings at parties, weighing up family prestige and fortunes, and then marrying the highest bidder? There were surely those who found happiness in it — but from what little he’d heard, happiness seemed far from the likely outcome. And wasn’t that precisely why Kyle had run? Ivan looked at the now-grave expression on Eugene’s face and burst out laughing. That cold face somehow looked incredibly naive, and it was endearing.
“Eugene, I know you’ve been mixing with poets and painters and cultivating quite a romantic spirit — but we’re nobles. Gentry, bourgeoisie, whatever else — at the end of the day, we’re sons of an earldom.”
Someone he loves — Eugene’s concern was almost touchingly romantic, but there was something Ivan needed to set him straight on. This was simply the path every child born into a noble house walked. When you came of age, you went to school. After eating, you used the privy. Entering the marriage market was just as natural and inevitable. If anything, refusing it was the thing that was unusual.
It was perfectly obvious to Ivan — but he adjusted his perspective for Eugene’s sake, for the one who had been keeping company with artists and chasing after romance. Ivan genuinely bent down to bring himself level with his beloved younger brother’s eyes. Had it been someone dark and looming like Kyle, it would have felt oppressive — but it was Eugene, who at least in face looked like an angel, and so it was possible.
“Don’t make that face. It’s not as though Father’s just going to assign you some faceless woman and tell you to marry her. There are choices to be made. Some say in the matter.”
“What face am I making?”
“The face of someone watching a pig, blinded by the lure of a dowry, climbing up onto the display table and putting itself up for auction.”
“I… it’s not quite that bad.”
Ivan’s blunt words made Eugene scratch his cheek with mild embarrassment. He hadn’t realized it showed that plainly. And hearing Ivan put it that way, it didn’t seem quite as much like being sold off wholesale for money — so he softened a little and gave his words his full attention.
“Eugene, I’m merchandise too — but so is everyone else at the party. You might think it’s crass, but everyone there will be busy smiling while sizing up who would be the most advantageous connection. It’s not as though we alone are the ones hiding ulterior motives — everyone is. And among those people, there’ll be someone whose circumstances suit mine. And it might just happen that this person is also pretty and charming.”
Eugene listened to Ivan and imagined a party hall filled with young people furiously sizing each other up. Whatever else it might be — it was sure to be intensely competitive.
Park Yujin’s world had mellowed considerably, people said — yet even there, plenty of people grew anxious if marriage came too late. Eugene knew he needed to think in a more old-fashioned way rather than through a 21st-century lens — but that wasn’t so easy to do. Still, he made the effort to understand as best he could and listened attentively to Ivan.
“Right now, there’s no one I love so much I’d want to throw away my responsibilities and run. Never wished for something like that. Never even imagined it. So — this time, I’m going to package myself up properly, and find myself an equally well-packaged, very pretty wife who, as a bonus, happens to be wealthy. If she’s also easygoing and not prone to putting on airs, all the better.”
