Unless Aidan managed to avoid meeting the Count even once during those three weeks, the Count would surely feel that the Viscount and Aidan had made a fool of him if he saw the person change midway—even if he somehow tolerated a hulking, muscular fiancée for a while.
Given the nature of proud nobles, he might overlook a fellow noble like the Viscount, but would he leave someone like Aidan, who held no title, alone?
However, the Viscount answered simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“Just say you lost weight. I heard it’s the trend in society these days. Extreme dieting!”
‘Wow, noble daughters these days are terrifying.’
To think they go on diets that even reduce their height and frame for the sake of beauty.
Exactly what kind of method makes that possible?
Do they drink lava to melt their bones and flesh?
They say high society is another kind of battlefield, and it seems that wasn’t an exaggeration.
As Aidan stood there letting out an absurd laugh while imagining roughly-trained noble ladies, the Viscount faced him with a confident attitude and a natural smile.
“It will work.”
“Pardon?”
“Sincerity always finds a way.”
‘Is this guy for real?’
Aidan worried for Viscount Orte’s mental health.
Then, another hypothesis flickered in his mind.
The thought that the Count might actually be the kind of person to believe such a thing.
Could the reason Olivia ran away with her dance teacher be because she knew the Count’s state?
No matter how money-obsessed the Viscount was to engage his daughter before she was ten, the position of a Countess wasn’t bad.
No, in fact, it was more than enough.
A woman’s status was molded by her father or husband. If he had money on top of that, it was the icing on the cake.
Aidan had heard that while Olivia was a great beauty, she had never actually met the Count.
Seeing as he waited until a girl he’d never seen—whose family wasn’t particularly grand—had fully grown, all while holding that great title and wealth…
‘Thinking about it that way makes it even weirder.
Does that Count guy have some kind of problem?’
No matter how rich someone is, no one wants to pour money down a drain.
In the first place, who sends monthly payments for educational expenses, dress costs, and beauty fees just because they’re engaged?
Unless they’re someone who doesn’t know how the world works and accepts everyone’s words as truth…
Furthermore, the Viscount only worried about a double betraying him; he never even considered the possibility of the Count noticing.
It was as if he believed that as long as the person had red hair, green eyes, and a mole below the lip, the Count would naturally think it was Olivia.
The more he chewed over the Viscount’s words and actions, the more Aidan’s hypothesis began to feel like the truth.
Right. No matter how great the position of a Countess is, if the man is lacking in some way, she might very well dump him and run.
Aidan even considered the possibility that it was Olivia, not the dance teacher, who had instigated the elopement.
Aidan sat back down on the sofa.
He stared at the empty teacup on the table and contemplated calmly.
The time the Viscount proposed was three weeks.
It was a time that could be considered long or short.
First, once he arrived at the estate, he could claim his stomach was upset from nerves and lie down for a week.
Then, he could take some classes for another week, before saying he missed his family too much and had to return home…
Wouldn’t just two weeks be enough?
Thinking about it that way, it somehow felt doable.
Ten years of suffering to save up money versus three weeks of utter embarrassment.
Just as the scales in his mind—which had been perfectly balanced—began to tip to one side, the Viscount added more weight.
“Aidan, you don’t have to worry much about meeting the Count. I heard he’s been so busy with work lately that he hardly returns to the main mansion. The servants will likely be the ones to greet you. You just need to take bride lessons during the day as instructed, and maybe have an occasional meal with the Count when he returns.”
Aidan blinked.
“The bride lessons won’t be that difficult or tiring either. I heard they’ll only be teaching things like the history or traditions of the Count’s family. You’ll probably just end up reading a few books.”
‘This might be doable.’
The scales tipped completely toward the side of enduring three weeks of embarrassment.
The day the carriage from the Count’s estate was scheduled to arrive.
Aidan went to the Viscount’s mansion early in the morning.
He entered the room Viscount Orte guided him to and accepted the box handed over to him.
“What is this?”
“The items that will transform you into Olivia.”
In stark contrast to Aidan’s expression, which looked as rotting and dead as a corpse, Viscount Orte wore a deeply satisfied smile.
Aidan looked back and forth between the box and Viscount Orte, then walked like an ox being dragged to a slaughterhouse into a partitioned-off corner of the room.
No matter how much he had agreed to cross-dress and undergo bridal training at the Count’s estate for the money, he hadn’t discarded his shame enough to put on a strip show in front of the Viscount.
The wicker box was filled with unfamiliar objects.
However, since he hadn’t lived in an environment entirely devoid of women, he could roughly guess where and how those pieces of fabric were supposed to go.
‘Let’s just get this over with quickly.’
Since he had already made up his mind, it seemed better to finish it early.
Dragging it out in this situation would only make his reluctance grow.
Aidan took a deep breath to prepare himself, then stripped off his outerwear without hesitation.
He then picked up a thin, long piece of black lace lying at the very top of the box and wrapped it around his neck.
It felt suffocating and made it hard to breathe, but he had no choice if he wanted to hide his prominent Adam’s apple.
Next, as he went to pick up the red dress, Aidan noticed a pair of gray silk stockings neatly folded in the corner.
Would it be better to put on the dress and then the stockings, or the stockings and then the dress?
After pondering for a moment, Aidan looked at the voluminous skirt of the dress and promptly set it down.
He picked up the pale gray stockings and sat on a chair behind the partition.
The stockings, as fragile and soft as a spiderweb, felt like they would tear the moment Aidan slipped his foot inside.
‘Is this really okay? No, more importantly, it’s going to be hidden under the skirt anyway, so why do I even need to wear stockings?’
“Aidan? Are you putting them on?”
As if sensing his inner conflict, the Viscount urged him on with impeccable timing.
“Ah, yes. I’m wearing them.”
Oh, to hell with it.
