Chapter 2

Five years earlier, Baroness Eleanor Mariche’s name had been Dahyun Han, and she had been an editor at a women’s fashion magazine.

One morning she’d woken up only to find herself within the story of her favorite romance-fantasy novel. She’d loved it so much that she’d read it countless times, but it had still taken her a while to properly understand what had happened to her.

“What happened to that wicked man—Baron Mariche?”

“He was imprisoned, and then caught syphilis and died.”

“A fitting end for a villain.”

“But the poor baroness... She was so young, and she’d only just married him.”

This was the only scene in the novel that mentioned Eleanor at all—she’d never even appeared as a character who interacted with the main story, and had only been referenced due to her dead husband. She was, simply, an unremarkable side character.

She hadn’t even been named—she’d only been referred to as “the poor baroness.” If she had to appear as a side character, she at least should have been allowed to choose her own husband, but instead, she’d been born as the daughter of a poor commoner and had practically been sold into marriage to the malicious Baron Mariche, who’d forced her to accept his hand.

The baron had actually been imprisoned at that time for various crimes but, insisting that he’d soon be freed, had arranged for the marriage ceremony to be conducted inside his very cell. To be married to such a man...

At first, she had been in a state of despair. He’d been jailed for numerous counts of harassment and provocation, not to mention coercion, verbal abuse, robbery and assault, extortion, and aggravated violence, just to name a few.

Baron Mariche was the definition of human scum, and there had been countless young women who’d been victims of his disgusting behavior. Eleanor herself had been only fifteen when they’d wed, but the heavens had assisted her.

Before her sixteenth birthday, the baron had thankfully perished in his cell, and his death became a foothold for Eleanor to gain some dignity and power. I could have been much more miserable.

Thank the gods that the baron had been imprisoned. Although there were some spurious whispers about the circumstances of her marriage—they couldn’t possibly imagine getting married in a cell, of all places—it actually ended up being a blessing for her.

She was still young, and, as usual of a woman forced into marriage by a corrupt nobleman, was a remarkable beauty who drew eyes wherever she went. As soon as the baron had died, marriage proposals from wealthier commoners came from all around, but Eleanor refused them all.

It’s obvious what my life will be like living with them. Eleanor had married into a low-ranking noble family and therefore hadn’t received any proposals from the sons of the aristocracy, and she did not want to give up her newly-acquired title, lowly baroness as it were, and go back to living life as a commoner.

The commoners of the empire received absolutely no benefits, and even if they wanted to pick up so much as an apple from land that belonged to the priesthood, they had to offer up a wagonload of apples in tithe first. They were prevented from pursuing better opportunities, thus never able to escape the wheels of poverty. They’d labor their entire life and die just as impoverished as when they’d been born.

Therefore, Eleanor had rejected the idea of remarriage. If she remained the baron’s widow, she was still a noblewoman, the possessor of the Mariche name and estate. Although the baron’s wicked old mother and younger sister still lived there, she had decided to stick with living as Baroness Eleanor Mariche.

“Let’s see how long your patience holds, you lowly commoner.”

That was the first thing her new mother-in-law had said to her when she’d come into authority over the household. As the baroness title now belonged to her son’s wife along with all of his possessions, her husband’s mother now had no formal title or wealth of her own.

Eleanor, however, was obligated to support the family, and her mother-in-law planned to endlessly needle and torture her in order to drive her away from their estate. The situation within her home had been difficult, needless to say, but the outside reception she received was equally harrowing. For though Eleanor was blameless, her husband’s many victims felt differently.

Because she bore the name Mariche, she was constantly saddled with demands of reparations, and she was frequently pointed at and cursed wherever she went. Deciding she didn’t want to be driven into a corner, tormented wherever she went, Eleanor decided to work in order to raise funds rather than give in.

That was how she’d first started writing romance novels and how-to manuals for hopeful lovers.

Regardless of the harassment from her in-laws, she’d succeeded relatively quickly. She had more than enough talent and experience, for sure, gleaned from her years of editing columns and articles at the famous magazine from her previous life.

With titles such as How to Meet a Man on Vacation and Scandalous Secrets of Society Girls, she thrilled and titillated the audience in her new world with the tips and stories she mined straight from her memories. Of course she tailored them to fit the customs of the world she now lived in and manufactured them all under her name. Her work began to sell like hot cakes, and the money started pouring in. It had been easy to shut up her in-laws once they’d seen all of her new profits.

She disregarded them once more as she used her funds to set up a business enterprise to assist her husband’s victims. Although it cost her dearly, she had established a printing press in the heart of the capital and hired the victims, even funding other aspects of their lifestyles and providing them with accommodations.

As year after year passed, even her earlier detractors could no longer point fingers at the baroness, and their sneering slowly turned to sympathy. It hadn’t taken much longer to then become an object of admiration. The beautiful young baroness had overcome a traumatic past, and many admirers now thronged to meet her. She was invited to nightly gatherings and gave regular recitations to her ardent fans.

Now, it was more than just her work that made her famous. She also became a veritable fashion icon, boasting unusual hairstyles, flaunting unique makeup, and always sporting a tasteful sense of dress. The aristocratic ladies began imitating Eleanor’s style of shining, clear skin and strong brows with long, thick lashes.

Five years later, in her twentieth year, Eleanor was no longer at the bottom rung of society—she was one of the empire’s greatest celebrities.

* * *

“Hmm...”

Eleanor sat in a comfortable chair, deep in thought. The letter with the Calabria seal lay in her hand—she’d already read it several times over, enough so that she nearly had it memorized.

Ryan Floyd Calabria. That man was...

He was the hero of this novel, alongside the heroine, the lovely and refreshingly forthright Princess Aileen Hascatore. The princess was desperately in love with Ryan but the man had stubbornly remained unmoved.

In the original story, his exasperated father, the prominent Duke Calabria, had brought in all sorts of experts to spark an interest within his son for the opposite sex, but it had all been for naught.

It seems that I have become one of those experts. There was actually no need for the duke to worry so because soon Aileen would come up with a cunning plan to make it look as if she’d spent the night with the young count. Ryan would propose immediately afterward, feeling a sense of responsibility.

Eleanor was about to send back a refusal when she was struck with a thought. This could be quite the feather in my cap if I use it well.

The man would end up proposing to the princess eventually anyway, so if Eleanor could wile away some time and pretend to act as his romantic coach until the time came, she would be able to reap great rewards in regard to her reputation.

Notwithstanding the financial aspect, she would become known as the one who had created a bridge between the princess and the greatest nobleman in the empire. It would truly be the crowning glory among her list of accomplishments.

There’s no better opportunity to earn money like this. Although she earned considerable sums, the expense of reparations for the victims as well as the frivolous spending of her in-laws meant that her coffers were more diminished than one might expect of someone of her stature.

If she wrote a new novel based on the count and the princess and changed their names, it would likely become an instant bestseller. She could already hear the orders pouring in and the ringing of the registers. Also, it’s a good chance to at least meet the hero of this story.

If she had to be reborn into this novel, she might as well take the chance to behold the hero in person. After all, he’d been so excessively gifted, per the author’s descriptions, that she was intrigued by the idea of meeting him at least once during her life here.

No matter how popular she was, she was still the lowliest of nobles, and the duke and the princess occupied the highest echelons of society. Sure, Eleanor was invited to loads of parties, but she never encountered significantly important figures there—those who possessed the power to shape the destiny of their empire.

She’d never have this chance again in her life.

Besides, I’m not interested in romance myself.

She’d kept her distance from men since the time she’d vowed to remain independent. Especially now, after she’d worked so hard to build a new life for herself, she risked it all being taken away were she to accept the suit of some country nobleman or other.

If she were to become some beleaguered nobleman’s wife rather than the tragic baroness, absolutely no one would be interested in hearing her romantic tales anymore. Therefore, she’d given up on the idea out of practicality. She, however, still loved and cherished the idea of a poetic romance just like anyone else. It could be a nice break in her daily life to witness the plot unfold between the hero and heroine.

Firmly decided, Eleanor pulled out a perfumed sheet of paper—the kind she used solely for correspondence. With her elegant script, she quickly wrote a reply: It is an honor to be summoned. Please indicate the date and time of your convenience, and I will be sure to pay a visit. – E. Mariche

And that was how Eleanor Mariche penned the words that would change the direction of her destiny.