Though I Don’t Recall It, I’ll Take Responsibility - Chapter 2

“S-Self-introduction…?”

My husband stares at me, dumbfounded. …Husband. It feels so strange to call someone whose name I don’t know “husband,” so isn’t a self-introduction only natural?

“Leave it to me, Mother!”

The small boy raises his voice and puffs out his chest. The sight is so darling that my gaze softens instinctively.

“I—no, I am Raphael Langford. Though I am still inexperienced, I look forward to your kind favor!”

He even delivers a perfect, formal bow. I wonder if he practiced this for a birthday debut or some other occasion. The maids standing behind him applaud softly. He looks up at me with sparkling eyes, desperate for praise.

“That was very well done. You’re a good boy.”

When I stroke his head, he beams like a flower in bloom.

“Mother used to call me ‘Ral’.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me, Ral. May I continue to call you that?”

He nods vigorously over and over. Oh, what a truly lovely child.

But Langford?

“Lara, I am Leonard Westray. You used to call me Leo.”

“Westray… that would be an Earldom, wouldn’t it? And I believe I asked you to call me Aira.”

“Ra—Aira. My apologies. An Earl, yes, that’s right. I have inherited the title and am now the Earl.”

“I see. Lord Westray.”

I must be proper with my forms of address.

“I have one question: why does my son not bear the name Westray? Does he not share your blood?”

“T-That’s not true! Look at him, he’s the spitting image of me!”

He is right; they look very much alike. Ral has my hair and eyes, but his facial structure is identical to Lord Westray’s. There seems to be no mistake that he is our son.

As I furrow my brows slightly, the Earl looks away toward the maids, appearing uncomfortable.

“Take Ral to the other room. I wish to speak with Aira alone.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

As he is led away by the hand, Ral looks back at me. He looks anxious, but he tries his best to smile as he gives me a small wave. I return a gentle smile and wave back.

The door closes, and silence descends upon the room. The Earl sinks into the chair beside the bed as if exhausted.

“Where… no, where should I even begin?”

“An overview will suffice.”

If I were to hear the entirety of ten years all at once, my head might spin. The Earl chokes back his words for a moment, then finally opens his mouth as if he has made up his mind.

“An overview, then… I met you at the Academy and felt it was fate. But fate passed us by, and after graduation, I married my fiancée.”

Oh, I have nothing but a bad feeling about this.

“Please don’t misunderstand. There was no love between me and my fiancée, Maricela. You were in my heart, and she had a childhood friend she had loved since they were young. Therefore, we intended to maintain a chaste relationship… a ‘White Marriage,’ and divorce after three years.”

“Did the option of simply not getting married not exist?”

Lord Westray only laughed helplessly.

“Maricela’s father, Viscount Drossel, is a shrewd man. He was the one who secured the engagement by putting my father in his debt. He didn’t just want a connection to an Earldom; he tried to interfere in the management of our territory. Every time we met, he pressured us, saying ‘Hurry and produce a child’.”

The typical political marriage.

“However, after just under three years, we were about to be free. At that time, our plot somehow became known to the Viscount. When we were invited to the Viscount’s estate, we were both drugged with an aphrodisiac.”

…Forceful measures, indeed. So such things as aphrodisiacs actually exist.

“It wasn’t intentional! Please believe me!”

“Could you… continue?”

“S-Since then, Maricela did nothing but cry and refused to step a foot out of her room… then one day, she eloped with the gardener.”

“That gardener… let me guess.”

“Yes. He was the childhood friend she had brought from her family home.”

Oh, my.

“When a wife disappears, you have to wait another three years before you can divorce. It was only three days ago that the divorce was finally finalized. And yet, for Lara to have amnesia just when we were finally about to be happy—”

His eyes are moist as he looks at me.

“Could you call me Aira, Lord Westray?”

The Earl freezes.

“I haven’t appeared in your story at all so far. By what circumstances is there a six-year-old boy who is the son of you and me? And, based on what you just said, strictly speaking, you are not my husband, are you? Am I to understand that my position is that of a mistress?”

“A mistress… certainly, that is how the world sees it. But I love only you! When we reunited and I explained my situation, you told me that you had loved me all along!”

…There are far too many words here that I cannot simply let slide.

“I promised to make you my official wife three years later, and you believed me. It took longer than expected, but the divorce is final. All that’s left is for your signature to be on the documents, and you will finally be my wife! The future we both dreamed of is right there!”

I see. Such a future.

“However, that is impossible right now. I understand the gist of your story, but there is too much I still do not know.”

“Y-You’re right. Forgive me for thinking only of myself. In that case, could you at least stop calling me ‘Lord Westray’? If a nickname is too much, then call me Leonard.”

“Very well. Lord Leonard. First, please let me see my parents.”

Surely, they haven’t passed away?

“Yes, I sent a messenger the moment you lost consciousness. They were at their estate, apparently. They will arrive tomorrow.”

The breath I had been holding in my chest escaped quietly. Thank goodness, they are alive. Ten years… I cannot let my guard down.

“I am a little tired. May I lie down?”

“Ah, of course. Please rest well. …Oh, I remembered. You’ve kept a diary since your Academy days. It’s in a locked box in the back of that closet. You were the one who told me so.”

A diary. The word strikes a faint chord deep in my heart.

“A diary? And where is the key?”

“It’s on the necklace you are wearing right now.”

Half-doubting, I pick up the swaying pendant top with my fingertips. A small key hangs tangled within it.

“…I kept it on me at all times.”

“You always said you were embarrassed to have it read. Perhaps you wrote about your feelings for me in there.”

He hesitates, his gaze wavering as if checking my reaction.

“No, of course! I didn’t read it without permission while you were asleep. I haven’t done anything so cowardly. P-Please believe me on that.”

It is strange how his flustered state makes me believe he isn’t lying.

“I understand. I will try to read it when my mind is clearer. It may serve as a clue to regain my memories.”

“Please, I beg of you. I hope you can remember something.”

His voice is almost pleading.

A diary. What could be written in there? Does an unknown version of myself live within those pages?

As I close my eyelids, my consciousness is sucked into a slumber.