Reborn: Marrying The Cold Disabled Marquis

"My lady, are you certain?"

Eliza's eyes were wide, the marriage contract trembling in her hands. "To marry the heir of the House of Blackwood? Lord Dylan Lucas?"

The name seemed to hang heavy in the air.

Rumor had it that Lord Dylan Lucas was as cold and ruthless as the northern lands he ruled. He could be summoned to the battlefield at a moment's notice, and might very well perish there.

Moreover, he was known to shun the company of women, yet he had three adopted sons. Marrying him meant, first and foremost, raising another's children.

Gabriella looked at her loyal, terrified maid, a trace of genuine warmth softening her gaze. "It is my best and only choice, Eliza."

She walked over to a small, carved wooden box on her vanity. Inside were the few precious belongings left by her birth mother, including several rare dried herbs.

In her past life, during the days she was imprisoned and forgotten, she had voraciously read books on medicine and healing—it had been her only solace.

Now, it was her bargaining chip and weapon in this second life.

She took out a piece of parchment and a quill, swiftly writing down a list of ingredients. "Take this to the estate's apothecary," she instructed Eliza. "Have them brew a healing draught using these exact herbs."

Eliza took the prescription, her expression a mix of confusion and concern, but she nodded.

Next, Gabriella penned a letter. Her handwriting was elegant, her wording meticulous. She expressed the humble concern of a bride-to-be for her fiancé as he prepared to fulfill his duties to the Crown. It was respectful but not fawning, caring but not overstepping.

Once the draught was brewed, she carefully packed the warm, fragrant vial alongside the sealed letter. "Have this delivered to the Blackwood estate immediately."

The scene shifted across the city to a study paneled in dark, imposing oak. The air within the Marquess of Blackwood's residence was stagnant and heavy.

Lord Dylan Lucas was polishing his broadsword. The steel blade gleamed under the lamplight, reflecting his handsome yet granite-hard features. His eyes were a deep, stormy grey, and his very presence imbued the room with a chilling, unapproachable aura.

His trusted aide, Finn, entered silently and placed a box from the Curtis manor on the corner of the massive desk.

Blackwood did not look up. He was indifferent to this marriage; it was an arrangement forced upon him by his grandmother to secure a mother for his three adopted wards.

"From your fiancée, my lord," Finn reported softly. "Lady Gabriella Curtis."

A faint crease appeared between Dylan's brows. He set the sword aside and opened the box with a trace of weary obligation.

A mild, earthy scent of herbs wafted out, contrasting sharply with the smell of old leather and steel that dominated the room.

He picked up the letter. The handwriting was graceful, exuding a feminine softness.

He read the contents, his expression unreadable. The lines were a delicate weave of etiquette and concern. He had expected something else—perhaps desperation, or even resentment. This quiet dignity caught him off guard.

Then, his gaze fell upon the vial of tonic.

He uncorked it and took a sniff, his eyes narrowing instantly.

Willow bark and devil's claw.

It was a remedy for deep joint pain, a prescription for the old war wound he so carefully hid—a weakness he never allowed anyone to see.

It was a closely guarded secret. How could she possibly know?

Finn watched his master, trying to gauge his mood. "Shall I dispose of it, my lord?"

Dylan remained silent for a long time before setting the vial back on the desk. "No," he said, his voice low. "Keep it."

His eyes lingered on her signature, the elegant strokes of the 'G' and 'C'. For the first time, this arranged marriage felt like more than just a name on a piece of paper. It now had a scent, a presence, a hint of mystery.

He recalled his grandmother's pragmatic words: "Blackwood, you need a mistress to manage the household. Someone to look after the boys."

Perhaps this Gabriella would be the right woman for the job.

Soon, the day of Gabriella's wedding arrived. She was escorted into the vast, luxurious bridal suite of Blackwood Manor.