Chapter 20: Too Much Consideration is the Same as Indifference
Francis’s eyes scanned the ice cream display case from one end to the other. Then he scanned it again.
He didn’t know what flavor to buy.
Rosalind liked most flavors. But the scrappy individual waiting outside wasn’t Rosalind. Did she even have any favorite?
“I Should have asked her right?”
He muttered softly, stroking his sharp chin. Frustration crept into his eyes.
“Why am I even thinking about what that ugly duckling would like?”
Rosalind would’ve been easy—she liked everything. But this wasn’t about her.
“What would you like, sir?” the shopkeeper interrupted politely.
Francis hesitated for a moment, then blurted out,
“One of everything.”
Damn it.
The order left his mouth against his better judgment. With a sigh, he swept back the bangs tickling his forehead like an unruly puppy fur.
“Yeah, fine. You’re lucky, ugly duckling. There has to be something you’ll enjoy among these.”
The shopkeeper, delighted at an order equivalent to an hour’s worth of sales, busily scooped ice cream into cups and placed them in perforated boxes resembling egg cartons.
“Three silver, sir,” he said, offering the neatly packed cartons.
Francis handed him a gold coin without a second thought.
“Keep the change.”
The shopkeeper froze mid-motion, his eyes wide. He wasn’t just closing an hour’s worth of sales—this was closer to an entire day’s profit, or more.
“Thank you, sir! Please, come again!”
The shopkeeper bowed repeatedly as Francis turned and walked
away.
Each step crunched against the gravel underfoot. The sound stirred a memory—a distant one from when Francis was still Viscount Herbert’s Young lord, a fallen nobleman, rather than Prince Adele.
Near his childhood home, where his widowed mother had raised him alone after his father’s untimely death, there had been a large gravel lot. On one side stood an unfinished house with precarious beams and columns. For children, it was the ultimate playground.
But to play there, most kids had to lie to their parents.
Francis, however, didn’t.
“Mother, can I play in that vacant lot?”
“Do whatever you want, Fran,” she’d replied without hesitation.
Her laissez-faire attitude extended to everything. She didn’t stop him from befriending the commoner children or from picking up bad habits from them. Even when she caught him smoking a cigar, she’d merely smiled and said,
“Our Fran is all grown up.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he’d said.
“No need to apologize. Do whatever you want. You have the right.”
At the time, Francis had thought her permissiveness was her love for him.
But then, she vanished one night with the housekeeper, leaving her young son behind.
It took five nights of crying and confusion before he realized the truth: Too much consideration is the same as indifference.
She hadn’t cared if he got hurt, lost, or fell to his death.
From that moment, Francis vowed, I’ll never be like that.
To him, love only meant paying attention.
After meeting Rosalind, he observed her every move with meticulous care. He noted even the slightest changes in her expression, comforting her when she seemed upset and resolving any discomfort without hesitation. He even kept an eye on her fiancé, ensuring there were no threats in Rosalind’s surroundings.
His well-honed attentiveness was reserved exclusively for her.
At least, until now.
For the first time, his senses tingled for someone entirely unrelated to Rosalind.
Mellie Enwood.
He’d seen her gaze pass by the ice cream stand earlier, her gaze lingering for a few seconds as she “tasted” the ice cream with her eyes rather than her tongue.
It was a behavior Francis recognized all too well—a reflection of his own boyhood, when he could only afford to indulge his cravings in his mind.
“Oh, no,” Francis muttered. “Sympathy. That’s the most dangerous emotion.”
His sympathy saw himself in her—a pitiful girl who wasn’t even worth his attention. He wasn’t supposed to care.
But then she had the nerve to say something that pierced him deeply:
“Use your passion for better people. Don’t waste it like pouring
water into a bottomless pit.”
It wasn’t clever advice. It was naive, earnest, and it was painfully sincere.
If anyone else had said it, Francis would’ve told them to mind their own business. But Mellie Enwood wasn’t anyone else.
So here he was, holding a carton of overpriced ice cream he’d impulsively bought for someone he couldn’t quite ignore.
Francis sighed, shaking his head.
“This is stupidity.”
Still, as he stared down at the colorful assortment of ice cream, an involuntary smile crept across his lips. Not the polished smile he used to charm nobles, but a genuine one—a simple pleasure akin to taking a bite of ice cream on a warm day.
Turning the corner, he spotted her. Mellie Enwood stood just ahead, her figure framed by the crowd.
Francis raised the carton, ready to quip,
“I bought all this, so eat it and gain some weight.”
But then he saw him.
A man stood opposite Mellie, exuding a commanding presence even from behind.
Edric Felton.
Francis froze. His grip tightened on the ice cream carton as he saw Mellie’s expression shift—her face pale, her body tense as if she was caught doing something wrong.
Her reaction stung more than it should have.
To anyone observing, it might’ve looked like Edric was her creditor and not the man she secretly adored.
Francis felt a pang of pity—for her and, surprisingly, for himself.
He turned to leave, but a sudden gust of wind revealed the firearm holstered at Edric’s side. A precaution? Or a warning?
“Time to go,” Francis muttered.
It wasn’t worth it—not for Mellie’s sake or for his own.
Still, he plucked a single ice cream cup from the carton, lifting it in mock toast.
“Congratulations on your unrequited love, ugly duckling.”
With a wry smile, he took a bite, tossed the rest into the nearest trash bin, and disappeared into the crowd.
—
Meanwhile, Mellie faced Edric.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Mellie hesitated, guilt making her palms sweat.
“I just… stepped out for a bit.”
“Alone?”
His piercing gaze made her flinch. She considered confessing but stopped herself.
“Well, you’re an adult,” Edric said with a shrug.
“You can go out alone.”
His calm acceptance caught her off guard.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The family is overseeing a redevelopment project in this area. I was surveying the square.”
Mellie nodded, relieved to have the attention shifted. But her relief was short-lived.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Francis lingering in the crowd. Her heart sank.
“Don’t come over here,” she silently pleaded in her head.
But Edric, sensing her unease, began to turn.
“Edric!” Mellie blurted out. “I’m hungry. Let’s go home.”
His sharp gaze lingered on her for a moment, then softened into a smile.
“Alright. Let’s have dinner.”
As they walked away, Mellie chanced a glance behind her. Francis was gone.
For once, she was grateful for his quick wit.
—
