TMLWA 02

Chapter 02

“Your Grace, I was told that a servant from the marquess’s household took a liking to you.”

And once such a decision was made by one’s master, a maid had no right to refuse.

It was technically true that once a fixed-term contract expired, one could leave—but that was a notion only those with no ties in life could entertain.

It applied only to those with families to return to, or to a small minority of commoners and noble-born servants who had the leisure of wages and long-term planning.

Even among them, it was rare to openly defy their masters’ decisions.

In any estate, commoners lived under the authority of nobles. How could a lowly maid possibly object to the words of a duchess who wielded overwhelming power in the region?

A maid like her—without family, without financial stability—could never resist the will of a powerful duchess.

Anne simply lowered her head and bowed.

The day of departure for the marquess’s estate was set, and Anne sent a letter of farewell to Gray.

Though she had to ask someone else to write it for her since she was illiterate, every line overflowed with heartfelt affection.

She had not even realized how deeply she loved him.

Carefully, Anne ensured the paper would not be stained by tears as she sent the letter.

A few days later, in the deep of night, Gray secretly came to see her.

In the end, Anne fled the ducal estate with him.

* * *

The two of them ran day and night for their escape in the name of love, leaving the duchy behind.

Even in their wretched condition, they held hands tightly, laughing—so in love they were almost mad with it—falling asleep embraced on the damp, foul-smelling sheets of shabby inns.

There had once been such a time when they loved each other so recklessly.

Returning again to herself at seventeen, Anne erased what she had already lived through.

Soon, the manor doors would open, and Duke Benton, the young duke, and a frightened boy would follow, trembling as if he might burst into tears.

“Your Grace, the young lord has arrived.”

At the servant’s announcement, the duchess dropped her flower arrangement and rushed out of her room.

She had just changed all the flowers in the house and put on a new spring dress, excited to see her son for the first time in a long while.

Even in middle age, she retained a graceful, delicate beauty as she walked lightly toward the open entrance hall, waiting for the carriage to arrive.

Behind her, servants and maids stood in two orderly rows. Anne stood at the very end among the maids.

“My dear—Edwin—”

The carriage door opened, and the duchess stepped forward, brushing past attendants, the stewardess, and the head maid, greeting them with a bright smile.

“Welcome home. You must have had such a hard ti—”

At that moment, a small head popped out from inside, following the duke and young lord, hesitating.

“Get down.”

The young lord spoke again, and the boy fumbled at the high step, finally being helped down by a servant.

“What is this….”

The duchess’s voice turned sharp as she looked at the young boy, who stood frozen and intimidated.

“Who is that child?”

She asked the duke, whose blue hair and eyes matched her own son’s appearance, unlike the boy who resembled the duke himself.

“Let’s go inside and talk.”

As the duke reached for her arm, the duchess brushed him away.

“You’re telling me to bring that child into my house?”

She did not need an explanation. One glance at the boy’s eyes told her everything.

Crimson eyes—identical to the duke’s.

Though his expression was stiff with fear, the presence he carried was unmistakable.

The duchess staggered back, nearly collapsing.

“How dare you do this to me!!”

Hans Benton was not the rightful heir of the ducal house.

He had only been a man from a modest family chosen as a consort to inherit the house through Elizabeth Benton, the only daughter of the previous duke.

Until now, he had been praised as a kind and devoted husband, loyal to both his wife and the family.

In other words, the boy was the duke’s first and final stain.

All servants’ eyes turned toward the screaming, crying entrance hall of the ducal estate.

Anne kept her head down, staring at the floor.

Do not look. Not at those frightened, tearful eyes.

Do not meet them. Not those small, drooping shoulders.

Do not attach feeling. Do not pity.

I have no tears left for him anymore.

Anne clenched her fists, digging her nails into her skin.

She must not repeat the past, even though she had returned to this moment. Never.

“Of course the meal I cooked all day is wasted now.”

While the duchess collapsed and chaos unfolded, the maids carried the prepared dishes to the servants’ hall—their dining room and common lounge.

“Wasted? At least we get to eat well.”

One maid complained, and another snorted while tearing into a pheasant leg.

It was a rare feast.

Anne ate in silence, chewing slowly as she tried to ground herself in reality.

As expected, the young lord had brought Gray Benton, and the duchess had collapsed.

For the next few days, the household would walk on eggshells, and the boy would likely struggle alone in fear and loneliness within the vast estate, crying.

Anne shook her head.

What does that have to do with me? My own younger brother, the same age as him…

“Jamie!”

At the sudden shout, the dining room fell silent.

“What?”

“Did anyone get a letter from my brother?”

Anne suddenly stood up and shouted at Cassie, her roommate and peer.

Everyone stared at her in confusion, but Cassie answered immediately.

“You got one last week. Did you already forget?”

Anne shoved a piece of bread soaked in milk into her mouth and left the room.

Their shared room was so cramped that four beds barely left space to move.

She sat down and rummaged through her few belongings. Soon she found a crumpled letter.

At this time, Anne could not read or write. Neither could her brother, Jamie.

So when she wrote letters, she had to ask literate servants to help. And when she received them, she had to beg someone to read them aloud.

But not anymore.

During the three years she ran away with Gray, she had learned to read and write.

To survive. To avoid being cheated.

“Jamie….”

She unfolded five letters and slowly read them.

They said things like: I’m doing well, I bought meat and cake with the money you sent, Aunt is taking care of me, I think I’ll learn to read soon.

Of course, they were likely written by someone else, so she could not be sure of their truth.

Still, she could roughly estimate the timeline.

It seemed she had entered the Benton estate about two years ago.

She had come at fifteen in the autumn. Now it was the winter of her seventeenth year.

Then Jamie was probably still alive at this point.

In her previous life, she only learned of his death in the winter of her nineteenth year.

Only after no contact for over a year, she had finally sent a letter through Gray—and received the truth.

The reply said Jamie had died suddenly in an accident.

Anne had wanted to run to him immediately, but she could not. The estate did not allow her to leave.

There were many suspicious details about why her aunt’s household never informed her sooner, but she had no power then and could only swallow her grief.

Much later, she summoned them.

By then, she had become Gray’s wife and the Benton duchess, able to exercise at least a small amount of authority.

When she investigated Jamie’s grave, she found it was an unmarked mound on a hill, buried with no care or acknowledgment.

When she erupted in anger, her aunt finally admitted the truth: Jamie had not died in an accident, but from illness.

Everything written in the letters—studies, exercise, and progress—had been lies.

Even while suffering frequent colds and fevers, Jamie was forced to do labor late into the night, and the money Anne sent had all been stolen.

In the end, Jamie died alone in a cold room at fifteen, never once receiving proper medicine.

Anne crumpled all five letters in her hands.

They were nothing but lies—worthless trash with no trace of Jamie’s truth.

Before Jamie died… before he became sick… she had to save him.

But if she could do nothing even as a duchess, what could she possibly do as a mere maid?

Even now, her brother was likely suffering abuse and neglect in her aunt’s home.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

Overwhelmed by sorrow, she pounded her chest and left the room, wandering down the corridor.

“Mom….”

At that moment, a weak child’s voice pierced her ears.