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[Chapter 17]
The Count went into his office, and his wife comforted the crying Charlotte.
“For now, go down to the countryside. I’ll contact you once your father calms down. Until then, don’t worry about anything—just rest, okay?”
Charlotte only nodded. She seemed to realize there was nothing she could do while staying in Rohilton.
From my room, I watched as Charlotte got into the carriage. It disappeared after taking in her and her two personal maids.
It was a much more pitiful and insignificant exit than I had imagined, but I kept my eyes on her for a long time.
So I could tell Ahfwyn about this victory myself.
“That’s what happened.”
After I finished the long story—
“That’s good to hear,”
Ahfwyn smiled. It seemed he understood how much effort I had put in.
“Right? Now, there’s no one to beat you or monitor your condition. So let me treat your wounds. Will you take off your shirt?”
I held up a jar of ointment I’d made myself.
Ahfwyn hesitated, then shook his head.
“I’ll do it myself.”
“There must be spots you can’t reach—like your back.”
“It’s okay. She didn’t hit me these past few days anyway, so I’m not that hurt.”
“Alright.”
I didn’t push further. The fact that he didn’t suspect the ointment was already a huge improvement.
I had no plans to take back the ointment. Only the servants delivering his meals would visit the basement, and they wouldn’t dare get too close to Ahfwyn.
Charlotte hated anyone touching what belonged to her—and Ahfwyn was clearly hers.
Even though she had left for now, Charlotte, as the daughter of the house, would eventually return to Rohilton. The servants knew this and would naturally keep their distance from him.
“Oh, by the way. Just because Charlotte’s gone doesn’t mean I can release you right away. The key to the shackle around your neck is in Charlotte’s room, and her maids are still guarding it.”
“That doesn’t matter. More importantly…”
Ahfwyn hesitated for a long while before finally speaking.
“Does that mean… you’ll be able to visit more often?”
“Huh?”
“I know it’s not your fault, Bella, but… it’s really boring down here. And lonely.”
“Wait… are you asking me to keep you company? The same guy who used to reject everything I brought?”
I was stunned. No—more like suspicious. Was he plotting something?
I studied him, but he just gave me a slightly accusing look.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be stuck here all day, just waiting for dawn.”
“Ah… well…”
That’s when I realized I was comparing him to the version of him before I turned back time. The man who had led an army and burned down the Count’s estate had seemed so strong—I couldn’t imagine him saying something like this.
“How could I forget… he’s still human.”
Right now, he didn’t even remember his own name.
“I’ll try.”
“Just coming at dawn, like you used to, would be enough. Is that too much to ask?”
“To be honest… ever since Charlotte left, the Countess has been extremely sensitive. If I make one mistake, it’ll get harder to help you escape.”
“What if I told you that doesn’t matter? Would you come anyway?”
…What?
That question hit me harder than anything else.
“Is he saying… it’s okay if he never escapes?”
Several minutes passed in silence.
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Ahfwyn turned away first.
His lowered head and bitter smile looked so lonely, I found myself promising something without thinking.
“I… I’ll come tomorrow. For sure.”
Ahfwyn looked up and smiled.
“That’s all I need.”
That satisfied look of his filled me with a strange warmth. I stared at his face for a while,
As if I could hold onto that feeling longer if I did.
Everything I told Ahfwyn was true.
The Countess had been growing more sensitive by the day.
Charlotte had been sent away in disgrace, and the Count blamed his wife for raising her poorly.
Normally, the Countess would’ve gone out to socialize and vent her stress. She’d chat with other noblewomen her age, saying, “Men, right? They think kids raise themselves!” and proudly boast about Charlotte.
“But she can’t do that now.”
The other noblewomen—her regular crowd—even started sending letters, asking if the rumors about Charlotte were true.
Those were the polite ones. Some came up to her face and demanded refunds for the paintings.
Unable to show her face in high society, the Countess tried going downtown to clear her head, but that didn’t last either. Everywhere she went, she was met with ridicule and sneers.
Eventually, she locked herself in the mansion—and took it out on the easiest targets.
“I asked for warm tea! Are you trying to burn my mouth with this boiling water?!”
Her victims were the maids.
She shouted and threw her teacup. It shattered on the floor, splashing water everywhere.
The room instantly fell silent. None of the maids dared to speak, afraid of upsetting her further.
Just yesterday, a young maid had dropped a teaspoon and was beaten and thrown out. Their fear wasn’t exaggerated.
The maid with the tea dropped to her knees.
“I-I made a mistake, Madam. Please forgive me.”
Meanwhile, I enjoyed peace and quiet for the first time in ages.
With Charlotte gone, the world felt calm.
“She used to pop up just to pick fights…”
There was one more change.
“A letter for you, miss.”
Every day, I received a letter from Madam Hilton.
The envelopes were always opened, clearly checked before being handed to me.
I didn’t need to ask. It was obvious the butler had opened them—checking to see if I was passing secrets or writing anything suspicious.
It was a silly fear. I lived in the storage room—what secrets would I even know?
I didn’t stop them though. Letting them think I was weak and insignificant played in my favor.
Thankfully, I had already warned Madam Hilton in advance, so she never included anything risky.
Most of her letters were filled with elegant small talk, like:
“The temperature difference between day and night is growing. Many around me have started coughing. I hope you had a peaceful day.”
Sometimes she added playful comments like:
“Ansen (her husband) says today is the calmest wind of the season—perfect for sailing. What do you think? Do you like boat rides?”
It felt like she was trying to tempt me into going out with her.
The reason I asked her to send letters was simple:
If I sent the first letter, it would seem strange. But replying to one? That looked natural.
Of course, I kept my replies bland too—since I knew they were being checked.
This back-and-forth of meaningless letters was my way of building a basic safety net.
“Now that Charlotte’s gone, there’s no telling what the Countess will do.”
What surprised me was that Camilla started sending letters too.
“I saw lilies blooming beautifully and thought of you. Is the season settling in at your windowsill too?”
The wording felt like something straight out of a romance novel—awkward and overly formal.
Compared to Madam Hilton’s charming, witty letters, Camilla’s felt stiff. She clearly wasn’t used to writing letters—but made time for them anyway.
Even though we hadn’t agreed to keep in touch.
“Why?”
I formed a guess.
“Was her offer at the tea party not out of pity… but something else?”
I wanted to ask. But it wasn’t something I could write in a letter that would be read by others.
So instead, I replied with something polite:
“Thank you for your concern, Lady Ahwila. Unfortunately, my room is too high up to see the flowers clearly, but I still feel the full presence of the season. The one I see is deep and red—like a rose.”
“Still, I can’t keep this up forever.”
Right now, the Countess’s rage was focused on the maids.
But it would reach me soon enough.
There was another reason I had to act quickly—
“The sooner I get the Countess out of this house, the sooner I can help Ahfwyn escape.”
