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Chapter 34
Rebecca had witnessed every step of Margaret’s salon, from its beginnings to its prosperity.
She was a more passionate entrepreneur and a more brilliant pâtissier than anyone else—and at the same time, a wonderful mother.
Even if Rebecca owed her nothing, Margaret was still someone indispensable to the business.
Rebecca, lost in old memories, gazed at Margaret with misty eyes.
Margaret’s lips trembled with humiliation, perhaps having taken that look to mean something else.
“…You pity me, don’t you.”
“That’s a misunderstanding…”
“You don’t have to lie. I’ve heard it until my ears bled—how you’re such a saintly, admirable woman. But I don’t need that kind of cheap pity. I’ll take care of my own path. I’m not so pathetic that I need your charity.”
Margaret suddenly shot up from her seat, as if being in the same room was unbearable. She jabbed her finger toward the door.
“Then I suppose we have nothing more to say. Please leave.”
Rebecca, stunned by Margaret’s fortress-like demeanor, lost her words for a moment before lowering her head.
“It’s… a little shameful that you thought that.”
“…What?”
Rebecca lifted her face. Her eyes glistened with deep sorrow.
“Margaret, I don’t even have the strength left to pity anyone. My own life is too overwhelming, too lonely, too hard to endure—I don’t have the room to look after anyone else.”
“……”
“I’m thoroughly selfish. The only reason I sought you out was because I judged you to be someone who could benefit me. Nothing more. Even when I helped those at the relief home, it wasn’t much different.”
The first time Rebecca ever reached out to help someone had been on impulse.
As the Countess of Devonshire, the only thing expected of her was to sit idly in her mansion.
No one needed her. No one gave her anything to do.
In her gilded chambers, Rebecca quietly watched all the dreams she’d held since childhood collapse.
Then one day, on her way to have a dress fitted, she had tossed a coin to a beggar child.
It just so happened she had money in her pocket, and the child happened to be begging near the dressmaker’s.
“Thank you! My lady, you’ve saved my life!”
That single phrase let Rebecca breathe again, if only for a moment. It was like a weight in her chest had burst open.
And then came the strange euphoria that filled her whole being.
Someone needs me. Someone rejoices in my help. There is something I can do.
That was the beginning.
After that, whenever the melancholy weighed down on her, she began—almost like an addict—to extend her hand to someone in need.
The pleasure of hearing a single “thank you” was indescribable.
She knew full well her own hypocrisy. She had never once thought of herself as virtuous.
Her kindness was nothing more than an act to satisfy her own desire. A one-sided action, purely for herself.
So pity had nothing to do with her selfish actions.
She was neither a saint, nor a villainess.
She was simply one greedy human being.
“So please, take my hand, Margaret. More than anyone, I need you. Let’s do this together.”
Margaret stared in stunned silence at the hand Rebecca was holding out.
“Lady Rebecca is an angel! She’s no ordinary person!”
The blind adoration of the relief home people made Margaret sick.
And each time she heard it, her resentment toward Rebecca grew steadily stronger.
She herself had once been a wealthy noblewoman.
She recalled what she had thought each time she gave alms to the poor back then.
A kindness no different from throwing scraps to pitiful animals in cages. Pity, nothing more, nothing less.
Surely Rebecca was no different from the other nobles.
And yet—being treated like a saint? It was laughable.
Margaret was convinced that Rebecca actually enjoyed that image.
But now, the Rebecca before her was nothing like she’d imagined—showing her naked self, pleading earnestly, as if dignity as a noble meant nothing to her.
It was confusing. The world Margaret had known was crumbling.
Wordlessly, Margaret pushed Rebecca’s hand back down onto the table.
“…Give me a little time to think.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened, then curved into a crescent smile.
She was overjoyed that Margaret’s iron will had wavered, even if only slightly.
In her previous life, Margaret had been like an idol to Rebecca.
Even after her family’s downfall, Margaret had raised her child on her own and built a business—later even regaining her title.
Working under Margaret, Rebecca had longed to become like her.
How could one constantly radiate such vitality, as she did?
She had agonized over that, again and again.
Before Margaret, who was like an ancient tree unmoved even by storms, Rebecca had felt herself no more than a weed swept away by the wind.
If someone like Margaret stood by her side, Rebecca felt she would finally have an unshakable ally.
Rebecca gazed blankly at her own hand, brushed aside by Margaret, then nodded.
“Send your answer through Kanna. I assure you, you won’t regret taking my hand.”
“I told him I didn’t need this…”
Rebecca frowned at the paper bag stuffed with bread.
Bern had forced it on her, insisting he couldn’t let a customer leave empty-handed.
Taking it straight back to the count’s estate would only cause trouble.
The estate was strict about outside food. But she couldn’t very well throw it away either.
Rebecca stared blankly into the bag of bread.
Memories stirred, and she sank into quiet regret.
Bern was still the same warm-hearted bakery owner.
In her previous life, whenever she visited as a customer, he would always slip in a few extra pieces of bread.
“That sandwich after so long—it was good, wasn’t it?”
Suddenly, hunger hit her.
Come to think of it, she had barely eaten lunch. She had only nibbled nervously at the sandwich earlier.
Rebecca pulled out a cream bun from the bag.
For a moment she hesitated at the thought of eating in the street, but she was no longer Lady Rebecca the noblewoman.
How sweet the freedom of plain clothes tasted.
She bit into the bread without guilt. Sweet, soft cream spread across her tongue.
The taste brought an involuntary smile.
It was shameful to eat while walking, but she didn’t care.
In her previous life, when time was precious, she had often eaten this way.
“Susan!”
She had taken about two bites when someone suddenly grabbed her wrist.
The bun dropped to the ground.
Rebecca stared in shock at its sad fate—crushed beneath the man’s foot, cream squirting out.
She glared furiously at the man who dared to seize her arm.
He was a shabby fellow, gasping for breath.
Startled by her cold stare, he flinched—but then tightened his grip.
Pain throbbed in her wrist, and Rebecca winced.
The man seized her shoulder.
“Why won’t you accept my confession?! You like me too, I know it! Sure, you never said it—but you always smiled at me!”
With just those words, Rebecca pieced the situation together.
She had once been warned that Susan might have a troublesome admirer at the market.
Apparently he’d been following her around lately.
So this was him. A flimsy love, indeed—he didn’t even recognize her disguised face.
Rebecca coldly shoved his hand away.
“Follow me again, and I’ll hand you over to the guards.”
“Hah! You think I’m scared? Did you forget my brother’s the captain of the watch? Stop playing hard to get and just come into my arms, Susan.”
“Get lost. I don’t even want to talk to trash like you.”
“…What did you say?!”
The man shoved Rebecca into an alley. The bag of bread ripped apart, spilling pitifully onto the ground.
My bread…
Rebecca lifted her face in fury.
The man flinched for an instant, then clenched his fists angrily.
“Wh-what are you gonna do, glaring like that?! Looks like words aren’t enough after all.”
How is it people never change?
Rebecca slipped a long pin from her hair and held it lightly in her hand, aiming for his vital point.
In her previous life, raising a child alone, incidents like this had happened once or twice every month.
She could never match men in brute strength, so she had learned techniques to subdue them with minimal effort.
Margaret was the one who taught me this too…
The man lunged.
Just as Rebecca raised the sharp pin, he let out a strangled cry and collapsed.
Someone had struck his face.
“You all right?”
It was Julian. With a single blow, he had knocked the man unconscious.
Blood dripped from the man’s broken nose onto Julian’s left hand.
He quickly hid the bloodied hand behind his back so it wouldn’t stain Rebecca, then stepped toward her, frozen halfway between standing and sitting.
At the sight of her disheveled state, his brow furrowed deeply.
“Another reckless stunt, I see…”
Rebecca scanned him up and down, incredulous that Julian could look so impeccably dressed here of all places.
“Julian? What on earth are you doing here…?”
“I happened to be passing by. I saw you.”
“You… recognized me?”
Outside the alley, a commotion had begun—someone must have reported the incident.
Julian said nothing, simply offering his arm.
“There are too many eyes here. Let’s go to my carriage.”
“I’m fine. I need to get back quickly.”
“In that state?”
He pulled a hand mirror from his pocket and showed her face. Judging by the smudges on it, he must always carry it with him.
Rebecca grimaced at her reflection.
“…Ah.”
She certainly couldn’t return to the estate looking like that.
Her bonnet had come off, her hair was a mess, and much of her freckle makeup had rubbed away.
Wordlessly, she took Julian’s arm.
As her weight pressed lightly on it, the corners of his lips curved into a faint smile.
Then, looking at Croah, who was prodding the unconscious man with his foot, Julian spoke:
“Take care of him.”
“Y-yes, sir… as you command…”
Croah sighed so heavily it seemed the ground itself might sink.
