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Chapter 15
“Teacher.”
The voice called out the moment the door closed. Carlo, who had rushed over after belatedly hearing the news, was holding a bag that clearly belonged to Agnes.
“You were here, teacher.”
“Butler…”
Carlo let out a deep sigh as he looked at Agnes with the same expression one might use when scolding a disobedient neighborhood child. If it weren’t for Johan, he would have thought Agnes had already returned home.
“I gave you the day off this morning. What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave like this…”
For some reason, she couldn’t lift her head. The words that had flowed so freely in front of the duke now struggled to come out.
“So, did you finish what you needed to do?”
His tone and expression seemed to ask, “Did you have your fun?” Agnes felt like she was standing in front of her late grandfather again.
“Roughly, yes.”
But despite her words, her lips spread into a satisfied smile. It was the expression of someone who had gotten what they wanted. Carlo shook his head.
“You’re hopeless. The one who called you here to teach a mischievous boy ends up being the one who causes mischief every day…”
“I’m not that bad, am I?”
Agnes, proud that she had always been considerate of others’ circumstances when joking around, offered a mild protest.
“In some ways, you’re worse. At least the young master never got hurt.”
Carlo sighed again, this time more dramatically. Agnes resisted the urge to explain herself.
Though the Duke of Battenberg had been the one in front of her when she fainted at dawn, he wouldn’t have called a doctor and cared for her himself. That would have been the work of this elderly butler, who must have been woken from sleep to take care of it all.
And she couldn’t exactly say with confidence that she hadn’t been playing around. She and Timothy had been pranking each other back and forth.
“Ever since you arrived, there hasn’t been a single quiet day.”
“I’m sorry, just a little longer, please.”
“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. As I’ve said before, it’s been a good change for us. But you must also take care of yourself. Didn’t the doctor recommend rest?”
“I’m fine…”
“……”
“…I’m sorry. I’ll rest.”
“Good decision. Would you like a candy?”
“…Butler, I’m not a child…”
She felt like crawling into a hole. Carlo was clearly startled by the chaos between her and Timothy, but he never complained as he cleaned up after them. But once Agnes got hurt, it seemed he could no longer stay silent.
Agnes had accepted the forced leave—though unwillingly—because of Carlo. His eyes had clearly said he wouldn’t tolerate any objections. She reached toward the bag he was holding.
“That’s my bag, right? Please give it to me. I’ll really go home this time.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
Carlo smiled gently.
“It’s already dark. I’ve prepared a carriage. I’ll escort you.”
“That’s really not necessary! I can manage just fine on my own…”
“Please remember that you’re currently a patient, teacher.”
After this stern warning, he turned and began walking ahead. Left behind, Agnes felt a strange sensation wash over her.
If only someone like him had been beside Marquis Reynold back then…
Maybe things would’ve turned out differently. But Carlo had always been the Duke of Battenberg’s man, even in the past when she wasn’t there. There was no point in wishing otherwise.
Carlo, realizing Agnes wasn’t following, turned to look back. Agnes asked, even though she knew the answer.
“I suppose… I still can’t see Timothy before I go, can I?”
The reason she had hesitated until sunset even after being granted the day off was because she hadn’t seen Timothy since that dawn. She had hoped he might come find her if she waited. But in the end, she had to leave without seeing him.
“No.”
“Right.”
Carlo rejected her, as if cutting things off at his level. But Agnes knew well that this butler could never say no to a request that came directly from the young master.
Agnes began walking.
Still, over the past five days, she had done everything she could for this estate in her absence.
All that was left now was to pray.
She had been thinking that she needed to assess her post-regression situation soon anyway.
Agnes recalled the morning she had returned to the past. The first thing she did when sunlight touched her eyelids was reach for her neck.
I never thought I’d live to be surprised that my head was still attached.
She had held her neck, gasping for breath for some time. The feeling of being alive only came after a long exhale. But that sense of peace shattered the moment her long-dead mother opened the door and walked in—Agnes had fainted again. Who wouldn’t be shocked if the dead walked through the door?
I was so cruel to Mother.
Her mother had opened the door to check on her motionless daughter and had witnessed her fainting dead away. Agnes hadn’t even properly comforted her. Instead, she had bombarded her with questions—what day it was, how old she was, where she had been working.
Then she had rushed straight to the Count of Westwick’s estate to quit her job and ask for a letter of recommendation.
Her mind had been focused on one thing only—stopping what was to come. She had no idea how or why she’d returned to the past, but the hope of preventing it outweighed the need for answers.
Twenty-two years old…
What was she like at 22? She couldn’t remember well. Fourteen years had passed since then.
After starting work and before her parents died, Agnes had been buried in her job. She had needed money, and staying busy helped. Focusing on work helped her forget the struggles at home. Exhausted, she would fall asleep without nightmares. If she saw her mother’s face, she’d end up having to comfort her for crying from guilt.
Agnes didn’t have strong sentimental feelings toward her parents anymore. She had loved them and done her best to support them. Because she gave her all, she had no regrets.
Every penny she earned went to her parents, and she had saved enough to give them a proper funeral. She did miss them at times after their deaths, but she had been so long weighed down by the responsibility of caring for them that her sense of relief had been stronger.
That’s why she was so conflicted now. She didn’t know how to deal with this younger version of her mother.
When she came home after sunset for the first time in a while, her mother Linda welcomed her with a simple dinner. Agnes stirred her salad, unsure what to say. No words felt natural, and her mouth wouldn’t open easily.
“Agnes? You don’t have an appetite?”
Agnes quickly replied.
“It’s nothing. Just thinking about something.”
Though she stirred her salad, she still cleared her plate. Still, her quietness must have seemed odd, as it prompted Linda to ask. When Agnes finally looked up from her plate, her mother’s gaze fixed again on the gauze on her cheek.
Ugh. Here it comes again. Agnes turned her head, but it was too late.
“I hope it doesn’t scar! A wound like that on your face… What on earth happened? What kind of family—?”
“I told you, it wasn’t related to the student.”
Had she also not told her parents much about her job back then? As she tried to remember, she noticed the subtle hurt in Linda’s eyes. At twenty-two, it seemed she had at least chatted more warmly.
“Even so… What kind of place leaves you with a scar on your face? Count Westwick’s estate treated you so well, and you suddenly quit—what kind of household was it that you felt the need to leave like that?”
“They pay better. And they’re kind enough to give me five days off just for a small injury.”
“…And moving in as a live-in tutor while still unmarried…”
“I don’t plan to get married, Mother.”
“…”
“Living alone is more peaceful and comfortable for me.”
No suitor, no money. Agnes held back from finishing that statement. But Linda, watching her daughter fidget and avoid her gaze, seemed to understand the rest.
Ugh, this is awkward…
Her mother, in her youth, was different from Agnes’s memories.
Younger, more naive, more fragile. The gray hair was gone. The deep wrinkles and burdens had vanished. While that made Agnes happy, it also made her feel distant.
“By the way, Mother, did my sisters stop by while I was out?”
“They each came by once. But they were busy and didn’t stay long.”
Her married sisters used to visit every few days to help care for their father. Linda had relied on their gossip about the social scene as her one source of entertainment. Thanks to them, Linda used to know more about society than anyone else—until the nieces and nephews were born.
“I was curious about something. I thought they might know, so I wanted to ask…”
“What is it? I’ll call them. They live close by. If they hear you were hurt, they’ll come running.”
Linda leaned in slightly. Just as Agnes found her young mother unfamiliar, Linda must have found her daughter’s sudden aloofness strange too. As Linda met her gaze with interest, Agnes regretted how cold she had been.
“It’s about the Duke of Battenberg.”
“Ah…”
“He’s been alone for some time now. But I wondered—was there ever an engagement carried on from a previous generation? I mean, someone set to become the duchess?”
