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CHAPTER 06
I’m Not Your Little Brother, Duke —
He stammered through his explanation, only to eventually sigh and close the window.
“Let’s stop this. You’re right. I just want you to catch a cold and leave.”
“Smell… bad?”
Daphne sniffed at her shoulders one after another. She had just bathed, and there was no odor on her at all.
She was particular about bath products and used the same ones she had always preferred in the capital.
Her skin felt nice after washing, and she liked the sweet fragrance—though after a while she had grown so used to it that she could barely smell it anymore…
“No, that’s not it!” Asher shouted, his face flushed red. “I mean I want you to catch a cold and get thrown out! And for the last time, just tell me where your little brother is!”
Seeing him so embarrassed, it seemed clear that mentioning smell had truly been a mistake.
“Hm.”
Daphne pulled back the blanket wrapped around her and smiled.
“I refuse.”
“I’m going insane.”
This time he buried himself under the blanket, covering his head completely.
Daphne brought the lamp in the center of the room closer and set it in front of her.
Her whole body ached, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep immediately—but there was something she had to do first.
“You said I could bring you some medicine later. Your hands look all cracked. I’ll bring you some.”
Her kind and pretty fellow maid, Bree, had actually brought it for her.
It was a white powder medicine, and she said sprinkling it on the cracked skin would help a lot.
Daphne sprinkled it evenly over her left palm and the back of her hand. But because it was a powder, more of it spilled onto the floor no matter how carefully she tried.
“…Ah.”
Only when it was time to apply it to her right hand did she realize something important.
Her left hand was now covered in powder, making it hard to move properly.
She struggled to hold the bottle with her fingertips and carefully sprinkle the powder.
The noise woke Asher, who had been lying down trying to sleep. He suddenly sat up and put on his glasses.
Startled, Daphne almost dropped the bottle.
“Unbelievable! Are you planning to apply medicine until morning? Give it here!”
He walked over and snatched the bottle from her.
“Hand!”
He held out his hand as if training a dog.
Daphne was not a dog—but she quickly gave him her hand before he changed his mind.
When their palms touched, she noticed something amusing.
“Mr. Mapple, you have big hands.”
“…It’s not me, you—no, don’t move.”
He shook the bottle and sprinkled the white powder.
“May I ask how old you are?”
Daphne knew it was rude to ask, but she was curious.
From his appearance, he looked about twenty…
“Not sure why you’re asking, but I’m nineteen.”
“….”
Suddenly, everything about his constant irritability made sense.
Nineteen was that kind of age. The whole world feels annoying.
You think you’re already an adult, but in reality you’re just a grown child.
“You’re still young.”
“…I have no reason to hear that from someone who isn’t even an adult yet.”
“I turn eighteen next month. Legally an adult.”
“Congratulations. I hope you pay lots of taxes. Turn your hand over.”
He carefully applied the powder to both sides of her hand.
But as Asher helped her, Daphne suddenly started feeling hungry. Maybe it was because she had skipped both dinner and proper rest.
Grrr—
Her stomach growled loudly as he worked.
Each time, Asher looked at her like she was something deeply offensive.
“It’s not good to deny basic bodily functions, Mr. Mapple.”
“Maybe you should try denying yours a bit more.”
He clicked his tongue, put the bottle down, and carefully wiped up the spilled powder.
Then he washed his hands aggressively in a basin, as if he had touched something filthy.
Still unsatisfied, he muttered a curse and left the room.
A moment later, he returned with a piece of bread.
Without a word, he shoved it into her mouth.
It was delicious.
Her hands were still unusable, so she had to awkwardly eat using her lips and tongue, but she wasn’t in a position to complain.
“Thank you.”
When she finished, he looked at her as if surprised she had responded so politely.
To meet his expectations, she added something unnecessary.
“But it would’ve been better with butter and blueberry jam.”
His face twisted horribly.
“I knew it. I just knew it.”
He slammed his glasses onto the table and crawled back into bed.
Daphne watched him turn away and giggled.
“Just kidding.”
It really was a joke.
“Thank you. Really.”
“…I’m going to sleep. Be quiet.”
After that, he didn’t move at all.
Daphne turned off the lamp once the medicine had absorbed into her skin and lay down.
The next morning.
Asher woke up again with dark circles under his eyes and immediately exploded.
“You were snoring all night!”
Daphne felt a little bad… but—
…I don’t snore.
She felt somewhat wronged.
There must be another reason he couldn’t sleep.
She just had no idea what it was.
Time moved quickly toward the final promised day.
Daphne’s work remained mostly the same.
After the funeral ended, guests kept arriving and leaving, offering condolences to the Duke.
Dressed in black, Liam Sloane accepted their sympathies with a stiff expression.
He didn’t look particularly sad, nor did he seem happy about inheriting the dukedom.
If only she could understand his emotions, maybe she could help and “satisfy” him.
They had both lost their parents on the same day, and she had already experienced that grief once in her previous life.
Late at night.
After eating properly and bathing, Daphne walked back to the servants’ quarters.
The corridor was quiet.
As she walked while glancing around, she stopped in front of a door she had never paid attention to before.
Each servant’s room had a nameplate.
On this one, neatly written, was:
[Sun]
“…Ah.”
A strange feeling escaped her lips.
She had passed this place countless times—why had she never noticed it before?
Without even looking around, she reached for the doorknob.
Surprisingly, it was unlocked.
She slowly opened the door.
A scent drifted out from inside, rushing toward her as if it had been trapped there for a long time.
She breathed in.
It was her father’s scent.
Even though it belonged to a memory so old…
Even though she thought she had forgotten it…
The moment she smelled it, she knew immediately.
“…Father.”
She whispered.
A presence appeared behind her.
Startled, she turned around.
Liam stood right behind her—just as close as when he had once helped her with her luggage on the train.
When their eyes met, he lifted the corner of his lips slightly.
“I apologize.”
“…No.”
Daphne slowly let go of the doorknob.
“I should be the one apologizing.”
This was his estate. She was only allowed to enter permitted spaces.
Peeking into the “Sun” room was clearly her mistake.
“Do I seem so cold-hearted?”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t blame someone for following traces of their father.”
His arm passed over her shoulder and pushed the nearly closed door open.
“Especially when I…”
His nose brushed lightly through her hair.
“…am sensitive to scents.”
Daphne glanced back at him as she stepped inside.
He straightened up with a slightly disappointed expression—clearly exaggerated.
“I also like this scent. I can tell you the soap maker if you want.”
“Later.”
He followed her inside and closed the door.
Then he lit the lamp. Thankfully, there was still oil left.
As the room brightened, Daphne’s gaze fell on her father’s belongings.
A journal, books on etiquette and knowledge required of the Sutton family, a train schedule for Clotmore…
And her father’s coat.
It was slightly wrinkled from being worn often and hung loosely on the wall.
Daphne took it down and unfolded it.
It fell heavily, reaching below her knees.
“…It’s big.”
She muttered absently, then hugged it tightly.
She pressed her cheek against the collar and closed her eyes.
