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Chapter 2
News that Betty had secured the long-vacant position of the lady’s personal maid spread like wildfire throughout the mansion.
She had only been working at the duchy for a few months, which made the gossip travel even faster.
Regardless of being slapped, cast aside, or insulted, it was still a position that served a noblewoman closely.
It was natural that envy and jealousy would surface openly among the other servants—especially since Betty had no real footing among them.
“…This is bad.”
Betty muttered as she wrung out her soaking wet hair.
A filthy bucket of water had been dumped over her head the moment she stepped out the back door.
As she listened to the laughter fading into the distance, she twisted her braid with more force.
‘You must live happily.’
She recalled her mother’s final words—spoken as she lay dying, clutching Betty’s hand with desperate strength.
Betty wasn’t sure if she was living happily, but at least she thought she was doing her best to survive. But if life was going to be this difficult…
‘Whatever the lady sees in you, I don’t know. But you seem quick-witted enough, so I trust you’ll manage.’
‘Yes, Head Maid.’
The head maid had passed on her words of warning with a grimace, as though she had no other choice.
Her tone had been so indifferent that Betty was sure she wouldn’t even blink if she ended up beaten down by the young lady’s cruelty.
‘I only took you in because I’m acquainted with your aunt. But don’t think that connection will get you anything more than a maid’s job.’
‘I understand, ma’am.’
Betty’s aunt, who ran a small bakery in the capital, had enough affection to feed and house her after she became an orphan.
But now that Betty was an adult, it was time for her to find her own way in the world.
She was already grateful enough that she hadn’t ended up on the streets or in an orphanage.
‘Knowledge is always a fine asset. Don’t ever forget that.’
Today was a day when she missed her gentle mother more than ever.
The only traces of her mother that Betty had left were a few books she had barely managed to buy.
“It’s not even raining today… You look like a mess.”
Betty had been thinking of pulling out one of those books to read again when an unfamiliar voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
She hurriedly looked up—and froze.
Felix Sharte, heir to the duchy.
Even the young lady she served couldn’t speak to him carelessly. And yet here he was, standing right in front of her.
“…I slipped and fell into the pond.”
A lie even a child wouldn’t believe.
Yet Felix said nothing. He merely looked down at her in silence.
Unlike the lady who inherited her mother’s features, Felix had the fine blond hair of the duke.
His head tilted slightly as his golden locks swayed.
“Take this. Don’t even think about refusing.”
He handed her a handkerchief from his coat, the gesture fluid and elegant.
A handkerchief made for noble ladies. Betty hesitated, wondering if she should really accept such a thing, but he urged her.
“Anyone watching might think I’m handing you poison.”
“…Thank you.”
Not knowing how else to respond, she took the handkerchief and bowed deeply.
As she tried to straighten her disheveled appearance, Felix muttered quietly while watching her.
“I think I understand why Vivian took a liking to you.”
So the rumors had made their way to his ears as well.
Considering how often he had to clean up the young lady’s messes, it made sense that he would pay attention to her daily affairs.
“Good luck.”
Whether it was sarcasm or a half-hearted wish, she couldn’t tell. Felix walked away without hesitation.
‘What… just happened?’
Until now, Betty had never spoken directly with Felix Sharte. Her impression of him had been simple:
Cold, precise, and a flawless heir.
Even when scolding his younger sister, he treated her with the same distance he used with strangers—sharp and emotionless.
Betty had flinched just watching him. How much worse must it have been for the lady herself?
So it was strange—this sudden kindness toward a mere maid. It left a sour feeling in her chest.
“Well, no time to dwell on it.”
She had more pressing things to worry about.
Before they left for the summer estate, she had to check and finish packing the young lady’s luggage.
As she hurried on, the bright, hot weather outside caught her eye.
Which in turn reminded her of another nobleman.
She wondered if the northern region, unlike the stifling capital, might be cool and breezy.
“Will he be all right?”
If there had been any real issues at the front lines, they would’ve heard something by now.
Which meant the Grand Duke simply had no intention of replying to the letter she had written on the young lady’s behalf.
Still, for some reason, it kept bothering her.
Perhaps it was because Ian Daven, the Grand Duke, reminded her of herself.
At the duchy’s ball, he had seemed to isolate himself, keeping others at arm’s length—not out of arrogance, but more like someone who didn’t quite belong.
Of course, his prestigious status and talents were far beyond someone like Betty, whose only virtues were diligence and silence.
“At this rate, I may never write him again.”
If he never replied, maybe that was for the best.
Writing letters in the lady’s stead was a frightening and nerve-wracking task—even if it was ordered and permitted.
Once might be forgiven. But doing it repeatedly risked exposure. And all consequences would fall solely on her.
Yet the moment she stepped into the lady’s room to help pack, her hopes were crushed by a casual command.
“Write another letter before we leave. Father said I should send them regularly, regardless of whether there’s a reply. I have to win the Grand Duke over, no matter what.”
Lady Sharte didn’t even look at her, staring out the window as she gave the order.
“…Yes, my lady.”
Betty quietly sighed, trying not to let it show.
It seemed she needed to steel herself more than she thought.
To His Grace, Grand Duke Daven,
When the occasional cool breeze passes through the rustling leaves, I find myself sensing the passing of summer.
Though you did not reply to my previous letter, I do not take that to mean you didn’t read it. So I’d like to share how my summer has been.
As I mentioned last time, I’ve come to the imperial summer estate to escape the heat. I find its pale ivory façade especially elegant.
Though I’ve seen it many times, the high ceilings and open spaces always inspire awe and bring a sense of refreshment.
The flowers arranged throughout the estate lend a hint of splendor to its dignified grandeur.
It is a shame I cannot enjoy this view together with you.
Betty paused and put down her quill.
It was the day before they were to return from the estate, and she had only just started the next letter.
Despite what she’d written, she had barely taken in the scenery—only glimpsed it briefly.
‘I’m so tired…’
Her eyes were dry and sore. No matter how hard she rubbed them, the exhaustion wouldn’t leave.
She had spent every moment attending to the lady’s endless demands—bringing cooler drinks, finding her fan, and so on.
There had been no room for rest.
‘Still…’
She opened her eyes and glanced around.
It truly was beautiful—like a fairy tale. In that sense, the letter hadn’t been a complete lie.
Lady Sharte lay beneath a canopy, claiming she was resting.
Even when Betty moved about and made noise, the lady didn’t stir.
Betty picked up her quill again.
Life at the estate has been simple, but peaceful and pleasant.
Sometimes, when one has experienced the ups and downs of life, it is the simplicity that becomes most precious and longed-for.
Do you not feel the same, Your Grace?
Seeing such a beautiful building, I find myself curious about your grand estate, which is said to be even more majestic than any other castle.
I hope I’ll be able to see it one day.
Of course, I would also love to know how you normally spend your time there.
Oh, and when I return to the duchy, I’ll still have the summer ball to look forward to.
It’s still some time away, but I’m already excited—wondering what I should wear.
As always, my family and I are doing well. I hope that you, too, are in good health.
—Vivian Sharte
The reason she abruptly ended the letter after mentioning the Grand Duke’s castle was simple.
She had run out of things to write.
What could she say about spending half the day standing under the blistering sun, waiting for her mistress to summon her?
And since nobles at private tea gatherings disliked having extra ears around, she had no stories or conversations to quote either.
Do you not feel the same, Your Grace?
She’d written the question naturally as part of the flow. But looking back, it made her uneasy.
It felt like prying into the Grand Duke’s private thoughts.
Even if the lady had entrusted her with the task, it still felt like a line she wasn’t meant to cross.
But when the young lady woke up, she skimmed the letter and immediately ordered her to seal it.
So Betty never got the chance to remove the question.
