RCHR 33

Chapter 33

There weren’t many places that would look after children without asking for something in return.

Jack, who had often been left alone at home while Margaret was out working, had become so emotionally unstable that he suffered from sleepwalking.

But ever since coming here, Jack had noticeably brightened.

Gloria, who was said to have once been a nanny in a noble household, even gave the children a basic education.

For Jack’s sake, Margaret couldn’t leave this place—even if it meant hiding her own name.

“Hurry up, Margaret! We’ve got a big group order today!”

As soon as Margaret opened the shop door, Bern shouted loudly while kneading dough.

Margaret hastily tied on her apron and rushed into the kitchen.

In the sweltering oven heat, her sweat showed no signs of drying.

It was something she could never have imagined doing back when she was the daughter of a baron’s house, but still, Margaret was happy.

Bread was honest. It didn’t care about the baker’s wealth or family background.

As long as the right ingredients were measured with care and baked at the right time, the result was always wonderful.

Sometimes her wrists ached, but it was fine. Whenever customers praised the bread, the pain would vanish in an instant.

This morning, as always, the bakery was hectic.

Not until long after noon could Margaret finally sit on the little stool by the counter and wipe the sweat from her brow.

“Good work. Here’s lunch! A special sandwich my wife packed!”

“Oh, thank you.”

Bern emerged from the kitchen, suddenly thrusting forward a sandwich as big as his forearm.

He often clucked his tongue, saying Margaret was too thin for such hard baking work.

But despite his nagging, he made sure she had a hearty lunch and dinner every day.

Sometimes he even wrapped up leftover bread for the relief home residents.

Margaret gazed at the thick slice of ham and fresh vegetables tucked between the bread.

The rich, savory smell made her appetite return.

Just as she was about to take a bite, the clear chime of the shop bell rang out, and the door opened.

Of all times…

But Margaret didn’t complain. Instead, she stood with a smile spreading across her lips.

“Welcome—”

Afternoon sunlight poured in behind the customer.

Margaret’s eyes widened.

The face was strangely familiar. Disguised though she was, Margaret recognized her at once.

The very image of the person she had wished to kill even in her dreams.

Rebecca Devonshire.

“Hello, Margaret.”

Rebecca removed her bonnet and held it in her hands.

Her gaze landed on the sandwich sitting on the counter.

“If you haven’t eaten yet, would you care to join me?”

“W-what…?”

As Margaret faltered, Bern quickly burst out of the kitchen.

“Of course she would! There are chairs and a table out back—it’s the perfect spot!”

“What? But Bern—”

“Margaret, isn’t this the first time a friend’s come to see you? You should treat her well! Don’t be shy!”

Bern winked at her. Clearly, he had gotten the wrong idea.

But because he urged her on so cheerfully, Margaret had no choice but to let him usher her out to the backyard.

“What a charming, cozy little place.”

Margaret wondered whether to take Rebecca’s words as a compliment or a jab.

After all, nobles rarely showed their true feelings.

She stole a glance at Rebecca, who was examining the table that Bern’s wife had supposedly made by hand.

Rebecca didn’t seem to be hiding anything sinister.

In fact, she looked like she was genuinely impressed.

Watching that soft smile spread across Rebecca’s face, Margaret answered in a voice thick with displeasure.

“Lady Rebecca, I don’t know why you’ve come looking for me, but this is my workplace. Dropping in unannounced like this causes trouble.”

“Oh, forgive me. This was the only way I could slip away from the estate. And if I had made an appointment in advance, I doubt you would have agreed to meet me.”

Rebecca studied Margaret’s stiff, cold expression.

She had expected such hostility, but experiencing it directly was still disheartening.

Yet it wasn’t incomprehensible.

Thanks to Kanna, Rebecca had learned of Margaret’s past—things she hadn’t known even in her previous life.

Margaret Bennet’s past had been shredded by Zeppelin’s twisted greed.

The statue of the goddess Dephria in the Hall of Light at the Devonshire estate had in fact been a Bennet family heirloom for generations.

Zeppelin, having recognized its value early on, had tried to buy it for a large sum, but Baron Gideon, Margaret’s father, refused to sell.

Baron Gideon was a man who treasured simple happiness.

As long as his small household had enough to live on, he harbored no greater ambitions.

But Zeppelin was the opposite—he had to possess whatever he desired.

Always, he sought new ways to sate his endless hunger.

Baron Gideon underestimated Zeppelin’s greed, and that quickly led to tragedy.

Zeppelin’s hounds set fire to the Bennet estate under the cover of night.

The great blaze devoured the family’s peaceful life.

The only survivor of that cruel inferno was Margaret—the baron’s only daughter, newly widowed just a week earlier.

Her husband, Radburn Bennet, had been an orphan.

So when Margaret lost him to an accident, her only remaining family had been her father’s household.

Zeppelin took all of that from her.

Pregnant, Margaret struggled desperately to hold her crumbling home together.

But raised in luxury, she had little she could actually do.

In the end, the family’s entire fortune—including the goddess statue—was auctioned off.

And Zeppelin, as though waiting for it, bought the statue.

When he came to inspect it, Margaret confronted him in fury.

“It was you! You did this, didn’t you? You killed my father over a mere statue?”

“Ha! Ridiculous. To accuse me without proof—how bold. Your family’s tragedy is regrettable, but have you never thought it’s your own fault for failing to salvage things? If you’re so wronged, run to the temple. Who knows, perhaps the goddess will bless you with her mercy.”

Like crushing a crawling bug, Zeppelin shoved Margaret aside.

The cold gleam in his eyes that day haunted her still.

Margaret’s gaze turned icy as she glared at Rebecca, haunted by memories.

She knew Rebecca was not Zeppelin. She even knew Rebecca had saved the people of Liberta.

But seeing Rebecca’s face—so much like his—made her rage boil over.

After all, she lived with that despicable man.

So Margaret hated her just the same.

Sitting across from Rebecca felt like sitting on a bed of thorns.

Anger surged within her.

She had just barely begun to heal, and yet Devonshire had come again to torment her.

Margaret clenched her skirt tightly in her fists.

All she wanted was to escape and return to her sacred work.

Rebecca took a small bite of her sandwich.

“Mmm, this bread is delicious. Did you bake it yourself, Margaret?”

Feigning innocence, she smiled brightly.

“Would you please get to the point? We’re not exactly on terms for idle chatter.”

Margaret flinched at her own cold tone. After all, she was in no position to speak so boldly to Rebecca.

One word from Rebecca to Zeppelin, and she and Jack could vanish without a trace.

But her fury toward the Devonshires could not be quelled by fear.

The image of her father dying in the flames, of her life stolen in an instant…

Margaret shuddered whenever Rebecca’s blue eyes blinked.

Still smiling, Rebecca said,

“I understand perfectly well why you hate me. It’s because of Zeppelin, isn’t it?”

Margaret lowered her head without answering, fidgeting with her glass of cold water. She wanted to bury her anger in the ice.

Rebecca watched the droplets forming on Margaret’s trembling hand.

Her chest ached.

She wanted to kneel in Zeppelin’s place and beg forgiveness, but she calmed her turbulent feelings.

“As for your family… I don’t know what I can possibly say. I know it’s something that can never be repaid.”

“So you came here to apologize?”

“Of course not. That was Zeppelin’s doing. Strictly speaking, at the time, I didn’t even know you existed. But since I’m his wife, I understand why you would hate me all the same.”

“Yes. I see you understand well. You may think it shameless of me, relying on a relief home, but Lady Rebecca, I’ve never taken even a scrap of cheese here without giving back. Every month I donate as much as the rent price.”

“Please calm down, Margaret. I didn’t come to scold you for hating me. This may be an unreasonable request, but… could you, just for this moment, see me not as Rebecca Devonshire, but simply as Rebecca? I came to offer you a job.”

“A job…?”

“Yes. Not immediately—it would be at least a few months from now. I’m thinking of starting a business, and I’d like you to be the pâtissière.”

Margaret’s eyes widened in shock.

“But I’m just a humble baker. I don’t know the first thing about the fine desserts nobles eat.”

“You can learn. If you accept, I’ll make sure you’re properly trained. I believe you’d pick it up quickly.”

Margaret’s frozen expression faltered for a moment.

Rebecca went on.

“As for pay—you’ll receive half of the profits. I’m offering you a partnership. You deserve it.”

“Wh-what?”

Margaret nearly spilled her tea.

Half the profits?

With that money, she could restore her lost title, send Jack to a good academy…

For a moment, the thought of Jack’s future stirred a mother’s greed.

But she steadied herself again. No amount of money could make her partner with Zeppelin’s wife.

Perhaps sensing her thoughts, Rebecca smiled gently.

“It’s natural to hesitate. But let me add—this business has nothing to do with the Earl of Devonshire. Zeppelin doesn’t even know I’m planning it. That’s why I snuck out in this disguise. I can’t say more right now, except that I have the help of a very kind investor.”

“But I don’t understand why you’re offering this to me. There are countless skilled pâtissiers out there. And it’s not as if you and I share any special connection.”

But that wasn’t true. Rebecca knew Margaret well.

It had been Margaret who gave her work when she was at her lowest, and Margaret who helped her through postpartum confinement when she had no family to turn to.