Chapter 2

My family has rented land from Baker Manor for generations. Viscount Lloyd is an extremely stingy landlord, imposing exorbitant taxes. The peasants toil on barren land, only to surrender most of their harvest to the manor.

By my father’s generation, war had made life even harder. When I was twelve, my father left home for the town and never returned. My mother bore four children—I have two younger sisters and a brother. The youngest, Boal, was just one year old. As for who his father was, perhaps only God knows.

From childhood, I lived a life of hunger and tattered clothes. Back then, I yearned for the life of the upper class, envying the well-dressed servants in Baker Manor. So, on the day I entered Baker Manor as a footman, I naively believed I had shed that pitiful, filthy identity and become one of the upper class. Yet, reality soon dealt me a harsh blow.

When I stepped into the village, the villagers greeted me one after another. “Look! Toker is back!” someone shouted. “The promising boy from the Brant family is back. He works as a footman in Lord Pod’s manor. Look at his clothes, how splendid they are!” another exclaimed. “He looks just like those noble lords. His wig is so beautiful, like silver,” someone marveled. Yet, amidst these praises, another voice chimed in: “Why does he get to be a footman in the manor? My son just wanted to be a weeding groom, but they wouldn’t allow it.”

Struggling in high heels, I trudged along the bumpy path and finally reached home. Our family was crammed into a dilapidated wooden farmhouse, surrounded by a fence. A few old clothes were drying on the wooden cart by the door, and a hen lazily pecked at worms.

Mother and my sisters welcomed me warmly. The children were curious about the bread I brought home, while Mother busied herself demanding my wages. She was a very stout woman, once a renowned beauty in her youth. But after Father never returned, she became addicted to alcohol, preferring to drink even if it meant going hungry.

In my past life, I had despised her because she only ever asked me for money. She often claimed it was to buy food for my younger siblings, but in truth, it all went to alcohol. My wages were already meager, and with the added expense of purchasing various costly items, I soon stopped giving her money altogether, even cutting ties with them. Years later, I lost all news of them—even the neighbors didn’t know where they’d gone.

Mother looked at me and rambled on: “When you said you wanted to be a footman in the manor, I thought you were joking. I never imagined you’d really make something of yourself. I’m so proud of you—the whole village envies me. The old man at the village entrance has approached me several times, wanting to marry his daughter to you, but I’d never agree. His daughter looks like a goat.”

I handed all my wages to Mother and reminded her: “Use it to buy food.” Mother beamed with joy, taking the money with both hands and carefully tucking it into her apron. Glancing at the bread I’d brought, she said, “Next time, don’t bother bringing bread back. Just give me the money—we’ll bake our own.”

My sister Jasmine, now 15, was like a flower in full bloom—radiant and full of life. She gently stroked my coat and asked, “What material is this made of? It feels so soft—it must be very warm.” I told her this black-and-white striped footman’s uniform was standard-issue wool fabric from the manor, with only one per person, making it my most valuable possession.

Little sister Grace bombarded me with questions: “Can you tell us about the manor? What does Lord Pod look like? Is the Lady Pod beautiful? Do they wear clothes made of silk?” I smiled and shared stories of the manor, their eyes wide with fascination as they listened intently.

Jasmine kept gasping in awe: “How marvelous! So enviable—could I become a maid there too? Brother, could you ask Lord Pod for me?” I replied, “A maid might not be possible. Those maids are specially trained—they don’t take country girls.”

She grumbled, “But you’re from the countryside too—why did they take you?” I chuckled and said, “If there’s a vacancy in the kitchen, I’ll ask for you.” But Jasmine insisted, “I don’t want to be a cook—I want to be a lady’s maid. To touch those beautiful, expensive silk dresses and those gorgeous jewels.”

Since there was only half a day off, I left soon after. Taking advantage of the warm afternoon sun, I hurried back and returned to Baker Manor before 3 p.m.

Baker Manor was enormous. From afar, on the vast plain, a pale-yellow castle stood at the center of the land, like a small piece of cheese. However, as you approached the castle, its grandeur and magnificence became apparent. The castle had a square foundation and was a three-story structure overall, housing hundreds of rooms, countless identical corridors, and staircases. When I first arrived, I often got lost and only gradually became familiar with it after a long time.

The master of the castle was Viscount Lloyd, who, with his wife, had four children: the eldest son Belon and three beautiful daughters. Belon had been married for many years to Vivian, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, but despite their riches, they remained childless. Among the three young ladies, the eldest, Cheryl, was already married, while the second and third were still unmarried.

In the past, life had been peaceful and uneventful. Like all nobles, they enjoyed a life of luxury, surrounded by laughter and joy. They savored fine food and wine, rode horses for hunting, attended balls, and lived carefree lives. Yet all of this came to an abrupt end today…

The moment I stepped into the castle, I knew everything was repeating itself, without surprise. The servants looked grave and hurried about. Rhodes and the maid Lizbeth quietly told me, “Something terrible has happened. Young Master Lloyd fell from his horse and broke his neck…”

That night, the castle was as silent as death, with only occasional low sobs. The masters were heartbroken, and the servants stayed awake all night, ready to serve at any moment. Lizbeth was a beautiful junior maid with fiery red hair and a passionate personality. By the dim candlelight, she sewed while sighing softly, “Irene has been crying nonstop. I wish she could feel better.”

Rhodes sneered, “Of course she’s crying. She lost her virginity in Young Master Lloyd’s bed just last week and didn’t even get a single copper coin before he died. How pitiful.”

Lizbeth glared at him angrily, “You’re such a nasty piece of work.”

“Whether I’m nasty or not is none of your concern. There are more pressing matters now. Young Master Lloyd is dead—who will inherit the viscountcy?” Rhodes said with relish. “All those high-society folks who groveled before Young Master Lloyd over the years have wasted their efforts. Which of those senior maids hasn’t climbed into his bed? They’re probably all crying in hiding now.”

“Don’t paint everyone with such a dirty brush,” Lizbeth snapped.

“I’m just telling it like it is. Does the viscount have any brothers?” Rhodes pressed on.

“Who knows? Probably,” Lizbeth replied.

“Yes,” I interjected. “The viscount’s brother was a baron, but he passed away many years ago.”

“How would you know that?” Rhodes was surprised. “Did the late baron have any heirs?”

I gazed at the flickering candlelight and nodded slightly, “Yes, he had a son who has already inherited the barony.”

“Then how old is he? Is he married? Does he have children? What’s his character like?” Rhodes fired off questions one after another.

“How would Toker know all that? Once the lord arrives at Baker Manor, everything will become clear,” Lizbeth said dismissively.

The candle flame crackled softly, emitting faint pops. Staring at the candlelight, I fell into thought, “Yes, once he arrives, everything will become clear.”