Chapter 10

The next morning, the baron left Baker Manor. Faced with the viscount’s attempts to persuade him to stay, he merely stated indifferently that he had urgent matters in the capital and was determined to leave. The viscount’s family was quite displeased, especially with Austin’s complete silence on the matter of marriage, which amounted to a tacit rejection of the proposal.

“What an ungrateful wretch! Had we known this, we shouldn’t have taken him in when he was gravely ill!” the viscountess fumed.

The eldest young lady, Cheryl, sipped her tea elegantly and calmly analyzed, “Since he refuses to marry our sister, we’ll have to find another way. Both Freya and Lauren are beautiful—there will surely be suitors who don’t mind the size of the dowry.”

“Most men like that are already advanced in years and have heirs.” The viscountess sighed. “Rather than becoming a second wife, it would be more carefree to be a mistress.”

“Mother!” Cheryl exclaimed dramatically.

“I know, I know.” The viscountess replied with a frown.

Just as I was tidying the tea set in the small parlor, a little girl in a brown silk dress came skipping in, clutching an exquisite cloth doll in her hand.

I bowed to her: “Good day, Miss Nicholson.”

The little girl stared straight at me with emerald-green eyes: “Who are you?” Katarina suddenly asked.

“I am Toker. How may I assist you, miss?” I replied respectfully.

The little girl settled onto the sofa, scrutinizing me intently but remaining silent. It wasn’t until I slightly bowed to take my leave that she hastily spoke up: “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I was only recently promoted to senior footman.” I explained.

“Pour me a cup of tea.” She suddenly set the doll aside, straightened her posture like her mother Cheryl, placed her hands elegantly on her knees, and slightly raised her chin.

“As you wish, miss.” I smiled faintly, bowed respectfully, and left. As I turned, I noticed a faint blush on the little girl’s cheeks.

I brought the brewed tea to her and knelt on one knee to arrange the sugar cubes for her. She seemed nervous, her feet swaying unconsciously.

“Has your father been very busy lately, miss? Why didn’t he accompany you and your mother on this visit?” I asked, kneeling closer to her.

Katarina sighed lightly: “I don’t know. I haven’t seen Father in a long time. Mother says he’s been bewitched by some hussy outside.”

Hearing this, I gently comforted her: “How unfortunate. Please don’t be too upset, miss.”

Katarina shrugged indifferently. Noble young ladies were often like this—their mothers were more engrossed in parties and jewelry, leaving their children to the care of maids, which naturally distanced their relationships.

Then, Katarina began chattering about the conversation she had overheard in the parlor. “They plan to invite Viscount Garrett as a guest. They say he’s already over fifty, an old man. They want to marry one of my aunts to him.” Katarina giggled maliciously, “Because my aunts have no dowry, Grandfather can’t even scrape together a thousand pounds. No one but filthy-rich old men would marry them.”

“My dear miss, gossiping about others is hardly ladylike behavior.” I softly reminded her.

“Fine, I won’t laugh at them anymore.” Katarina said, though she couldn’t suppress another giggle.

Viscount Garrett… In my past life, the second young lady, Freya, had married him. Freya was nothing short of a hussy—she had already been secretly involved with a footman named Bayou. She preferred manly types, especially those with burly builds. And that Bayou was a mixed-race Black man, his dark skin and robust physique utterly captivating the second young lady.

As I lost myself in thought, Katarina, unwilling to be ignored, asked: “Would you like to come home with me? To be our family’s footman.”

“Heh, that’s not for me to decide.” I quickly replied.

“I’ll tell Mother—she’ll agree.” She muttered.

At seven sharp, the Lloyd family appeared in the dining room. The dinner was extravagantly lavish. Though Baker Manor was already struggling financially, they insisted on maintaining their luxurious lifestyle. When short on funds, they pawned or borrowed—no matter what, they had to uphold the dignity and prestige of nobility. It seemed to have become their way of life.

“Viscount Garrett’s estate is located in Cortez, you all should go see his magnificent and splendid estate, it’s so wealthy it’s jaw-dropping,” the viscount said while sipping red wine, “His wife has passed away, his eldest son is in politics, and his daughters are all married. As long as you can bear him a son, you’ll get half of his inheritance—that’s a huge sum of money.”

“Sounds like a good marriage prospect, and matches our family’s status,” the viscountess chimed in, “I’m so sick of those filthy merchant relatives, I really hope we won’t have to deal with them anymore.”

“I hope so! Do you know how much effort I put into inviting him to our home?” The viscount looked at his two daughters, as if waiting for their responses.

The second young lady put down her knife and fork, elegantly wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin: “Sounds nice, but how old is he? Can his teeth still chew food? Can his body still impregnate a young woman?”

Freya’s sharp sarcasm drew her mother’s anger: “Freya!”

Freya rolled her eyes disdainfully: “I’d rather marry that hunchback than an old man.”

The third young lady remained silent, knowing she had no real choice. Better to cling to something than end up with nothing, even if it’s just making do.

The viscount angrily threw down his utensils, glaring at Freya: “When Viscount Garrett arrives, both of you better show your best manners and welcome him properly. If he refuses to marry either of you, don’t expect me to find you better prospects. You’d better pray he takes a liking to one of you!”

With that, the viscount stormed off, and the viscountess hurried after him, anxiously calling out: “Darling, don’t be angry with Freya, she didn’t mean it.”

The second young lady had lost her appetite, pushing her food away and collapsing onto the table in tears.

“I refuse to marry an old man! Just think of the wrinkles on his face—he’s even older than Father. How could Father do this to us!” Freya sobbed bitterly.

The footman Bayou quickly handed her a handkerchief, softly comforting her: “Miss, please don’t be sad, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

Lauren glanced at Bayou, her expression darkening. She patted her sister’s back and said, “Don’t cry, my dear Freya. This is our fate. If you don’t want to marry that old man, I… I can take it on… Just don’t be sad.”

Freya looked at her sister, tears streaming uncontrollably: “Really? Lauren, that’s not fair to you.”

The servants quietly withdrew, and I also left the dining room, though my mind was full of questions. It seems the third young lady intended to marry Viscount Garrett, but how did it end up being the second young lady instead?

That night, Butler Pod ordered me to polish the silverware in the storeroom. I worked late into the night, my hands freezing. By the time I returned to my room, it was almost midnight, and the servants had all gone to bed. I carried a lamp and headed to the third floor.

Just then, voices suddenly came from around the corner upstairs. I listened carefully—it was the second young lady, Freya, and the footman Bayou. From their movements, they seemed nervous, quietly making their way upstairs.

I quickly blew out the candle and stealthily followed. The two headed toward the third-floor balcony, a dim and deserted place even in daylight. I cautiously approached the balcony and hid in a corner.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” the second young lady asked softly, her usually haughty demeanor now fragile and vulnerable.

“Don’t speak, let me kiss you first,” Bayou said eagerly.

Then came a suffocating silence, the air thick with an ambiguous aura and the sound of fabric rustling. I had long sensed the ambiguity in their relationship, but never imagined it had progressed to this extent. Indeed, the lives of the nobility are shockingly decadent—even an unwed young lady is intimate with a male servant, hardly distinguishable from the worldly courtesans.

I quietly hid in the shadows, controlling my breath to avoid detection. The two were lost in their own world, completely unaware. I could even hear the sound of clothes being shed.

“Enough, stop now. We must be careful, or we’ll be found out.” Finally, a breathless Bayou pushed Freya away.

“Oh, Bayou, my dear, don’t you want it?” Freya’s voice carried a hint of arousal.

“I do, of course I do, but not now. If I take you now, I’d be harming you. I love you so much—how could I bear to hurt you? We must wait.” Bayou replied. “I risked coming to see you for this very reason. I hope you’ll agree to marry Viscount Garrett.”

“What! You too, telling me to marry him! Don’t you know he’s…” Freya’s voice rose.

“Shh, keep your voice down! Don’t you love me? If you truly do, listen to me. As long as the man you marry is wealthy, that’s enough. I’m even afraid he might be too handsome, and you’d forget about me.” Bayou’s tone was pitiful.

“Oh, darling, you’re so silly. No matter who I marry, I’ll only love you. But Viscount Garrett…”

“He’s rich, old, and foolish—isn’t that perfect for us?” Bayou interjected. “Don’t listen to Lauren. She wants to marry him because she knows our master can’t find a better match.”

“Really? Is there truly no better option?” Freya asked anxiously.

“As you said, that hunchbacked cousin might be more suitable, but unfortunately, he has no interest in marrying you or your sister.” Bayou answered.

Freya said dejectedly, “But…”

“No buts, my beloved. Trust me on this.” Bayou embraced Freya, his hand slipping under her skirt. Soon, Freya let out suppressed moans, her passion flaring like a restless kitten.

“No, don’t… don’t leave…” Freya clung to Bayou’s hand. “Come to my room. No one will notice.”

“No, my noble lady.” Bayou wiped his damp fingers, his tone firm. “We must wait until after you’re married. Do you understand? This is all for our future.”

The two straightened their clothes and shared a reluctant, lingering kiss goodbye.

I stepped out of the shadows. Under the moonlight, one of Freya’s ribbons lay quietly on the ground—a delicate sash meant to be worn undergarments. They had been far too careless.