Chapter 3

That night was exceptionally difficult for the viscount’s family. The women changed out of their colorful silk garments and into black mourning dresses, veiling their faces with black lace. They gathered by the warm fireplace, weeping in sorrow.

The viscountess wailed all night, angrily cursing her daughter-in-law: “You useless woman! You didn’t even leave Belon a son. I regret ever letting him marry you!”

Vivian sneered coldly: “Why didn’t you call me useless when you were using my dowry? You only married me for money. Speaking of money, I haven’t shortchanged you all these years—everything you’ve eaten and used came from my dowry. If not for me, your manor would’ve been drowning in debt long ago. How could you have lived such a lavish life?”

“What do you mean by saying such things!”

“What do I mean? I’m already a widow now, with neither children nor the title of viscountess. Why should I stay here? Of course, I’m taking my dowry and going home.”

“You! You have no right to do this!”

“Right? Of course I have this right—it’s granted to me by law.” Vivian smiled as she stood up, addressing everyone: “It’s getting late. Everyone, rest early. There’s still the funeral to prepare for in the coming days.”

After Vivian left the room, the viscountess cried and shouted loudly: “What a shameless, lowly woman! She can’t take our property away!”

“Mother, calm down.” The third young lady, Lauren, sat beside the viscountess, comforting her softly while fanning her with a folding fan. Lauren was a rare beauty who loved wearing golden wigs to accentuate her fair skin and light green eyes. Though only 16, she was already graceful and poised.

The viscountess sobbed as she spoke: “What should we do? What do you all think we should do? We’ll go bankrupt, and without an heir, your father’s title will go to some outsider. When he dies one day, we’ll even be driven out of here!”

Viscount Lloyd said: “Don’t be so pessimistic. By tradition, he could marry Freya or Lauren, making our daughter the mistress of Baker Manor. From what I know, he’s quite skilled in business and should be considered wealthy.”

“No! Father, I refuse to marry him! That ugly hunchback!” The second young lady, Freya, was the first to jump up, vehemently opposing: “I’ll choose my own husband!”

Compared to the third young lady Lauren, the second young lady Freya was even more striking in appearance, but her temperament was far less composed. She was extremely arrogant and always domineering.

Viscount Lloyd said: “You want to choose your own husband? If a wealthy and powerful noble were willing to marry you, I’d send you off immediately. But unfortunately, given that your wealthy sister-in-law is about to leave, I doubt I can even scrape together a thousand pounds for your dowry. Do you really think any noble would still want to marry you under these circumstances?”

“Oh! Good heavens! Good heavens!” Freya shrieked loudly.

“I’ll write to notify him to come at once,” the viscount said. “Prepare everything to welcome him.”

Last night, the first snow of winter quietly fell. Late at night, as I lay in bed, the frigid air enveloped me, making it hard to sleep. My feet remained ice-cold, unable to feel even a hint of warmth, reminding me of those days spent in hiding…

At dawn, startled awake by urgent bells, I began a new day’s work. Following the butler Pod’s orders, I hurried to the stables to inform the grooms: “His Lordship the Viscount will be going out soon. Please prepare the carriage immediately.”

The stables of Baker Manor were built sturdily, housing over a dozen fine horses from the eastern steppes for the master’s leisurely rides or hunts. A pack of purebred beagle hounds was also meticulously raised there. Before I even entered the stable, the little creatures were already barking wildly.

Several stable hands greeted me, mentioning that it might rain later, and they needed to carefully inspect the carriage. Unlike the servants who worked inside the castle, the estate also had over a dozen servants like stable hands, gardeners, forest wardens, and night watchmen. They weren’t qualified to enter the castle and could only live in a row of small wooden huts near the woods. The status of outdoor servants was even lower than that of junior servants, and sometimes I could order them to do things.

“The viscount’s valet will prepare the cloak and umbrella, so you don’t need to worry,” I reassured them.

The old stable hand Toal asked me, “Toker, I heard you went home a while ago.”

“Yes, it was on the day young master Lloyd met with misfortune. Truly awful,” I replied.

“How is your family?”

“Thanks to your blessings, they’re in good health.”

“In a few days, I’ll be driving to town for supplies. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?” Uncle Brant asked me.

“Oh, no need. I’ve given all my wages to my mother and don’t have any spare money to buy things,” I said with a smile.

“Young man, you ought to be smarter and save some money for yourself,” Toal said. “My niece Zerah came to the estate today to work as a kitchen maid. She’s a clumsy girl—if you get the chance, give her some advice.”

Hearing the name Zerah, I froze for a moment. Her figure had long since blurred in my memory.

At noon, I saw the flustered little girl by the oven—it was Zerah. She was being scolded by a few older kitchen maids, looking like she was about to cry.

I put down the tray in my hands and went over to comfort her: “You’re old Toal’s niece, right? I’m Toker. He asked me to look out for you. Don’t be too nervous. If you make a mistake, the worst they’ll do is yell at you—they won’t hit you or send you home. Right?”

Zerah’s expression brightened a little, and she gave me a faint smile. However, she seemed to find it difficult to look up at me and soon lowered her eyes, her hands twisting the apron nervously.

“Alright, young man, stop bothering my girl,” a plump kitchen maid said rudely, pulling Zerah away from my sight.

Rhodes walked over, winking at me and saying, “You’ve got quite the charm, lad. That girl just now—I swear if you kept looking at her, she’d have buried herself in the ground from shyness.”

I laughed awkwardly. “Don’t talk nonsense. She’s just very introverted.”

But Rhodes continued, “Hmph, if I had a pretty face like yours, I’d have quit being a junior valet long ago. Maybe I’d even be some noblewoman’s lover by now.”

I ignored him and picked up the tray to leave the kitchen.

The reason I didn’t refute him was that I, too, had once been that conceited.

My mother had passed down good looks to me—I had a tall, straight frame, golden curls, a high nose bridge, deep-set eyes, and sapphire-blue irises. My sharply defined features were universally considered handsome. I remember when I’d just turned 14, a promiscuous woman in the village tried to seduce me, even offering money as temptation. At the time, curious, I kissed her in the haystack and pulled off each other’s clothes. But when I saw her plump body, I felt a wave of disgust and fled in panic. The dense red spots covering her skin terrified me.

Now, at 18, I’d grown more mature and even more handsome than at 14, attracting even more female attention. They’d always whisper about me, accompanied by giggles. Wherever I went, eyes followed. All of this gave me a blind confidence, making me mistakenly believe that every woman would inevitably fall for me.

The housekeeper Rachelia instructed me to bring coffee and desserts to the small parlor. Among professionally trained footmen, elegant etiquette is paramount, especially when carrying items. When holding a tray, I must stand tall with my head held high, eyes fixed straight ahead. A small tray must be firmly supported with one hand, while the other rests naturally behind my back. My steps must be steady, neither too hurried nor too slow.

Achieving both grace and balance is often difficult for those without long-term training. Thus, when butler Pod noticed I mastered it almost immediately, his astonishment filled me with pride, and he praised me as a naturally excellent footman.

Today, Baker Manor welcomed guests. The eldest daughter, Cheryl, arrived by carriage from Lancaster with her young daughter, Katarina. Their arrival was slightly late, coinciding with the end of young master Lloyd’s funeral. Cheryl wept uncontrollably, appearing deeply sorrowful.

Of course, whether her grief was genuine remains unknown. Her hair was impeccably styled, her makeup refined, and she wore lavish, expensive jewelry—the only change being her black dress. At that moment, she angrily said to the viscountess, “That harlot just left like that!”

The viscountess vigorously fanned herself, her voice strained from tight corseting and labored breathing: “Right after the funeral, she boarded her family’s carriage and departed.”

Cheryl said with visible displeasure, “Oh, Mother, how you’ve suffered, having to endure such a lowly woman! We never should have let that merchant’s daughter into our home for the sake of a dowry.”

“Now is not the time to dwell on that woman,” the viscountess murmured.

Cheryl looked thoughtful, setting down her folding fan: “Then, will he come?”

“It’s hard to say. Our relationship was quite strained back then…” the viscountess replied anxiously.

I heard every word clearly, the masters’ conversation echoing in my ears. Yet, I could only pretend to be invisible. My duty was to bring in the food, hand it to the senior footman, and then stand by the wall, waiting silently like a painting for further instructions.

The senior footmen were responsible for pouring tea and serving refreshments to the ladies. They were attentive and graceful, moving with light, cat-like steps.

The second daughter, Freya, was whispering with the footman Bayou, while the third daughter, Lauren, appeared far more dignified. Though she smiled gently at the servants, she never deigned to speak more than a word to us. I suppose she looked down on us from the bottom of her heart. Sadly, at the time, I was lost in her beautiful smile, completely oblivious to her disdain—even deluding myself into thinking she had fallen for me…