Chapter 41
“But,” Kalian began, pausing briefly as if weighing his words, “what happened with Beatrice? I heard she helped Mary escape.”
“Oh…” Angela let out a dazed sound before continuing. “That foolish girl said she doesn’t hate me. Said there’s nothing for me to be forgiven for. And nothing for her to forgive either. So she told me not to kneel and just helped me.”
Kalian’s expression turned peculiar, his brow furrowing in confusion. Beatrice helping Angela? Why on earth? His curiosity must have been evident, but Angela deftly changed the subject.
“I’d like to visit the palace today. Could you arrange an outing dress for me?”
If she didn’t want to talk, he’d have to wait until she was ready. Resigning himself to patience, Kalian nodded at her request. “Very well. I’ll inform the maids.”
“And,” Angela added firmly, her tone commanding attention. Kalian raised an eyebrow, signaling his focus, and she fixed him with a stern look, like a parent scolding a child. “I’ll walk there myself.”
Kalian’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he processed her words. He was, in a sense, Angela’s legs these days, carrying her wherever she needed to go. She must have been worried he’d insist on carrying her even at the palace.
“I’ll see to it,” he replied, a playful lilt in his voice.
Angela frowned, clearly suspecting he was plotting to carry her through the palace anyway. Since he hadn’t entirely ruled out the idea, Kalian offered no further comment and focused on finishing his meal. He made a mental note to have the maids prepare a suitable women’s cane as well. No cane could replace him, of course, but it was worth a try. Whether Angela knew his thoughts or not, she grumbled throughout the meal about what an absurd man he was, which only amused Kalian further.
The thick outing dress made movement noticeably more cumbersome. Kalian had provided a cane, but it didn’t fully correct Angela’s limp. She scowled, her steps awkward and ungainly, when suddenly—
“Ah!”
Kalian, dressed sharply in his uniform, swept her up into his arms. Angela leaned close to his ear, her voice sharp with indignation. “You said you wouldn’t do this!”
But Kalian, striding forward as if she weighed no more than a feather, countered, “We’re not at the palace yet.”
Speechless, Angela glared at him. The servants at the estate watched the scene with familiar ease, though at Bilton’s estate, such a sight would have sent everyone into a faint, convinced their eyes were playing tricks.
“Just to the carriage,” Angela relented, as if making a grand concession.
Kalian slowed his pace, acknowledging her words. If he could only carry her as far as the carriage, he’d take his time. Angela, exasperated, wondered how Kalian had grown into such an eccentric man. Giving up, she let her body relax in his arms. Noticing her surrender, the corner of Kalian’s mouth curved upward in a subtle, satisfied smile.
Well, of course he’s pleased, Angela thought, shooting a glance at his smug expression. Her mind drifted to Mary. Anette’s summons must be about her. Had Mary escaped Phaelon safely? Keeping her close to Yvonne was too risky after learning the truth, so Angela had sent her away, though not without regret. Truthfully… she missed her terribly. Mary had been Angela’s only ally in Bilton’s estate, worth more than an army of a million. That small girl had been such a comfort, sometimes looming as large as a giant in Angela’s eyes despite her tiny frame.
“Miss! Miss!”
How could she forget that noisy, insistent voice? Angela suspected she’d be haunted by its echo for the rest of her life.
“Miss!”
Good heavens, that was too vivid a hallucination.
“Miss!”
And now a vision to match, as if Mary were standing right in front of her. But it must be one of Anette’s maids—she was mistaking for Mary. There was no way Mary was still here.
“Miss!”
But that infuriating habit of calling her name repeatedly, the sensation of someone clinging to her skirts—it was all too real.
“I forgot, you hurt your leg! I’m so sorry!”
The flustered, loud apologies felt like they were unfolding right before her eyes.
“Miss, didn’t you miss me?”
The tilted head, the teary-eyed smile—it was all so achingly familiar. Then Anette’s voice cut through.
“Lady Bilton,” she said, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “If you’re here, could you please quiet your yapping pup before I lose my mind?”
Angela stared down at the figure far below her eye level. So, this was no illusion. This was truly Mary—her loud, precious little maid.
Angela hadn’t touched the tea Anette had offered. She was too distracted, her gaze fixed on Mary, who sat beside her, staring back with equal intensity. Anette found Angela’s tender behavior both surprising and satisfying—she’d finally repaid a debt. For once, dealing with Angela didn’t make her blood pressure spike.
“You asked me to send her out of Phaelon, but it felt like you meant somewhere safe,” Anette said.
Angela gave a soft smile. “You’ve gotten sharper. Back then, you couldn’t even tell good intentions from bad.”
It was a pointed jab at Anette’s past naivety, delivered with a sweet smile that masked the barb. Anette, who once would’ve missed the sarcasm entirely, now caught it but wasn’t offended.
“Thank you,” Angela added.
Perhaps it was the gratitude, but Anette didn’t feel mocked.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you can keep her here until it’s resolved. Or even longer, if you’d like.”
Had she added that last part unnecessarily? Anette regretted it the moment she recalled Mary’s incessant whining. But seeing Angela’s visible relief, she couldn’t help but speak impulsively.
“If Your Majesty permits, I’d like to leave her here. As you’ve said, there’s no place safer than this.”
Angela nodded in agreement. The one who truly objected, however, was Mary, who felt exposed to danger. She raised her voice in protest.
“I want to stay by my lady’s side!”
Anette couldn’t help but marvel at how one could inspire such loyalty in a maid. Especially in someone like Angela, who was infamous in Phaelon for her sharp temper. Such fearless devotion wasn’t something just anyone could earn.
“My lady, can’t you take me with you? Why—why can’t I stay by your side? They say your leg is injured! Don’t you need me even more now? I’m good at running errands. Without me, who will…?”
Mary, who had been speaking with bold determination, suddenly clamped her mouth shut, swallowing her tears before continuing.
“Who will protect you?”
Her eyes locked onto Angela’s with a piercing sincerity, as if this were the heart of the matter. To everyone else, it might go unnoticed, but Mary saw it clearly. Countless people followed Angela’s orders, but only out of deference to her power. In the Bilton estate, where Yvonne held sway, Angela was vulnerable. Mary, this young maid, was the only one who understood that Angela needed someone to stand by her, to lend her strength.
But there was one thing Mary didn’t know, despite her deep understanding of Angela. Angela wanted Mary, above all others, to remain blissfully unaware of the full truth.
“I can protect myself just fine,” Angela said, her voice cold and deliberate, hoping Mary would grasp her meaning. “Having you around means I’d have to protect two people, and that’s a hassle. Do you want to be a burden to me?”
Mary, undeterred, swallowed her tears and shot back, “I can protect myself too.”
But some things were simply not allowed.
“You know that’s just stubbornness,” Angela said sternly.
Mary’s head drooped, but not for long. She lifted her gaze and asked, her voice trembling with earnest hope, “Then… how many nights do I have to wait before you come back for me?”
Her sincerity was almost endearing. Even Anette, watching the exchange, let out a soft chuckle, finding Mary’s earnestness charming. Truly, Mary’s disposition would make her beloved wherever she went. If she had served Beatrice instead of Angela, life at the Bilton estate would have been far more comfortable. Angela, balancing equal parts pity and fondness, gently patted Mary’s head. Mary leaned into the touch, her brown hair soft under Angela’s hand, like a shaggy puppy entrusting itself to its master.
Angela could have said something like, “A hundred nights.” And when those hundred nights passed, she could have asked for just a little more time. A small lie to delay things wouldn’t have mattered much. But she couldn’t bring herself to deceive Mary. Looking into those innocent eyes, she wanted only to be truthful. So instead of speaking, Angela kept silent, stroking Mary’s head until the moment passed, hoping Mary would forget she was waiting for an answer.
Anette offered to see Angela off as she headed toward the waiting carriage. Mary wanted to join them, but Angela gently dissuaded her, citing the many eyes in the imperial palace. Mary pouted but accepted her place, perhaps softened by Angela’s earlier tenderness. With a bright smile at the promise of Angela’s return, Mary stayed behind as they passed through the corridors of the Empress’s Palace.
“Please take care of her,” Angela said.
Anette laughed, as if the request were absurd.
“I never would’ve guessed Lady Bilton cared so much for a maid. They say no servant in the Bilton estate escapes a whipping.”
“No maid has ever liked me this much,” Angela replied with unguarded honesty.
Surprised, Anette hesitated before asking a question that had long nagged at her.
“When I first arrived in Phaelon,” she began, “why did you refuse to be my lady-in-waiting? You recommended Lady Paltz and Lady Konrad instead, so it didn’t seem like you hated me. Why?”
Angela’s steps, already slow from her limp, grew even more deliberate. Anette matched her pace, slowing her own stride.
“I may come from a good family, but I’m not exactly popular in society,” Angela said. “Your Majesty, you were a foreign princess, newly arrived in Phaelon. If you’d taken me as your lady-in-waiting, the women of the court would have shunned you. Being feared and being followed are entirely different things. Like with Mary.”
“You thought of all that?” Anette asked, incredulous.
“I thought of it when a beautiful foreign princess smiled at the infamous Lady Bilton without knowing better,” Angela replied.
Anette let out a disbelieving laugh.
“And how did you know the language of the Tarlan Kingdom? Your skill was far better than the Marchioness of Chartier’s.”
“I started learning it when I heard a princess from the Tarlan Kingdom would become our Empress. I thought you might feel lonely in a foreign land.”
Angela’s playful tone only deepened Anette’s astonishment.
“You learned it in just a few months?”
“I’ve always been quick to learn,” Angela said lightly.
“You didn’t exactly keep me entertained,” Anette countered.
“Oh, I think I did,” Angela teased.
“Entertained? Us? When?” Anette racked her brain. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that, in the stifling boredom of Phaelon’s imperial palace, Angela had occupied her thoughts more than anyone. Angela, so annoying. Angela, infuriating. Angela, that wretched girl. It was always Angela.
Anette was speechless, her neck stiff with realization. She couldn’t fathom how far Angela’s calculations went. As they walked through the corridor, Anette kept letting out incredulous laughs, while Angela moved quietly, unbothered.
Then it happened.
“Lady Bilton! Lady Bilton!”
Lady Paltz, who was usually too composed to run, was rushing toward them, calling Angela’s name. Angela stopped, waiting for her to approach.
“What’s wrong, Jane?” Anette asked, speaking before Angela could, startled by her lady-in-waiting’s unusual urgency.
Jane, catching her breath, finally spoke. “Lady Bilton, you need to come quickly. Countess Florence has been taken.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
