Chapter 29
Feeling the weight of the gazes on her, Hermia paused for a moment to drink her juice.
Even without words, the looks in their eyes screamed, “It’s frustrating, so hurry up and speak!” as if they were ready to grab her by the collar at any moment.
“I… but what’s in this?”
“Oh!”
A sigh escaped as she asked about the health juice she was holding.
She was clearly trying to provoke them. Seeing her nose flare up and then shrink back suggested she was doing it on purpose.
“I was going to answer, but I suddenly got curious. So what I wanted to say is… really, what’s in it? Ugh!”
Then she started punching the cushion repeatedly. The maids flinched at her unpredictable behavior but soon exchanged confused glances.
Is she… feeling a bit unwell?
“I-I’m sorry.”
After finishing her cushion assault, she roughly tidied her disheveled hair with her fingers and sat up straight. Despite the strange scene, Emily responded calmly as a senior maid.
“It contains grapefruit, carrots, apples, and kale. The ingredients change slightly with the seasons. This health juice is also distributed to soldiers every Monday and Thursday.”
“Wow. I want to enlist too.”
‘Oh dear…’
That wasn’t something an upcoming mistress of the Duke’s residence should say, and it certainly wasn’t something the villainess Helen from the novel would say either.
Seeing a lady wanting to become a soldier over just juice made the lingering doubts in their minds vanish like a mirage.
The maids all wore sympathetic expressions and accepted Henry’s words as fact. They thought her earlier odd behavior might be a result of that.
“Anyway, I don’t really mind.”
Emily was momentarily stunned by this answer.
“…What?”
“What you asked earlier. I don’t have any particular type I prefer among the maids or anyone I find uncomfortable.”
Hermia said this nonchalantly while recalling past events.
Right after entering the Count’s family, someone had been by her side but left after a couple of months.
“I started this job for my livelihood, but I’m still a Baroness. I was told I’d educate her on the proper etiquette for a young lady, yet you treat me like a maid all this time. I can’t endure this humiliation any longer.”
Of course, that was directed at Countess Olivia Vansen.
At fourteen, Hermia learned for the first time that not all nobles were treated equally.
The Baroness hired as her tutor had initially been kind but grew cold after discovering Hermia was a bastard child; eventually, she would click her tongue whenever their eyes met. It seemed acceptable to teach a bastard child but not to serve one.
It made sense why she always looked so angry. Her hair was tightly tied up too.
After the Baroness left, Laura, the head maid, took over that role but often made excuses about being busy, sending other maids to attend to her instead.
Those Laura sent were maids who only did menial tasks. Naturally, they didn’t know how to tie corsets or how to remove dresses without ruining them.
Hermia had to teach them using her limited knowledge from what she had learned so far. Eventually, Laura stopped coming to her room altogether.
Time passed until Mel became a live-in maid and soon became her dedicated maid.
Looking back, Hermia wondered if Mel had been sent to serve her because she was bad at her work. Since she came from an orphanage, her pay was lower than that of other maids, so she wasn’t fired.
When Mel complained of headaches, Andy took over as her dedicated maid most recently.
Since Andy was also selected by Laura, Hermia could only sit idly by and watch as those around her changed rapidly.
Most of them were similar enough that there wasn’t anyone particularly uncomfortable or enjoyable to mention. Thus came her honest answer: it truly didn’t matter who became a maid; she had no real concern about it.
Emily pondered as if this was the most difficult request she had ever heard before clearing her throat.
“I understand well. It seems you need to feel more comfortable here.”
“Yes?”
A white apron approached her in confusion.
Emily reached out to help Hermia stand up slightly and bowed her head gently.
“From now on, please don’t use honorifics with us. You are no longer just an ordinary Countess’s daughter; you are an aspiring Duchess now. You need to start adopting an attitude appropriate for your status.”
Emily spoke politely yet firmly.
If Hermia continued with such an attitude, some of the younger maids might look down on a commoner girl like her.
If they acted without hesitation, some people might think they had become close friends with their mistress and grow arrogant about it.
Establishing a clear hierarchy first and then making Hermia feel comfortable in the Duke’s residence like it was her own home—that was Emily’s role, which she realized just moments ago.
“Please call me ‘Emily’ comfortably from now on.”
“Oh. Uh, th-that’s fine.”
Hermia replied somewhat flustered.
“Great! So shall we go for a picnic now?”
“A picnic?”
Seeing Emily speak cheerfully made Hermia widen her eyes in surprise.
A picnic? Is she talking about that scene I always saw when riding along the riverside on sunny days?
Putting various sandwiches into a rattan basket and laying out a blanket on the grass to roll around—that kind of picnic?
Though it was an area different from commoners’, there were nobles who enjoyed such outings with their families too. Of course, every time Countess Vansen saw such scenes, she would click her tongue mercilessly at them.
What Countess Vansen considered a picnic meant setting up large shade tents and tables and sitting elegantly in the shade—something unbearably boring.
Hermia’s heart began to swell with anticipation at the thought of Emily’s idea of a picnic hopefully involving blankets!
—
I knew this would happen.
A sense of resignation showed in her eyes as she watched the red tea spilling from her teacup.
Once the perfect shade was created under the wide awning, a table was naturally set up. Soon after, a pound cake studded with nuts, richly brewed black tea, and fresh milk were quickly brought out.
Behind the main building was not the elegant courtyard she had expected but a vast parade ground. On the other side of the parade ground, another massive building for the officers stood proudly, as grand as the main building.
Hermia sat bitterly on a somewhat desolate hilltop, overlooking this scene.
She had sensed something was off when she encountered male servants huffing and puffing their way up. They must have been carrying heavy loads down.
Sitting at the perfectly arranged tea table, she picked up her fork without showing any signs of displeasure.
Of course, if she asked, they would easily bring over a picnic blanket, but she didn’t want to. It felt a bit disappointing to make such a request.
‘Greed truly knows no bounds. It’s only been a day since I promised myself to be more composed, and here I am wishing for a blanket.’
She decided to focus on the cake that melted in her mouth. Even so, she couldn’t believe how soft the pound cake was.
The real issue was different.
“Uh, I’m full.”
As soon as she set down her fork without finishing even one piece, Emily immediately asked from beside her.
“Is it not to your taste? Should I bring out another dessert?”
Since she said she was full, what was with the suggestion of another dessert? Hermia shook her head quickly and firmly.
“No. No. This is enough. It was delicious.”
“You don’t have to force yourself to say it was good. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll prepare it for you. How about chocolate cake or peach tart?”
“No, really, I’m just full. I overate at breakfast and had juice and snacks earlier too.”
“Snacks…?”
Even though Hermia looked genuinely bloated, Emily frowned.
Since she left behind petrified food, breakfast probably consisted only of a small piece of bread and half a fish, and she hardly touched the biscuits prepared as snacks—how could that be considered overeating?
Emily almost said that even a six-year-old would eat more than that but stopped herself. It wouldn’t be appropriate to say such things to someone who had been malnourished due to circumstances beyond their control.
“I guess I’m used to the portion sizes of my master or the prince, so I keep suggesting more. But since you’ll need to eat lunch later, please don’t force yourself.”
“Huh? Lunch?”
Hermia asked back with a confused expression.
She felt completely full as if she had already eaten an entire day’s worth of meals—how could she possibly eat again?
Just as she was about to say she would skip lunch…
“The lunch menu is beef bourguignon. It comes with tomato salad topped with three kinds of grated cheese; it’s really the best.”
“Then I have to eat that.”
Her instinctive response rejected any notion of refusal.
Turning her head away, she muttered softly, “Damn it,” while noticing other maids climbing the hill in a line from afar.
There were already eighteen maids inside the tent, and seeing another group approaching at a similar scale felt somewhat intimidating.
She tilted her head as she watched the women charging up the hill like a herd of cattle.
The maids wore wide-brimmed hats to shield themselves from the sun and each held something in their hands. Squinting her eyes revealed they were carrying opera binoculars.
“Is there going to be an opera performance here?”
Could there be an unexpected performance happening in the parade ground? It seemed absurd but not impossible for the Rockford family.
While pondering this ridiculous speculation, a golden pair of binoculars suddenly landed in front of Hermia.
“I’ve never seen an opera, but this will be just as fun. Maybe even more so,” Emily said with a sly smile.
It didn’t take long for her words to make sense. Young men were entering the parade ground in an orderly fashion from their lodgings.
They were all shirtless under the bright morning sun—a sight that could make anyone’s eyes pop out.
“Oh my gosh!”
For just a moment of surprise, the latecomers all raised their binoculars in unison. They clearly weren’t inexperienced at this; they had done it before.
“This is one of our essential routines…”
Emily said shamelessly while looking down with a face kinder than that of any pope. Soon after, others began chiming in one by one.
“Sir Jonathan is getting so thick day by day. How impressive.”
“Where’s Sir Charlie? Ah, found him!”
It seemed they were even keeping track of whom they were watching. The young maids standing under the awning stomped their feet anxiously before running over to grab at their clothes and shake them.
“It’s been three minutes! We’re next!”
“It’s not time yet. Just wait.”
