Chapter 13
“A little duckling suddenly waddling out of nowhere—yes, I’m sure I’ll handle that just fine.”
Illan’s eyes narrowed and fixed squarely on Calliope, but she simply shrugged.
“A duckling?”
“Yes.”
Jack watched the strange exchange between the two with silent curiosity. His master, the Marquess, often latched onto odd phrases or thoughts like that. But the way he immediately picked out the word she used—it was oddly natural. Maybe there was something to the saying that blood is thicker than water.
“You’re away from the estate more than you’re here, Father. I’d rather not have to tiptoe around butlers and retainers every time I need to spend money. I want funds of my own—money that belongs only to me, no reporting required.”
Now she understood why Illan had said it was unnecessary. She had forgotten for a moment, too focused on adapting to her new life.
Illan—her father—was always that kind of man. He judged everything by usefulness and necessity. If she hadn’t been of use to the family, he wouldn’t have bothered seeking her out at all. She could be certain of that.
“I see,” he said quietly. “I understand what you mean now. Very well, we’ll proceed accordingly. The estate, land, and mine will remain under the family’s name until you come of age. Once you do, they’ll be legally transferred to you. As for the dignity allowance, I’ll see to it that you receive Ithiel’s share in addition to your own after you’re formally registered under the family.”
“Thank you.”
“Beckham.”
Instead of replying to Calliope’s thanks, Illan called for Jack. As if anticipating the moment, Jack stepped forward with a few sheets of paper, an inkwell, and a pen.
“This is a contract to certify our agreement.”
Calliope looked over the unimpressive stack of papers, then picked up the pen. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d expect between a father and daughter, but it was more reassuring this way. And, frankly, it was just Illan’s way. Had she not experienced a life reset, she might have found his cold formality painful. But now, it didn’t faze her.
Jack wore a troubled expression as he pointed to where she needed to sign. Calliope crossed out Ithiel’s name and replaced it with her own, and specified that the transfer would take place within one month after her legal coming of age. She didn’t want to risk delays by vaguely writing “after coming of age.”
Once she signed, Illan took the contract and scrawled his name beneath hers.
“You can write,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Did Ithiel teach you?”
No. Calliope had only properly learned to read and write after entering this family. Ithiel had taught her some basics—simple letters and words—but never enough to be fluent. She had been constantly busy with work, and literacy wasn’t essential for commoners. After arriving at the estate, Calliope had been harshly scolded for not already being educated.
“Yes,” she said aloud.
She couldn’t exactly explain the truth, so she answered simply.
Illan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, as though he were seeing something far away—a soft, unfocused look, like he was reminiscing. And what gives you the right to remember her fondly now? If she had truly meant something to him, he should’ve protected her better.
Calliope pressed her lips into a firm line and abruptly stood.
“I’m tired. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”
“A servant will show you to your room.”
She turned to go but paused to ask one last question.
“If I don’t like the room, may I change it?”
Illan lifted his eyes from the paperwork and looked at his daughter—her face the image of Ithiel’s, though her personality couldn’t have been more different.
“Yes.”
That was all he said.
With that, Calliope left the office, following the servant who waited to guide her. Illan tidied up the contract and spoke without looking at Jack.
“Go with her.”
“Pardon? I thought I was returning to my post.”
“Stay by her side for now. She’s more familiar with you than anyone else here. Once she’s assigned a full-time maid, you can return.”
Jack hurried after Calliope, unsure whether to be grateful or miserable. Illan was infamous for his brutal workload and endless paperwork—his subordinates were regularly driven to exhaustion. Escaping that mountain of documents should’ve felt like a blessing… but now he had to handle Calliope, who wasn’t exactly easy to deal with.
Was this relief or punishment? He couldn’t tell.
“Why are you following me?”
Calliope spoke without turning, already sensing that Jack had drawn close behind her. Her awareness was sharp—uncannily so. It gave Jack goosebumps as he replied,
“The Marquess ordered me to follow you, my lady.”
“Oh, so you’ll be serving me for a while. That won’t be easy for you.”
“Well… I wouldn’t say that. Honestly, I think following you around is better than being buried under paperwork all day.”
“Oh, you’ll definitely find it interesting. By the way, you should start wearing clothes with more buttons—gold ones, if possible. Silver’s a bit plain.”
“…Excuse me?”
Jack blinked a few times, then realized it was a joke. He laughed awkwardly, scratching his cheek.
“Are you planning to tear all my buttons off? That’s horrifying—even if it’s a joke.”
“Does it sound like a joke to you?”
“…”
“……”
“…I’ll buy something with more buttons.”
The two of them finished their exchange, entirely unaware of the puzzled expression spreading across the servant’s face nearby. Calliope continued walking, following the servant’s lead. They left the upper-floor corridor where Illan’s office was located and descended to the lower levels, heading toward the area connecting the main house to the annex.
Of course. It was just like last time. Her father had once again assigned her a room in the annex, deliberately keeping her separate from the rest of the family in the main residence. Back then, she’d felt relieved. Now, it made her want to laugh.
“Here we are, my lady.”
To be fair, they had given her the largest room in the annex—but that didn’t change the fact that it was still the annex. In the past, even after coming of age, she hadn’t been allowed to move into the main house. And when word of that reached the social scene, she had been mocked relentlessly.
The daughter of a low-born ex-wife. Even though Ithiel had married Illan properly and given birth to Calliope as his legitimate child, people had scoffed and treated her like a bastard without hesitation.
As much as I’d rather avoid running into the rest of the family…
She stepped into the room the servant opened for her, glanced around briefly, and spoke in a flat, unimpressed voice.
“So this is the room they give a future Marchioness?”
“…Pardon?”
“I’ll need a different one.”
“My lady—” the servant called out urgently, but Calliope didn’t spare him a glance. She stepped right back out and began retracing the hallway they’d just come through, this time heading toward the main house.
Her stride was confident and fast. The servant, unable to touch a noble lady or stop her physically, could only follow behind in a panic. But since she had already received permission to change rooms if she wished, there wasn’t much he could say to stop her.
I already knew. So why did I bother confirming it?
Maybe, deep down, she’d assumed her change in attitude would bring a change in her father’s. After all, she wasn’t the sweet, agreeable girl anymore—the one who had always replied with, Yes, Father, and followed orders without question.
But now she understood one thing very clearly: Illan would not change, no matter how she acted. He felt guilty, yes, and if she asked for something, he’d give it. But he’d never take the first step. He’d never reach out on his own.
Calliope made her way up to the third floor of the main residence and pointed to a particular door, its surface adorned with intricate carvings.
“This one will do.”
The servant’s face twisted into discomfort.
“My lady, but this room is—”
“Ithiel’s. My mother’s.”
Illan had never allowed anyone else to use this room after Ithiel’s passing. Back then, since he hadn’t yet held true power within the family, Ithiel had been given a lower-level room. In an attempt to make up for that, Illan had lavished her quarters with luxury—furnishing it with the finest clothing, the best wood, the most exquisite decorations. Of course, all that had only made her a target for gossip and scorn.
“Tell Father I’ve chosen this room. We’ll move the belongings from the annex tomorrow. It’s late, after all.”
“But my lady, the Marquess has never once given permission for anyone else to use this room.”
“Well, then I guess this will be a first. And if he has a problem with it, he can come drag me out himself.”
To the servant, it looked like she was being stubborn and unreasonable. But to Jack, it was confidence—calculated and justified. Illan had already told her she could change rooms if she wasn’t satisfied. And Illan, being as thorough as he was, would have considered even this room when he gave that answer. If he had truly meant to limit her, he wouldn’t have said “Alright,” but rather, “Tell me which room, and I’ll approve it.”
“Go inform the Marquess,” Jack said flatly to the servant.
With a stiff bow, the servant hurried off. No doubt he’d go report everything immediately, but it was unlikely the Marquess would order her removed.
He’s only been working in this mansion for two years, Jack thought as the man disappeared. And after all this time, he still doesn’t understand the Marquess? He’s not exactly the brightest.
Calliope watched the servant leave, then opened the door herself and stepped inside.
“Oh… this is my first time actually seeing it in person,” Jack murmured.
“It’s nice.”
The room looked untouched by time—elegantly preserved. The furniture was in excellent condition, not a speck of dust on the linens. Some might call it a touching tribute, a quiet symbol of affection. To Calliope, it looked pathetic.
Pathetically sentimental.
Still clinging to a woman you couldn’t even protect.
“At least it’s clean. I can sleep right away.”
“Should I prepare a bath for you, my lady?”
“Huh?”
“Should I—should I draw you a bath?”
“…Are you planning to do it yourself?”
