Chapter 6
“Young Lady, that girl is too young to know any better. Even if you are young yourself, you are now a Countess, and that title should carry some weight.”
The nanny clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval.
“You know my taste better than anyone, Nanny.”
After a brief moment of thought, I decided to leave the matter in her hands.
After all, I had no idea what Cecilia liked, and I didn’t have any particular preferences myself. It seemed best to let the nanny handle it.
“You’ll have to suffer through it, Nanny.”
“Shall I, then?”
The nanny’s face brightened, while Sarah’s expression twisted into a frown.
“We’ll need to have new dresses made,” Sarah insisted, not willing to back down.
“Not just for the banquet, but for everyday wear as well. I understand that My Lady is of frugal character, but appearances must still be kept.”
At her words, I glanced down at the dress I was wearing.
The soft pink dress, accented by a smooth sash at the waist, looked rather expensive.
Just the sash alone must have cost a fair amount.
Still, if it was for the sake of the Countess’s dignity, I had to follow Sarah’s advice.
“Alright. You take care of the clothing.”
“Yes, My Lady!”
Now Sarah was the one who lit up, while the nanny pursed her lips in visible discontent.
“Nothing too flashy. The Young Lady has always preferred warm colors, so avoid anything cold-toned. And no excessive lace. If rumors start spreading that the newlywed Countess is indulging in luxury, it would be a disgrace to her name.”
Her nagging made me chuckle quietly.
Did Cecilia even have a reputation to protect?
Cecilia had made several suicides attempts out of jealousy toward her husband’s mistress, and it was said Edgar could barely show his face in public because of her.
Though, from what I’d seen, he seemed to be going about his life just fine. In any case, that’s what people said.
I quietly observed the two bickering in low voices.
Outwardly, they seemed completely devoted to Cecilia, but their hearts were likely not entirely sincere.
The nanny, as soon as I claimed to have lost my memory, tried to push her commoner son onto me as a personal guard.
Even though she had raised Cecilia from childhood, clearly her son’s future mattered more to her than her mistress’s reputation.
Sarah, on the other hand, had entered the household only after Cecilia came to the Linton estate. She had no real foundation here.
The fact that she was now attending to a Countess who wasn’t even welcomed by her own husband told me all I needed to know about how things stood.
So for Sarah, the idea of Cecilia regaining her senses and establishing herself as the lady of the house probably wasn’t very appealing.
“How much time do you need? Let me know once everything’s arranged.”
Now flustered, the two quickly replied and pushed past each other to leave the room.
In the meantime, I decided to take a look around the garden. Strolling leisurely through it brought back old memories.
A long time ago, my own family had a garden too. It was more of a yard than a proper garden, but my mother had created a flowerbed in one corner, making it bloom beautifully with each season.
The flowers were lovely, but my father always complained that the scent gave him headaches.
Eventually, my mother removed the flowerbed and replaced it with grass. Then my father griped that the lawn attracted too many bugs into the house.
The garden was left abandoned after that, and later, he’d sarcastically remark that the house felt desolate without it.
Looking at this well-tended garden now reminded me of that long-gone patch of flowers from my childhood.
The Linton estate’s garden was enormous.
Tall trees lined the stone-paved paths, creating cool, shaded walks.
The heels of my shoes clacked against the stones, making it somewhat uncomfortable to walk, but the shade provided by the trees was refreshing.
“How do people even walk in these things?”
I took off my shoes and held them in my hand.
Now that my feet were free, I figured I might as well explore the garden all the way to the end.
As I walked, I noticed areas that lacked proper upkeep.
Some trees had unruly branches, and weeds had grown as high as my knees.
I recalled what the nanny had once said—that a home reflects the face of its mistress.
Maybe Edgar left the garden untended on purpose.
No matter how messy the house was, it was the lady of the house who should feel ashamed, after all.
Then, what would be the equivalent for the master of the house? The thought struck me unexpectedly.
Edgar openly visited actresses from the theater.
So, even after marrying, having a mistress apparently didn’t tarnish the gentleman’s “face.”
What Edgar really took issue with was Cecilia causing a scene and disturbing the household.
“I suppose the master’s dignity lies in the mistress keeping her mouth shut and staying invisible.”
I muttered the sarcastic thought aloud, even though no one was listening.
“After all, the thing men fear most is being judged for not keeping their household in order.”
A voice answered me from the bushes, making me jump.
“Who’s there?!”
I called out cautiously.
The tall grass rustled, and a tall man emerged.
Dressed head to toe in black, he looked as though he’d just returned from a funeral.
I didn’t know who he was, but I was certain of one thing: he wasn’t one of the Linton estate’s servants.
It wasn’t just his attire. No servant would ever exude such an air of authority.
He stood with a casual slant, and beneath the brim of his hat, only the corner of a crooked smile could be seen.
“I came to see the Earl of Linton, but I got lost.”
The man tilted up his hat slightly. His bright yellow eyes, now visible, were almost beastlike.
I froze in place, paralyzed as if an actual predator stood before me.
“What are you standing there for? Not going to guide me?”
Only then did I realize he had mistaken me for a maid.
It wasn’t surprising.
My hair was windblown since I wasn’t wearing a hat, and I had taken off my shoes, standing barefoot. Who in their right mind would think I was the Countess of Linton?
“Oh? Have I made a faux pas? Forgive me—I’ve yet to master the etiquette of noble society.”
But my assumption was wrong. The man removed his hat and bowed with surprising elegance.
“Countess Linton, would you kindly lead me to the manor?”
Though I was the one being greeted, it felt more like I was being mocked.
The man introduced himself as Ricardo Bastian.
As soon as I brought him inside and his name was announced, the servants were thrown into a frenzy.
The Bastian family was a ducal house, and he, incredibly, held a claim to the royal succession.
Though his place in the line was low, it was still far higher than any family with no claim at all.
I changed my clothes and went down to the drawing room where he waited.
As I sat down, a maid I didn’t recognize brought tea with a level of politeness I had never seen before.
“Is the Earl of Linton away?” Ricardo asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
He clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair. His long legs stretched out under the table, nearly reaching my side.
I instinctively drew my legs in closer.
“I assume the Countess’s signature would suffice.”
Ricardo rummaged through his coat and pulled out a document. Even from a distance, I could tell it was high-quality paper, smooth and glossy.
“They say a husband and wife are one, after all.”
Could Edgar and I really be considered one?
I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me—not as myself, anyway. We were strangers in every sense.
“Read it. Then sign.”
I took the document and scanned its contents.
“This is…”
“A declaration by the Duke of Bastian that he intends to pass his title on to me. The bastard son now has the right to inherit.”
The document stated that the current Duke, lacking a suitable heir, had formally recognized Ricardo’s right to succeed him—even as an illegitimate child.
“It only came to me because there was no one else left,” Ricardo said with a bitter smile.
“I suppose I should thank the Duchess for her delicate disposition. If she hadn’t agreed to go along with the majority, this wouldn’t even be happening.”
Ricardo spoke about his situation as if it were second nature.
Perhaps he believed that by exposing his own vulnerabilities first, they would no longer be weaknesses others could use against him.
I’d used that tactic before myself. Unfortunately, it never worked as well for me.
Unlike this rigidly structured society of rank and title, the world I came from was a democracy—everyone was equal, and there was no need to be so cautious with one’s words.
“Is this an urgent matter?” I asked.
“Do I not look urgent to you?”
“In that case, I’ll send someone to fetch the Earl.”
It was better to make him wait than to risk signing something on Edgar’s behalf and being scolded for it later.
Ricardo’s status might be higher, but to me, the one who held real authority was Edgar.
Sarah, who had been quietly standing nearby, slipped out of the room. Edgar would likely arrive soon.
“So, Countess Linton doesn’t see eye to eye with the Earl of Linton?” Ricardo asked, folding his arms and leaning back arrogantly.
I shook my head.
“I just don’t want to give him any reason to blame me for something.”
“A reason to blame you… A proper wife should be able to handle her husband’s temper, no?”
There was something accusatory in his tone that made my own words sharper than intended.
“And did the gentle Duchess handle the Duke’s temper so well that she gave her blessing to your succession?”
Ricardo was silent for a moment, then let out a bitter chuckle.
“No, I suppose not.”
“I’m in the same boat.”
“Then seeing me must be quite unpleasant for you, Countess,” Ricardo murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy.
His previously confident demeanor vanished, leaving behind a man who looked fragile and lonely.
I could see right through it—it was a performance.
With people he could intimidate, he played the strongman. With those he thought might pity him, he showed his wounds. A practiced dance of emotional manipulation.
But in doing so, he revealed how he had survived until now.
“Not exactly,” I replied.
Maybe that’s why I answered more gently this time, in contrast to before.
“I’m the kind of person who thinks a splinter in my own finger hurts more than someone else’s terminal illness.”
His golden eyes narrowed at me.
“I’m dragging this out not because I care about your misfortune—but because I’d rather deal with Edgar’s scolding later than sign something I shouldn’t.”
At last, Ricardo burst into loud laughter.
