Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Protecting the Kitchen Staff
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Peter's face filled with bewilderment.
"Pardon?"
"Everyone gives Mariella yummy meat every day. They hide all the nasty veggies."
"But..."
"Selma makes perfect pancakes for Prince Prolian. Jacob once made pancakes this big for me."
Regardless of how our family felt about them, these were people who threw themselves into their work.
They couldn't refuse the rotten vegetables sent by Uncle, but they'd covered them with cloth and stashed them in a corner, so it seemed they had no intention of feeding them to us.
I couldn't let people like that get fired because of my little white lie.
"I didn't get sick because of the kitchen folks. So, could you tell Daddy not to fire Selma and Jacob and everyone else?"
"Th-that's..."
"Why is my daughter, who just started recovering, here in this place?"
Peter, flustered as he watched my sullen expression, snapped his head up like he'd spotted a savior.
Dad stood there where the cold voice had come from.
Dad swept a sharp glare over the kitchen staff before extending a hand toward me.
Sorry, but there was no helping it—he looked like he couldn't even stand seeing me stand there with the kitchen help.
Instead of running straight to Dad, I hung my head low and stared at my toes, pretending to be all gloomy.
"Ella."
Dad called my name, but I absolutely refused to look up.
"Daddy, Mariella's sorry for getting sick. I'll try hard not to get sick anymore."
"What?"
"They said if Mariella gets sick, everyone gets fired, so I'm really sorry... That's why I won't get sick anymore."
The kitchen fell so silent that not even breathing could be heard.
Even with my head down, I could feel the stares pouring over me.
The sound of quick footsteps shattered the quiet.
The footsteps belonged to Dad.
He crossed the kitchen entrance to me in one swift stride and swept me up into a tight hug.
"I'm sorry. No one's getting fired, so don't ever think like that."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Kids get sick all the time while growing up, so you mustn't blame yourself for it. Promise Daddy you'll never say anything like that again, Ella."
I'd only been acting to help the kitchen staff, but Dad's sincerity hit me so hard my throat tightened up for real in that moment.
Dad really...
I couldn't answer with words.
All I could do was nod, buried in his arms.
"Miss, shall I make you some crème brûlée?"
I refuse.
"Try the pie I brought. I loaded it with peaches, your favorite."
I said I refuse.
"Pair it with my watermelon juice. It's ice-cold and super sweet."
Enough! My stomach's gonna burst!
I waved my hands to signal I couldn't eat another bite, but the kitchen staff mercilessly set the pie and juice in front of me anyway.
It had been exactly three days.
Ever since I saved them from getting fired, the kitchen staff had been mobbing me with food every time they saw me.
Keep eating like this every day, and I'd turn into a chubby sideways Mariella!
"Mariella full."
"Then rest a bit and have more?"
Was "stop eating" not an option?
I nodded anyway, grateful for the chance to pause.
The staff cleared the table and snuck peeks at my face.
...It wasn't a big deal or anything.
They were just so grateful for saving people who'd been diligently doing their jobs that it was starting to embarrass me.
"Anyway, sorry for sneaking out with Monica last time and getting caught."
While investigating things had gotten out of hand, Dad had inevitably found out I'd snuck in with Monica.
I felt bad for Monica, who'd been so careful around Aunt.
I'd have to apologize properly when I saw her alone later.
"No, Miss!"
"With Miss Monica? Why her of all people..."
Why her of all people?
Mid-apology for the false accusation mess, I caught that awkward slip of the tongue.
"Um, Miss."
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry to say this, but we felt we had to warn you so you don't fall out of favor with the Young Duke and Lady Katrin."
"Huh?"
"Truth is, Miss Monica isn't Lady Katrin's real daughter. If you get too close, the lady might take it the wrong way."
What?
I stared at the kitchen staff with wide eyes.
Jacob glanced around to confirm only the close kitchen crew was nearby before continuing.
"Miss Monica's actually an illegitimate child the Young Duke had before marriage. Illegitimate means... a child born to someone other than his wife."
Monica was Uncle's illegitimate daughter?
Suddenly, her slip-up calling Aunt "ma'am" instead of "mother" made sense.
And the envious way she'd eyed Mark, basking in Aunt's care.
And Aunt sharply slapping Monica's hand.
'No wonder Mark strutted around so confidently, saying he'd succeed Uncle as next Duke despite having an older sister like Monica.'
Even if the Empire favored primogeniture, illegitimate kids never inherited over legitimate ones.
Families that even acknowledged bastards in the first place were rare to begin with.
Was Uncle more paternal than I'd thought?
He did dote on Mark almost as much as Aunt did.
"Without His Grace's mercy, Miss Monica never would've taken the Kalenberg name."
"Grandpa accepted Monica?"
"Yes. Her birth mother was from a vassal baron's family, so he did it for the vassal's honor."
Of course.
'Similar to taking Erich back into the main family?'
Come to think of it, Grandpa might cherish his bloodline more than expected.
He always eyed Dad and Uncle with displeasure, though.
'Lucky I got close to the kitchen staff.'
Who else would spill these family secrets?
Few around me—someone who'd spent most of her time away before joining the main house—knew the full backstory.
Chairman Grandpa and Oliver the secretary were around, but...
'Neither would gossip about the heir's scandals.'
After hearing about Monica, I reached for the glass jar in front of me to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.
Sympathy for the girl was one thing; what I needed to do was separate.
"What's this? Sugar?"
"Yes. I brought it to make crème brûlée for you. Just say the word anytime."
Not gonna happen for a while.
I've been stuffing myself enough to skip meals for days.
"Mariella wants this jar."
I ignored their eager stares and held out both my palms.
The staff squirmed and giggled before gazing at me warmly and asking affectionately.
It was such a different vibe from before; I still wasn't used to it.
"You like this jar?"
"Yeah. Mariella gonna make tomato play with it!"
"Tomato play? What's that?"
"Doesn't Selma know tomato play?"
The sugar jar was exactly the size I wanted.
Time to make some preserves and surprise Grandpa.
With Marquis Shuleman cornered, I needed to provide Grandpa with jarred tomatoes as an alternative and properly curb the South's bad habits.
"Anyway, when Mariella went to watch Daddy at the dismantling yard, saw people stuffing red stuff in jars."
"Ah, the monster dismantling yard—Vespa, you mean..."
"Yeah. So Mariella wants tomatoes in here."
"Tomatoes?"
"Tomatoes red. Daddy stuffs tomatoes too, right?"
A four-year-old mimicking something she saw Daddy overseeing was cute enough.
Especially mistaking monster blood for tomatoes and wanting to jar those—irresistibly adorable.
"Ah, yes. Right, tomatoes. Shall I fetch some?"
"Yeah!"
As expected, one of the giggling maids hopped up and grabbed an empty sugar jar from the cupboard.
Another servant dashed to the ingredient storage and hauled back a basket of tomatoes.
I frantically stopped the one about to stuff tomatoes straight into the jar.
"No!"
"Pardon? You just asked for tomatoes in the jar..."
"Saw at dismantling yard. Gotta put jar in hot water first. Water gotta boil and steam gotta rise!"
"Heat water now! The Miss wants the jars boiled!"
The kitchen staff sprang into bustling action.