Chapter 20
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 20
Translation: godsn
The portrait contained a warm scene of the Bellunita couple and three people together. Young Vincent could also be seen among them.
I clicked my tongue as I looked at the cheerful, adorable child in the picture.
"How did things turn out like this? What a pity, truly a pity."
They say people can change in an instant. That young Vincent in the portrait surely never imagined he'd lose his sight and end up confined to his room.
After briefly looking around the annex, I exited through the back door and leisurely strolled through the garden. Though hidden behind the grand and opulent main mansion, the annex also had its own garden. A small garden was visible from the back door, while turning toward the front revealed a more expansive one.
It was my first time visiting this garden. The well-tended trees and flowers alone were refreshing to behold. Even the weeds beneath my feet seemed artfully arranged, beautiful in their own way. The gardeners' devoted care was evident in every detail.
The weather was exceptionally nice today.
Almost wastefully pleasant. [With the recent fine weather, how about having tea time in the garden?]
Upon returning from my garden walk, I read today's letter from the Golden Letters and broke into a wide smile. This was perfect!
"How about having tea time in the garden today?"
So I made the suggestion during lunch. But Vincent immediately scowled.
"What nonsense is this?"
I'd genuinely thought it was a good idea, but apparently he didn't share my opinion. Yet today's weather was truly splendid—the sun had broken through the clouds unusually clearly, and warm air drifted through the surroundings. Staying cooped up indoors on such a day seemed downright unhealthy.
"They say it's good to get some fresh air occasionally."
"I can't be seen."
"Just for a little while should be fine, don't you think?"
Moreover, neither the annex nor this garden showed any signs of other servants besides myself. There was nobody around. Both areas seemed deliberately arranged to prevent servant access. So there was no risk of being seen.
"How am I supposed to get there?"
"I'll carry you there myself!"
When I declared this enthusiastically, his face twisted in displeasure. Undeterred, I began preparing him for the outing. Finding his outdoor clothes was easy since I'd prepared them before. Though he'd refused then, today I was determined to bring him to the garden no matter what.
Each step forward was agonizingly difficult. Gritting my teeth, I focused all my strength into my legs.
"You're going to collapse mid-way."
"Th-there, I'll get you there safely."
Even my voice trembled as I spoke. Gripping his constantly slipping arms tightly, I took another step. A sigh escaped from behind me.
"You're already failing spectacularly at this. My legs are dragging."
I was carrying him piggyback with my torso half-bent. Of course his long legs—far longer than mine—were scraping along the ground. His body completely covered my back with room to spare. And he was surprisingly heavy. There was simply no helping this situation.
Carrying him on my back presented numerous challenges. I'd underestimated him because he looked thin.
"Take me back to my room now."
"N-no! huff Even if... pant it's un...uncomfortable, gasp please... wheeze bear with it... just... a little longer."
Despite his protests, I stubbornly persisted. I desperately wanted to get him outside. While I could have simply supported him as we walked, I chose to carry him instead, fearing he might dig in his heels and refuse to move. Clutching his limp arms firmly, I poured all my strength into each step.
Supporting the crushing weight bearing down on me, I struggled forward until we finally reached the garden. By then, I was drenched in sweat, but seeing him seated safely in a garden chair filled me with satisfaction. Wiping the sweat from my face, I beamed at him.
The breeze tousled his golden locks, making his face sway with the wind.
"Where is this?"
"It's the garden behind the annex. I thought it'd be too far to go anywhere else, and since there's a table here, it seemed perfect for sitting down to enjoy some tea time. It doesn't seem like the servants pass through this area either."
That's why it was poorly maintained and messy, but I had tidied it up a bit beforehand. The table was one I'd often spotted while glancing out the window. I always found it odd how it sat alone in the garden behind the annex, but who knew it would come in handy like this? Since no one ever passed by the back of the annex, naturally, there was no one around here either.
He didn't ask anything further. He simply basked in the wind. Seeing his slightly relaxed expression, it seemed he didn't entirely dislike it. I had expected him to demand we return immediately, so this was a relief.
With a satisfied smile, I began taking out the things I had prepared in advance, arranging them one by one on the table. Then, I guided his hand to the teacup's handle before pouring steaming black tea into it—the same blend he had mentioned enjoying last time.
He really did seem to favor Nobelle's black tea. The leaves he had received as a gift were quickly depleted, so I had asked the Golden Letters where to buy more. They sent three new tins right away. [Let me know if you need more.]
Lately, I'd been thinking—the Golden Letters really were good people. I should definitely write back to thank them.
"It's delicious."
"It's the same one you had last time."
"I know. The finish is different."
He sipped his tea, looking at ease. He must truly love it. Because of that, I'd been serving him black tea often lately. It worked especially well to soothe him when signs of his temper flared.
"Today, I thought I'd read you a book here."
"Another dull one, I suppose."
"No. An adventure novel. I heard—well, I heard you liked them."
I had almost mentioned Ethan but quickly cut myself off. That name felt like forbidden territory around him now. I wasn't sure why. Retrieving the book tucked under my arm, I settled into the chair across from him.
I opened the book, cleared my throat, and slowly parted my lips.
Slowly—giving him enough time to imagine the scenes—clearly enunciating, remembering to breathe in between. Replaying Vincent's past critiques in my mind, I began reading aloud.
My voice was smoother than before. Even I was satisfied with how it sounded. And this time, Vincent didn't interrupt with any corrections. Noticing that, I felt a quiet thrill inside.
"What do you look like?"
The unexpected question burst from his lips. I stopped reading and lifted my head. He had set his cup down on the table at some point and was now facing me. The moment our eyes met—his emerald gaze locking onto mine—my mind went blank. I couldn't respond right away.
I hadn't expected him to ask me something like this.
"Wh-why would you be curious about that?"
"Because I am. I want to know what your shameless face looks like."
"I'll continue with the next sentence."
Ignoring his words, I lowered my head back to the book, intending to divert the conversation.
But suddenly, long fingertips brushed against my bangs. It was the faintest touch—so slight it barely registered. Yet, I flinched as if they had grazed my face, bolting upright from my seat.
Behind me, the chair toppled over with a clatter. The table wobbled from the sudden movement, and I barely caught it in time. The book tumbled to the ground. Vincent's hand hovered in the air, his eyes wide with shock. He looked startled.
A gust of wind swept through with a whoosh.
"Ah, um... Y-you startled me by suddenly trying to touch my face... I apologize."
I steadied the table and righted the overturned chair. Picking up the book that had fallen to the floor, I placed it back on the table.
During this time, he spoke with a composed expression.
"Why are you so startled? I said I wanted to know what you look like."
"But why try to touch my face?"
"If I can't see, I have to feel to know."
Sitting back in the chair, I glanced at him. The other person is blind. He can't see me. So unless someone describes my face to him, he'd never know. And judging by how he's asking now, it seems no one has told him.
"What do I look like?"
"Quite ordinary."
"Meaning what?"
I couldn't bring myself to say it was a face people would point fingers at. Gnawing at my lip, I agonized over how to divert his attention.
"I asked what you look like."
"I'll tell you later. Let me finish reading the book first."
"The more you hide it, the more curious I become."
"......"
But it didn't work. He wiggled his fingers as if preparing to reach out again. I watched his fingertips nervously.
"I-I'm rather short."
"I know that. Something else."
"...... My, my hair reaches my chest."
"Past it?"
"No, not past... I cut it recently."
Having not looked in a mirror, I hadn't realized how much it had grown until it became bothersome. So a few days ago, I trimmed it to just above chest length with scissors.
Truthfully, long hair is burdensome. Unkempt strands became frizzy, and the length at the back served no purpose. Worse, it got in the way while working, forcing me to tie it back. Still, not cutting it short was my last shred of pride. If even my hair became short, there'd be nothing feminine left about my body.
"Is your hair curly? Some have straight hair, others have curly."
"Mine... is somewhat like that."
"Hmm—"
After a short hum, he fell deep in thought for a moment before reaching out again. My body tensed, anticipating those fingertips might head for my face again.
But this time, they didn't. His hand groped through the air as if searching before carefully touching—my hair.
He took the wavy ends of my hair between his fingers, fiddling with them.
"It's true. The ends curl."
"......"
Gently flicking the upward-curled strands with his thumb, he smiled faintly. I silently watched his hand toying with my hair as if playing.
"And?"
"And... and... what exactly do you want to know?"
"Everything. Describe it in detail."
Give me pieces to imagine. That's what he was demanding from me.
Though my lips moved, the words wouldn't come easily. I'd never once put my own appearance into words before. I'd never wanted to, nor did my looks warrant such attention.
"Are you thin?"
Yes, frighteningly so. Though I've gained some weight now, before coming here I was so thin people often said I looked like a walking corpse.
"Average."
"Your eyes—are they big?"
"Relatively so. As a child, people often said my eyes were the only noticeable part of my face."
"Your nose?"
"That's......"
Under his rapid-fire questioning, every answer that emerged was a lie. Apart from my hair length and eye size, nothing I told him was true. And as those lies piled up, they formed a person. Ironically, the image created was that of Alicia.
My younger sister—so beautiful where I was not.