Chapter 8
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 8
Translation: godsn
"Ugh, that hurts."
As I struggled to stand up, Vincent was calmly changing his clothes. Even though he must have heard me fall, his expression remained utterly composed—which made me realize he'd deliberately stepped aside. I suppressed my rising anger with a sigh.
After bringing new bedsheets, putting them on was another ordeal. Since he absolutely refused to lift his hips, I could only drape them loosely over him.
Just this much was exhausting. When Vincent, now changed, tried to pull the dirty sheets back over himself, I swiftly snatched them away and handed him fresh ones. Thankfully, he quietly accepted the new sheets.
Good, done. I left the laundry by the door and returned to clear the empty dishes. I wiped up the dropped dessert and the trail of rice porridge stains left behind like a path. After tidying the scattered items from the floor, I finally began sweeping.
Only the scratch-scratch of the broom broke the silence. Vincent was quiet. He probably knew better than to provoke me again. Quite a change from when he'd first screamed at me to get out.
"Why are you here?"
"Huh?"
He suddenly spoke, startling me. Normally he'd only snap sharp commands—"Get out," "Don't touch me"—so him initiating conversation was unexpected. Was he feeling unwell? But aside from his pale complexion, he didn't seem to be in pain.
"I said, why are you here? I'm asking you."
"......"
"I need to earn money."
"So if I paid you, would you leave?"
"Why? Would you pay to have me thrown out?"
"If I could."
Was this some display of wealth? While I appreciated the offer, if money alone could solve my problems, I wouldn't be working here like this in the first place.
"Even if you drive me away, another maid will come to attend you."
"I'll throw them out too."
"Then another will come."
"So you're saying you won't leave."
"That's right."
I resumed sweeping. He turned his head toward me.
"Do you like this mansion?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."
"Then think about it. It's not a place for idle dreams."
Idle dreams... I considered this briefly before shrugging. I didn't have dreams like that anyway.
"Where are you from?"
"Pilton."
"Pilton... That's quite far."
"It's not that distant. Just over one mountain."
There were times I'd had to travel much farther for Father's errands.
Walking for days on end would leave my calves swollen, making it hard to walk for a while afterward. But even when I wanted to rest from the pain, Father and Alicia would never let me be—I was the only one who could handle the household chores.
So in truth, I'd felt more at ease when away from home.
"It felt magical, like going on an adventure. Like the protagonists in fairy tales embarking on mysterious, beautiful journeys."
"Foolish talk."
"True. Real adventures aren't so beautiful. Still, I liked it. There was an old bookstore in town when I was little—I worked there briefly. The elderly owner let me read many fairy tales."
"Turning a child into a delusional fool."
"Perhaps."
But I still love books. Though I no longer read fairy tales as an adult, I enjoy stories—tales of worlds I've never dreamed of, places I don't know. It didn't matter whether they were true or false.
Imagining the worlds within books was the only joy of my childhood.
"There's a passage I remember. 'When the gods created and bestowed you upon this world, your very existence was drenched in blessings—so love without reserve. For all of it shall pave the path before you.'"
"The Sorrow of Love."
"You've read it?"
When I asked in surprise, he answered dismissively.
"It's a famous book even children read."
"I didn't know that."
"Your taste is terrible."
"Is it?"
"It's not a good story."
He was right. The ending was tragic—not in the protagonist dying, but in them choosing to abandon everything and live alone. Even letting go of the person they loved. 'Ah, this is the end now.' After uttering those words, the protagonist walks alone into the vast sea, and the story concludes. It didn't end in death, but in shaking off everything that had tormented them and walking away—an ending I found strangely compelling.
If the end of my life ever comes, I'd want to say those words too.
Ah. This is the end now.
"I actually liked that part."
"......"
The moment those words left my mouth, I suddenly felt awkward. I wasn't usually talkative, but I'd rambled on simply because I was glad he'd spoken to me. Belatedly gauging his reaction, I added,
"D-do you have any books you enjoyed reading, my lord?"
"I don't read that crap."
That crap...? Isn't reading part of a noble's education?
Alicia used to complain about how the lord's son would drone on about the books he read, going on about cultivation and whatnot. Even when I worked at the bookstore, nobles visited frequently. Newly published books always sold faster than others.
When I turned to look at him, Vincent was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. His eyes were closed—was he trying to sleep? I stopped talking and focused on cleaning.
"Haven't read since I lost my sight."
Ah—realization struck me belatedly. His profile with closed eyes looked somewhat weary.
"There are books the blind can read, you know."
"Not all books are accessible."
"Then hire someone to read to you."
"So you're telling me to go around announcing my condition."
Another sarcastic remark. He was such a twisted person. Even if he hired a reader, he'd undoubtedly find some reason to drive them away. Then maybe he could ask someone who already knew his circumstances... Ah!
"Shall I read to you?!"
I couldn't contain my excitement.
There was no way this grand mansion didn't have a library. Why hadn't I thought of that? Then, feeling his dubious gaze, I quickly composed myself, suppressing my trembling voice and feigning nonchalance.
"Only if you wish it, of course."
"With that piggish voice of yours?"
"...... I've never been told I have a bad voice before."
"Must be something else that's bad then."
"......"
He seized every opportunity to jab at me. I nearly considered hitting him with the broom in my hand.
But I chose to retreat. Now wasn't the time to clash—it was time to yield.
"You must be bored sleeping all the time. You don't even take walks or leave your bed. No wonder you're listless. People need to live, you know."
"Stop beating around the bush. What are you trying to say?"
"Wouldn't it be good to try reading something?"
"I can't."
"That's why I'll read to you."
"I refuse."
His answer came without a moment's hesitation. I exhaled deeply.
"I thought if you had a hobby, it might temper your temper a little..."
"Hey."
"You don't even spare a thought for your suffering servants... Always just yelling at the top of your lungs, throwing things around dangerously... Making pretty ladies get hurt because of it... And yet we grit our teeth and endure it... Just what makes you so damn special..."
"Hey."
"It's heartbreaking, absolutely heartbreaking."
Seizing the moment, I poured out every complaint I had. His hand groped across the bedside table. Not that it mattered—he'd already thrown everything there was to throw.
When I saw him clench his fist tightly afterward, I smiled cheerfully.
"Now, Master. Please listen carefully."
Ahem, ahem—I cleared my throat. There was no response. Moreover, all I could see was the back of his head as he lay turned away. But with a light heart, I opened the book and began to read.
"'It was a day when the warmth of sunlight seeped into one's very being.'"
"Boring."
"'The girl—'"
"I said it's boring. Something else."
I thought he was asleep, but apparently, his ears were still open. Wait—he's calling it boring after just one line?
"You've only heard one line so far."
"I don't like that one line."
"If you'd just listen a little more—"
"Something else."
"Fine, I'll read something else."
Calmly, I set the book down and picked up another one. Books have their own tastes, and since I didn't know his preferences, I'd brought several.
I cleared my throat again.
"'A girl's day began with a stroll through the garden—'"
"Boring."
"..."
"Something else."
He didn't even let me finish a single line, that bastard.
For the first time in a while, my blood boiled. Stay calm. The person in front of me is the one who pays me. Silently, I took a deep breath and suppressed my anger.
"Why aren't you answering? Something else."
"Yes. Fine. Something else."
I set the book aside and picked up yet another one.
"'The boy—'"
"Boring. Something else."
"Are you seriously going to keep doing this?"
Finally, I placed the book on my lap and voiced my frustration. But Vincent was shameless.
"Is it wrong to say something's boring when it is?"
"You're calling it boring without even properly listening!"
"I don't need to listen properly to know it's boring."
"On what basis are you even saying that?"
"Are you talking back to me? How dare a mere maid—"
"..."
That shut me up. Coward!
"There are no more books left to read. I'll have to go get more."
"Then go get them."
"......"
"If you have a book you like, just tell me. I'll bring that one."
"I don't reread things I've already read."
"Then at least tell me what kind of stories you like. The genre, for instance."
"I don't have one."
I let out a deep sigh. He was clearly retaliating for earlier. After I went out of my way to be kind, this is how he acts? How childish.
"What are you doing? Not going to get them?"
In the end, I shot up from my seat.
Gathering the three books I hadn't even properly opened, I stomped out of the room—thud, thud—down the hallway. The library was just one floor below. I was so angry I ended up taking the main staircase.
Stay composed. The more it's like this, the calmer I need to be. It's not like Master's tantrums are anything new—I just need to be even more level-headed.
Entering the library, I scanned the tightly packed shelves, wondering what kind of story he might like. Honestly, no matter what book I brought, he'd probably just whine that it was boring.
Still, I carefully examined the shelves. Then, my eyes landed on one section.
"This is it!"
I pulled out every single book from that shelf.