The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 92

Translation: godsn

"Then why run away? You could just live well here. It might be tough working for a prestigious Count's household, but life here would still be better than laboring outside. The wages would be far more substantial too. Though you're still in provisional employment, someone like Paula would smoothly transition to official employment."

"Lord Ethan. I—"

"Truthfully, you don't want Vincent to recognize you, do you?"

How could that be? That would be utterly meaningless. What would it matter if he recognized me? After enduring all his terrible temper back then, should I now beg you to look upon me favorably? Or would I pour out resentment about your butler trying to kill me?

I shook my head again.

"Lord Ethan. I'm terrified of this place. You know why I ran away."

"Don't worry about that."

When I asked what he meant by that, he merely laughed again.

"What do you think? Will Vincent remember you?"

"...... He probably would. He often called me insolent, so I doubt he'd forget me easily."

"Haha. I can imagine it."

"......"

"Then do you think he missed you?"

That... I'm not sure. Occasionally, during these five years of hardship, perhaps he might have thought of me once in a while. Remembering how it was back then, how it was at other times. Some days recalling good memories, other days bad ones, losing himself in the past. But whether he missed me—I don't know.

No, I don't think he missed me. Longing implies wanting to return to those moments. There's no way he'd want to return to when he was blind. Simply remembering the maid who put up with all his temper doesn't warrant feeling any longing.

"I don't think he did."

"Shall we make a bet?"

I recoiled and shook my head violently. I didn't even want to mention betting with him. My entire body still remembered the suffering when he'd threatened me into bets in the past.

"No, thank you."

"How insolent. Refusing an elder's proposal outright like that."

"......"

Ethan's expression hardened completely. How cowardly.

"Lord Ethan!"

"Now you're raising your voice too."

"Please, I beg you... Don't do this..."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Afraid Vincent will be disappointed?"

I nodded immediately.

"Is disappointment unacceptable?"

"Pardon?"

"It's perfectly fine to be disappointed sometimes. You said he remembers a different appearance, right? Then whenever he reminisced, he'd recall someone else—isn't it natural to feel hollow about that?"

"Lord Ethan. That kind of talk—"

"It's okay."

"......"

"It's okay to be disappointed. As you said, Paula, he might be disappointed because you don't match his imagined appearance. But what does that matter? Is that so important? What's more important is that the maid he knew survived and is by his side now, don't you think?"

"......"

"What if Vincent sees Paula's face and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠says it's fine? What if he says it's okay even if everyone else would be disappointed by her appearance? Have you asked Vincent? Ah, you said you're afraid of disappointing him. Then is it that you dislike the idea of Vincent being disappointed by you?"......

How could that be? I deceived him, and he was deceived by me. Though the thought of him—who believed my lies without suspicion—learning the truth and being disappointed terrifies me, that doesn't mean I hate or dislike Vincent. Rather, I think I'd understand. Even I dislike myself—how much more would you?

Ethan understood my feelings well.

"Paula. It's wrong to arbitrarily judge someone else's feelings based on your own selfishness. Do you know what Vincent wants to say such things? Do you want to paint Vincent as the villain?"

"No."

"Then what if Vincent truly has been missing Paula all this time?"

"That can't be true."

"That's just Paula's assumption. Not Vincent's feelings."

His firm words carved into my chest. I couldn't hide my discomfort. Even so, Ethan continued speaking while still gazing at me with gentle eyes.

"Everyone carries unseen longings within them."

That sudden remark sounded familiar.

"Because what's visible isn't everything. Just because someone doesn't voice it, just because they don't show it outwardly, doesn't mean they don't miss it. And sometimes, even they themselves don't realize the depth of it. That's something Vincent used to say often."

"......"

"Paula, I believe Vincent missed you. Have you ever considered how worried he must have been when the person who listened to his words suddenly disappeared?"

I had thought about it. But I'd convinced myself he would have forgotten such feelings soon enough. How wretched. What a truly wretched person I am. Once again, he'd dug up what I'd tried to bury.

"I respect your feelings, but I also want to respect Vincent's. You understand me, don't you?"

"...... Yes. I understand, I do."

But understanding didn't make it any less aggravating. Barely managing to spit out my answer, I turned away. Clamping my mouth shut, I stomped my feet as I walked. I didn't want to face Ethan any longer. The warmth I'd felt toward him had cooled in an instant. It wasn't that I hated him. But I couldn't stand being around someone who kept stirring up my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠insides like this.

"Paula, are you angry?"

"Don't call me Paula."

Even as I snapped back sharply, he kept trailing after me like a puppy. Paula? Paula? Paula! He kept calling my name despite being told not to. At least there was no one around to witness this.

"Let's go see Lucas together later."

The words slipped out unexpectedly from him. Hesitating, I gave a small nod. From behind me came the sound of laughter. That childishly innocent sound eased some of my discomfort. A smiling face suited Ethan far better than a stiff, rigid expression.

As Ethan doggedly followed me, passing maids gave us strange looks. When I told him to stop following me, he retorted—was it really so strange for someone being attended to follow their attendant? There was no reasoning with him. I used to click my tongue at Vincent's stubbornness, but now I see Ethan has his own share of obstinacy too.

In the end, I fled to escape him. When I suddenly broke into a run, I heard Ethan's flustered breathing behind me. Playing the part of a stern Count, he couldn't very well chase after a servant by running, after all.

After shaking him off, I trudged wearily toward my room. I was exhausted. It felt like I'd suddenly been dragged into something incredibly bothersome. Letting out a deep sigh, I muttered quiet curses directed at Ethan under my breath.

But then—someone abruptly grabbed my arm. Startled, I turned to find Vincent standing there.

What the— Why is this man here? Surely he didn't come looking for me? My bewilderment was cut short as he spoke directly to me.

"You're acquainted with Ethan, Count Christopher?"

"Huh? Ah......"

Flustered by the sudden question, I glanced down reflexively. Following my gaze, he quietly released his grip on my arm. I took two steps back, clasped my hands together, and bowed my head.

"Yes. That's correct."

It would've been awkward to deny it now. But did he come all this way just to ask that?

Lately, Vincent had been treating me as if I didn't exist. Not that he needed to pay attention to every servant, but his attitude had been so blatant that even Nanny had been watching my reactions. Until just moments ago, he'd turn his head the moment our eyes met. This was our first proper conversation since that thunderous night.

Vincent remained silent for a while, as if deep in thought. Just as the silence began to feel prolonged, he posed another question to me.

"Did you look into the ink?"

"Ah, that... I'm sorry. I couldn't find it."

"You couldn't find it?"

Vincent's gaze turned murderous. I secretly swallowed hard, nodded, then immediately bowed deeply and apologized profusely. As his eyes grew even sharper, I fumbled through my pockets. I thought I had some candy in there.

"Then—"

Just as he began speaking in a ominous tone, someone draped an arm over my shoulder. Startled, I turned to see Ethan.

"Is something going on?"

Ethan asked with feigned innocence. I briefly scowled before quickly smoothing my expression. I tried to twist ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my shoulder to shake off Ethan's hand, but he held on firmly, making it difficult.

Vincent's gaze shifted from my shoulder to Ethan. His face clearly asked, "Why are you interfering?"

"I had something to ask."

"Something to ask? What is it?"

"None of your business."

"I'm curious. Tell me too."

What the hell is wrong with him? I could read that thought in his emerald eyes.

"What? What is it?"

When he got no answer from Vincent, he turned to me instead. Flustered, I alternated glances between Ethan and Vincent.

"He mentioned colored ink."

"Ink?"

"Yes. When Robert wrote a letter last time, the ink wasn't black. I've only seen that kind of ink in your family's possession. Colored ink. You know what I'm talking about."

Ethan looked down at me. I pursed my lips with a gloomy expression. I thought they sold it. Unsure if he understood, Ethan seemed to ponder for a moment before continuing.

"I lent it to him."

"What?"

"I lent it to him. Right?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected answer, I rolled my eyes in panic, but the question came from Vincent.

"You're saying you lent it?"

"Yeah. Didn't I say we know each other? He worked at our estate before."

"What?"

"Huh?"

This time, Vincent and I voiced our confusion simultaneously. As Vincent stared at me incredulously, I quickly composed my expression.

"He said he borrowed it from another servant."

"Guess he got scared since you were interrogating him so harshly. I really did lend it to him. He begged to borrow it for just a little while, so I let him."

"......"

"And that ink—my father bought it from abroad long ago. It's been so long that it might be circulating here by now. So you can't guarantee our family is the only one who has it."

Despite Ethan's explanation, Vincent's suspicious gaze didn't waver. He seemed to be asking, "Is that really true?" That stare was suffocating. I had no idea what was happening, but I decided to play along with Ethan's rhythm. Clasping my sweaty hands tightly, I tried not to show my panic.

"Yes, that's correct. I asked, and he kindly lent it to me."

"Why did you lie?"

"I was scared it might be something incredibly valuable, and I worried I'd committed a grave mistake... I was too afraid to tell you. I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause trouble after going through so much effort to borrow it... I was thoughtless."

I apologized again, bowing deeply. My head spun. Worried whether I'd spoken well, I anxiously replayed the excuse I'd hastily concocted. It felt like I was weaving a bigger lie to hide the truth, and my heart grew heavy.

"Now that your curiosity's satisfied, how about dropping that look? You're scaring me too."

Ethan smoothly intervened again.

"I'm conflicted. Whether to believe you or not."

"Why's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that?"

"Because you're skilled at lying."

Maybe it was just my imagination, but there was a sharp edge to Vincent's words.

I cautiously raised my head. Vincent was now looking at Ethan, not me. His slightly narrowed emerald eyes somehow felt ominous.