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Chapter 19
The nanny happily placed the extravagant bouquet into my arms.
I couldn’t understand why she looked so pleased.
“After young master Patrick saw you last time, he must have really taken a liking to you.”
“He’s just spying for the duke.”
“Would someone spying send such a beautiful bouquet with such care?”
The nanny beamed, looking both pleased and relieved.
I knew her well—thanks to inheriting Cassia’s memories.
She was the only person who had ever cared about Cassia, who had been abandoned by her family.
She was the one who had raised Cassia after her mother died in childbirth, and had even volunteered to follow her here.
She cares for me not because I’m me—but because I’m “Cassia.”
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Still, her concern was real.
And she worried constantly because of my role as Edmund’s unwanted wife.
“The duke clearly intends to use you as a discardable piece.”
That was why she looked pleased now—because Patrick, the duke’s son, seemed to show interest in me.
Even if the duke killed Edmund, if Patrick protected me, my future would be safer.
That’s how it happened in the original story too.
But Patrick was a shallow villain. In the end, Cassia was only ever kept as his mistress.
Cassia had desperately tried to become his wife, but it was hopeless.
I knew better than anyone how futile that dream was.
Besides, Edmund is cuter. And when he grows up, he’ll be far more handsome too.
Still, Patrick was Patrick. And the bouquet was just a bouquet.
I examined the flashy roses wrapped in lace and silver beads.
Hmm. If I take off the lace and beads carefully, I can probably sell them later.
Practical as always.
But my feelings as I held the bouquet were uneasy.
So Patrick really does plan to pursue me, like in the original… though it’ll be a waste of effort.
I now had to think about how to avoid his attention without provoking him.
It was a delicate balance.
The nanny, oblivious, asked cheerfully:
“What should we do with the flowers, my lady?”
“…Arrange them neatly. Take care to preserve the lace and beads. And put the flowers in a vase.”
The roses’ fragrance was strong, almost suffocating—like perfume.
But the flowers aren’t to blame.
At least I’d keep them until they wilted.
Meanwhile, Edmund stared blankly at the roses in Cassia’s arms.
Golden, velvety blooms.
Surrounded by fine lace and glittering beads.
Then he looked down at the bunch of daisies in his own hands.
Pathetic…
Compared to that dazzling bouquet, his was nothing but a clumsy bundle of weeds.
And yet, deep down, he had hoped.
That Cassia would refuse the roses.
He knew it was a foolish hope.
“…Arrange them neatly. Keep the decorations intact. Put the flowers in a vase.”
Hearing those words, Edmund’s chest tightened.
His daisies could never compare to something so carefully treasured.
And the shame came crashing down on him.
Just moments ago, while weaving daisies together, he had imagined her smiling at him.
“Thank you, Edmund!”
Her bright voice, holding his flowers with joy.
The thought now made him want to crawl into a hole.
He hid the daisies in the bushes, ashamed of the ugliest bouquet in the world.
And then he ran.
Ran until he reached the edge of the estate gardens.
He was angry.
And embarrassed.
And… resentful.
Of what? He didn’t even know.
Everything just felt confusing.
When our eyes met later, he turned red, spun around, and bolted away again.
Déjà vu? I swear this happened before…
Last time it had been me avoiding him—for his sake.
Now it was the opposite.
Did we decide to take turns without telling each other?
Anyway, for the next few days, Edmund avoided me at every chance.
At least the servants now believe Edmund and I are on bad terms. That much is useful.
Yes, I had avoided him before.
And now it was his turn.
Since my fainting spell had been quietly handled by the nanny, the servants naturally assumed we were hostile to each other.
But!
“Skipping lessons is too much!”
I scolded loudly in the library.
I had no idea why Edmund was acting like this.
Teenagers are impossible to understand!
The next day, while searching for him, I found something in the garden.
“What’s this?”
I brushed off the dirt and leaves.
A wilted daisy bouquet?
It was poorly tied, awkwardly made—and somehow adorable.
The flowers were still fresh, with dewdrops clinging to the petals.
“Hmm. Who would throw away something this cute?”
It reminded me of the handmade gifts from the children at the orphanage.
Tiny flower crowns, leaf rings, shiny pebbles… little treasures they’d offered me with innocent smiles.
I buried my face in the daisies.
The scent was not heavy like perfume, but light and sweet.
For some reason, I couldn’t throw it away.
I carried the messy little bouquet back to my room.
After two or three days, Edmund stopped running from me.
It wasn’t like he could hide forever in such a small estate.
At meals, he still looked sulky and grumbled—
“Are you actually eating properly?”
Still, beneath the complaint, I could feel his worry.
Worth it!
“I ate everything. The nanny watched me finish every meal.”
Since my collapse, I had increased both my meals and snacks.
Now I could still share with him without collapsing again.
But then Edmund left half a large scone untouched.
“Why didn’t you finish this?”
“Too full. Don’t want it.”
“But I promised the duke you’d always clear your plate.”
It was important to keep the duke’s trust.
“Then you eat it.”
“….”
He flopped into bed and turned away, sulking.
Teenage rebellion, huh? Wasting energy on pointless resistance…
I sighed but ate the scone myself.
No sense wasting perfectly good food.
Besides, the new cook made excellent scones.
Later, Edmund even showed up to lessons—though he hid behind the curtains again.
After all my effort to make him sit in front of me, we’re back to square one.
I hated adolescent mood swings.
But I couldn’t stop lessons.
Fine. Let’s see who wins this game.
Pretending not to notice him, I began lecturing aloud as usual.
Then I pulled out something he couldn’t resist.
“Today we’ll study from this special book on Basic Magic.”
“…!”
Yes, the very book Moretti had once tried to use on him.
Not black magic—but white magic.
The foundation of all elemental spells.
“Hm. Looks like we’ll have to practice drawing these magic circles ourselves—”
The curtain rustled violently.
“Well, I could always just study this on my own…”
Flutter, flutter.
The curtain shook like crazy.
“If not today, you’ll never get to learn this material—”
FWIP!
The curtain flew open.
I smiled in triumph.
