Chapter 21
The days at the villa, to which we had been sent almost as if we were being cast out, passed far more peacefully than expected.
The biggest contributor to that peace was the fact that Ian behaved himself throughout his stay.
Unlike at the ducal estate, the villa servants had only heard rumors and warnings about Ian, not actually experienced him, so they didn’t shun him noticeably.
Although Duke Brighton had ordered them to keep watch, the only thing I could feel was the constant but restrained gaze of surveillance. That was all.
Ian Brighton liked people to show him reverence or bow before him in fear, but he actually disliked it when they revealed outright negative emotions toward him.
Thus, the servants’ strictly formal and courteous attitude was enough to satisfy him.
The duke’s attempt to separate Ian from Lady Agatha Brighton and Lady Rosa had ironically turned into a blessing in disguise.
And honestly, I was sure that part of this peaceful atmosphere was thanks to me.
If it weren’t for me, Ian probably would’ve turned the whole villa upside down the moment he arrived!
…Wouldn’t he? The Ian Brighton I know is definitely that kind of boy.
At any rate, amid such calm days that almost felt too good to be true, a letter arrived one month after we began living at the villa.
It wasn’t addressed to Ian, nor even to the steward of the villa—but to me.
I was so shocked when I received a letter that began with the words, “My dear sissi.”
I never imagined I would learn that Lady Brighton trusted me more deeply than expected in this way.
At the same time, I couldn’t help but worry how Ian would react if he found out that his mother had written to his personal servant rather than to him.
“That coward writing to you is only natural,” Ian said with surprising composure.
“She knows that even if she wrote, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t stop your father from driving you out,’ she would never be forgiven. And the thought of confirming that is more terrifying to her than death. So she wrote to you instead.”
“You really do have a talent for saying the most heartbreaking things with a straight face, don’t you, Young Master!”
“What’s heartbreaking about it? Which part of the sentence ‘my mother is a coward’ is supposed to hurt?”
The fact that he truly didn’t understand was almost more shocking.
Although the letter had begun with “To sissi,” more than half of it was devoted to asking after Ian’s wellbeing.
[Is he doing well? Is he getting along with the servants? Is he sleeping soundly? Eating properly? Back at the estate he hardly ever ate…]
Reading those words, I came to a clear conclusion:
Agatha Brighton loves Ian Brighton.
She may be fearful, but she cannot bring herself to abandon her son—unlike the duke.
Had it not been for Lady Brighton, the duke would likely have erased his son from the world when Ian was still in his cradle.
But Ian Brighton, though burdened with the title of “demon-possessed child,” still lived on.
That was entirely thanks to Lady Brighton.
The end of the letter read:
*[I dearly wish to see Ian and you myself. I nearly set out at once, but I’ve overstrained myself with research lately, and my health has worsened gravely.
My husband and Rosa strongly opposed me going to see Ian. Their biggest reason is that no one can know what might happen if I faced him.
Because of that, it will likely be difficult for me to visit the villa for some time.
I worry Ian must be deeply hurt by all this. What if he feels lonely? I am still troubled by such thoughts.
It grieves me that I am too weak and lacking to do anything for him.
So, sissi, could you help me?
Would you write to me about how Ian is doing?
If you can prove that he causes no trouble while with you, perhaps my husband will agree to meet him.
Perhaps, even, our whole family might come to the villa and bring Ian back home.
It may be a foolish hope.
It may seem ridiculous, but I still want to protect this family…]*
When I offered to read him the letter, Ian flatly refused.
He said he had no interest in his mother’s thoughts, nor any desire to know her heart.
He was so cold, so merciless—truly like a devil himself.
So it ended up that I alone, not even his family, read Lady Brighton’s letter to the end and found myself lost in emotion.
“You can read? Huh.”
While I was musing, Ian lounged casually on the wide window ledge, smirking at me.
I stole a secretive glance at him—really, very secretive.
“I learned at the Glington Count’s household. Believe it or not, I’m quite a useful servant who can both read and write.”
“Hmm.”
Propping his chin on one hand resting against his knee, Ian narrowed his eyes at me.
“From what I’ve heard, it’s hard to imagine that household ever gave you anything good.”
Bullseye. Too sharp for his own good.
I tried to smooth it over with an awkward laugh.
It’s not as if I could say, “Actually, I’m the count’s illegitimate child. Even though I’m a bastard, the count couldn’t stand the thought of his bloodline being illiterate, so he forced me to learn.”
“Sometimes I was put in charge of tidying the library. At the very least, I needed to be able to read the titles.”
Ian’s gaze stayed fixed on me, unconvinced. But he didn’t press further.
“Come to think of it, don’t noble children usually get tutors?”
“I don’t need that.”
“But, Young Master, at your age…”
“The tutor who came when I was eight ended up crippled after striking my palm with a cane. The new one who arrived when I was nine lectured me about noble dignity, but couldn’t even preserve his own. Want me to keep going?”
“N-no, that’s enough. I get it.”
I grew pensive. How on earth did the Ian Brighton of the original story grow up into such a perfect young nobleman?
If he never had a tutor to teach him manners or knowledge, then how…?
“I’ll say it again: I don’t need any of that.”
Maybe he read the doubt on my face. Ian fixed me with a steady gaze and enunciated clearly:
“Understand? Even without it, I can master everything on my own.”
I could only breathe out a dazed sigh.
“Ah…”
The devil’s child.
That’s right. A demon lives inside Ian.
The demon growing alongside him must have crammed every kind of knowledge into him.
Without being taught, he could read. Without instruction, he could grasp politics, martial arts, manners, even the art of captivating people.
And he could even learn how to fight all on his own.
Some would call him a genius. Others would feel only a primal terror before such an unnatural being.
Most of those who feared him would be the people who knew his true nature.
Like the Brightons themselves.
No…
I couldn’t let Ian Brighton grow closer to the demon.
Otherwise, my “Project to Raise Ian Brighton’s Humanity” would be a total failure!
“I still think you need good people around you, Young Master.”
He brushed off my declaration without interest.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Wait.
“Did you just call me a good person?”
Still resting his chin on his hand, Ian looked straight at me.
But I couldn’t even focus on that piercing gaze.
I was too moved, from the bottom of my heart.
“Young Master! You’re becoming more admirable by the day…!”
“Objectively, you are a good person. You’ve already won over all the villa servants.”
“Well, that’s…”
It’s true. I was the devoted personal servant to the young master with a dreadful reputation.
And his one and only servant was just a twelve-year-old girl.
With a still-round child’s face, scrawny build, and small stature.
Of course the older villa servants would be kind to me.
Even I would have been gentle to a child like that.
Though not everyone is so generous…
Still, the warm atmosphere of the Brighton villa had a lot to do with it.
The Glington Count’s estate, for instance, was the polar opposite.
Anyway—
“I don’t think I did anything special to earn their favor.”
“I, on the other hand, fail to earn anyone’s favor even when I do nothing wrong.”
Ugh. Hard to argue with that.
When I fell silent, Ian smirked.
“Not that I care.”
It almost sounded like he was telling me not to let it bother me too much. Was that just my imagination?
“In any case, I have no intention of keeping anyone by my side other than you.”
“I see…”
Ian Brighton’s stance was firm. It would be hard to make him change his mind.
But that didn’t mean I was giving up.
As long as we stayed in this villa, I would make Ian a little softer, a little warmer!
…And that resolve would, about three years later, be completely and utterly crushed.
