Chapter 2
“The Marquess’s attendant said you left a good impression.”
And a maid couldn’t possibly disobey her master’s decision.
Though it was said that maids could leave once their contract expired, that only applied to people who could afford to live without being tied down.
That was only possible for maids who had families and homes to return to, or for the rare few commoners and noble-born attendants who earned a salary that let them plan for life and the future.
Even then, it was rare for any of them to refuse their master’s orders.
In a world where one had to live under the authority of nobles no matter the estate, how could a mere commoner-born maid argue with the words of a duchess?
A maid like Ann, who had neither family nor money, had no power to resist a command from a duchess who wielded immense influence in this region.
So Ann simply bowed her head.
Once the day of her departure to the marquess’s household was set, she wrote a letter to Grey saying goodbye.
Though she was illiterate and had to ask someone to write it for her, every single word of the letter was overflowing with deep, earnest affection.
She hadn’t even realized just how much she loved him.
Ann carefully sent the letter, making sure not to get it wet with tears.
A few nights later, Grey came to her in secret.
In the end, Ann ran away with him from the duke’s estate.
They fled together in a whirlwind of love, running day and night to escape the duchy.
Looking like beggars, they clung to each other tightly, falling asleep in shabby inn beds with musty sheets, tightly embraced.
There were days when they were so madly in love, they didn’t care about anything else.
Now, as 17-year-old Ann returned to that moment, she pushed away the memories that came after.
Soon, the mansion doors would open, and Duke Benton, the young heir, and then a frightened young boy—on the verge of tears—would enter.
“My lady, the Duke and young master have arrived!”
At the servant’s call, the duchess dropped her flower trimming and rushed out of the room.
She had just replaced all the flowers in the house and changed into a new spring dress in anticipation of seeing her son for the first time in a while.
Though in her middle years, the woman still carried a graceful, delicate air as she walked toward the front entrance to wait for the arriving carriage.
Behind her, the attendants and servants stood in two lines. Ann stood quietly at the end of the line of maids.
“My dear—Edwin—!”
The carriage door opened, and the duchess pushed past the butler, head maid, and head of the maids to greet them with a bright smile.
“Welcome back. You must’ve been through so mu—”
Then, following behind the Duke and young master, a small head hesitated before poking out.
“Come down.”
The young master said again, and the boy, flailing at the high step, was finally helped down by a servant.
“What is the meaning of this…?”
The duchess made no effort to hide her sharp tone or daggered gaze toward the timid, cowering boy.
“Who is that child?”
She didn’t ask the duke, who shared the same hair and eye color as the boy.
She asked her son, whose blue hair clearly resembled her own.
“Let’s talk inside.”
When the Duke reached out to her, the duchess pushed him away.
“You mean to bring that child into my home?”
No explanation or excuse was needed. Just one look at the boy’s eyes as he looked around nervously told her everything.
They were the exact same shade of red as her husband’s.
Though the boy’s lips were frozen in fear, there was an undeniable presence about him that could not be ignored.
The duchess staggered backward, collapsing to the ground as if she might faint.
“How could you do this to me?!”
Hans Benton, the Duke, was not the rightful heir of the family—he had married in.
He had been a man of low birth chosen after much deliberation by the late Duke and Lady Elizabeth Benton to inherit the family name through their only daughter.
Until now, he had been praised as a kind and devoted man, faithful to the family and his wife.
So this child was both the first and last stain he would leave behind.
All eyes in the estate turned toward the entrance, where the duchess’s cries and sobs echoed.
And yet, Ann remained silent, keeping her head down and eyes on the floor.
She would not look. She would not meet the boy’s trembling, tearful eyes.
She would not acknowledge his frail, slumped shoulders.
She would not form any attachment, nor pity him.
There wasn’t a single tear left in her to shed for him.
Ann clenched her fists, digging her nails into the backs of her hands.
Though she faced this reality again, she could not repeat the same mistake. Never again.
“All that food I spent all day preparing just went to waste.”
While the duchess was fainting and chaos reigned, the maids moved the food from the dining room to the servants’ hall, which also served as their dining space.
“Waste? Please. We get to eat our fill.”
One maid grumbled, while another scolded her and tore into a pheasant leg the masters hadn’t touched.
It was the first hearty meal in a long time.
Ann chewed silently, trying to ground herself in the reality of her returned life.
As expected, the young master had brought Grey Benton, and the duchess had collapsed.
For a few days, the house would feel like walking on a tightrope, and the boy would probably be crying alone in some corner of the mansion, overwhelmed by fear and loneliness.
Ann shook her head.
What did it have to do with her? Her own brother, who was the same age as that boy…
“Jamie!”
Her sudden outburst made everyone in the dining hall stop and look at her in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“Have there been any letters from my brother?”
Ann suddenly shouted at Cassie, her roommate and fellow 17-year-old.
Though everyone was bewildered by the sudden mention of family during a meal, Cassie quickly responded.
“You got one last week. Did you forget already?”
Ann stuffed a milk-soaked piece of bread in her mouth and left the dining hall.
Her room was so cramped that four beds barely fit, leaving just enough space for people to squeeze through.
She sat down and rummaged through her meager belongings. Soon, she pulled out a wrinkled letter.
At the time, Ann couldn’t read or write. Neither could her younger brother, Jamie.
So every time she wrote a letter, or sent one, she had to find a literate servant to help her. And when she received letters, she had to beg someone to read them for her.
But not anymore.
In the three years she spent living on the run with Grey, she had learned to read and write.
It was a matter of survival—if she couldn’t read, she couldn’t avoid being tricked.
“Jamie…”
She unfolded the five letters and began to read them slowly.
Inside were updates like, “I’m doing well,” “I bought meat and cake with the money you sent,” and “Thanks to Aunt and Uncle, I think I’ll learn how to read soon.”
Of course, since someone else had written them, it was hard to know Jamie’s true condition, but she could guess the timeline roughly.
It seemed she was about two years into her service at the Benton duchy.
She had entered at fifteen, so it was now the winter of her seventeenth year.
If so, Jamie was probably still alive.
In her past life, she hadn’t learned of Jamie’s death until the winter she turned nineteen.
She had lost contact with him for over a year, and only heard the news after sending a letter through Grey.
The reply stated that Jamie had died suddenly in an accident.
Ann had wanted to rush to him immediately, but she couldn’t. The duchess hadn’t permitted her to leave.
There were many suspicious things—why hadn’t her aunt and uncle informed her sooner?—but she had been powerless back then and had to swallow her doubts.
Much later, when she became the Duchess of Benton, and Grey’s wife, she finally had enough power to summon her aunt and uncle.
She interrogated them and eventually found Jamie’s grave.
The boy had been buried in an unmarked plot behind the village, neglected and forgotten.
When she confronted them, her aunt admitted the truth: Jamie hadn’t died in an accident—he had died from illness.
All the talk of studying or sports in the letters had been lies.
Despite constant colds and fevers, Jamie had been forced to work menial chores until late at night. All the money Ann had sent had gone straight into her aunt’s pocket.
He had died alone in a freezing room at the age of fifteen, never having received a single proper treatment.
Ann crushed all five letters in her hands.
They were filled with lies—nothing in them showed Jamie’s real feelings. They were worthless trash.
Before Jamie got sick, before he died… Ann had to save her only brother.
But even when she had become a duchess, she had failed to do anything. What could she possibly do now, just a maid?
Even now, thinking of Jamie being abused and overworked made tears pool in her eyes.
With her heart full of pain and sorrow, she left the room and wandered down a hallway corner.
“…Mom…”
That’s when she heard it—an exhausted, tiny voice of a young boy.
