Chapter 22
Shrugging her shoulders, May turned and began walking again.
“If you want to kick her out, she needs to recover first. So you take care of her.”
“You’re telling me to leave just because the baby is gone?”
So, even if the child was illegitimate, as long as it carried the Count’s blood, she was treated as a person—but the moment that connection was lost, they were ready to throw her out?
Anne’s voice, usually quiet, now carried a sharp edge, enough to irritate even May. Her harsh gaze snapped back.
“Then of course she has to go. Do you think the Lord will keep her around?”
“Were there a lot of women thrown out like this?”
Her lips and throat trembling, Anne asked the question.
“There were plenty. Letting her stay this long because she was pregnant was already an exception.”
The ones who suffered most from the Count’s philandering were powerless women of lower status.
And Victoria, who chased them out violently, or Hannibal, who just left them to rot.
To people like them, anyone who wasn’t nobility wasn’t even worth treating like a human being. Perhaps because that’s how they themselves had once been treated.
“How is Matilda doing?”
At the entrance of the hallway, May came to a stop.
“See for yourself.”
Anne didn’t need to ask more to know the answer.
“GET OUT!!”
As soon as she approached the small room at the end of the third-floor hallway, a sharp scream burst out from within.
A crash followed—something breaking—then a soft cry. Moments later, maids scrambled out through the door in a panic.
“Anne will take care of it now. Let’s go.”
May turned away without so much as a farewell and walked off with the maids.
“What are you waiting for? Go on in.”
May’s sneer seemed to whisper, What can you even do?
But Anne wasn’t hesitating because she was scared.
More than anyone in this mansion, Anne understood Matilda’s pain. She could empathize deeply.
What words could possibly comfort a woman who had lost her child?
It wasn’t that there was nothing she could do—rather, she felt nothing she could do would matter.
Still, Anne cautiously stepped inside.
It was a dim and cramped space devoid of sunlight or a single servant. This was Matilda’s room.
“Matilda, unni…”
Anne stepped carefully, avoiding the shattered plate fragments on the floor, calling softly.
“…Anne?”
Matilda, who had lost so much weight in the past three months except for her swollen belly, was now lying half-reclined on the bed. The belly was gone, but her whole body was puffy.
Her breathing was labored, but her eyes remained shut—perhaps from exhaustion.
Anne and Matilda had never been close. In fact, Anne had disliked her, even avoided her.
Matilda was lazy, incompetent, full of vanity, and always scheming. She wasn’t the kind of person Anne wanted to be around, either as a maid or as a friend.
But Anne couldn’t ignore someone just because she didn’t like them—not when they clearly needed help.
“Unni.”
Matilda’s palm was bleeding, probably cut on the broken dish. Anne pulled a cloth from her apron pocket and gently began to wipe the blood away.
“Lie down. I’ll ask the physician to bring some medicine.”
As Anne approached, intending to help Matilda lie down properly—
Matilda suddenly grabbed Anne’s arm tightly and spoke.
“Everyone here is strange, Anne. They keep saying my baby never existed. How could that be?”
“…Matilda unni.”
“I know I gave birth! I heard my baby cry! But those devilish people who live here—they stole my baby! Anne, please help me! Find my child! Victoria must’ve taken her! We have to find her now—before they kill her!”
“Wait—unni, please calm down—”
Despite Anne’s attempts to soothe her, Matilda abruptly forced her heavy body upright.
Just then, the door burst open, and Victoria entered.
“What’s with all the noise so early in the morning?”
Apparently awakened by the disturbance, Victoria had come to check after returning from her morning walk.
“You bitch! It was you, Victoria!”
In a shocking display of speed, Matilda leapt from the bed and lunged at Victoria.
“KYAAAA!! Are you insane?!”
Matilda seized Victoria’s hair with a savage grip.
“Matilda unni—stop! Let go! Please!”
Anne rushed between them, but Matilda’s strength was unyielding.
“You killed my baby! You! It’s your fault my baby is dead!”
This wasn’t madness.
Matilda knew her child was gone. But she didn’t want to believe it.
All that grief had built up—and the moment it had a target, it exploded.
“Are you crazy?! Let go! I said let go!!”
“Unni, please—stop—”
As Victoria thrashed wildly, hands and feet flailing, Anne wrapped her arms tightly around Matilda.
“You know the truth. …You know, don’t you?”
She had carried that baby for months. There’s no way she wouldn’t know that the life had never cried, never breathed.
Thud.
Even through the shock of being hit, Anne held her tighter, whispering desperately in her ear.
“Hhnggh…”
Finally, Matilda’s grip loosened, and she collapsed to the floor.
“My baby—my babyyyyyy—!!”
With a long wail, Matilda clutched her head and pressed her forehead against the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
Anne held her trembling shoulders and gently laid her back on the bed.
She called the family’s physician, who prescribed medicine that would put Matilda into a deep sleep.
As Matilda slowly slipped into unconsciousness, Anne watched over her with quiet concern.
“What about morning tea time, Anne?”
Even in all this, Victoria passed by Matilda without a hint of sympathy, her sharp eyes fixed solely on Anne.
“I’ll have it ready on time.”
“Good, then.”
Victoria turned and walked out, and Anne carefully closed Matilda’s door behind her.
As she turned to leave, a tall shadow loomed ahead.
“Viscount Hannibal…”
Even Hannibal Clayde had come to Matilda’s room.
Surely not out of worry for her miscarriage. It must’ve simply been too noisy to ignore.
“I apologize for the commotion.”
Anne bowed in apology on Matilda’s behalf.
“That woman’s not sane.”
Hannibal’s voice was laced with clear disdain.
“She lost her child. Of course she’s not sane.”
“…What?”
Anne regretted her words the moment they left her mouth.
She shouldn’t have snapped. She should’ve kept her distance like she always did.
But she couldn’t.
Matilda’s miscarriage too easily brought back Anne’s own past, where she had lost her child against her will. A wound that had never really healed.
“Anne Perot.”
Surprised that she had actually spoken back, Hannibal called her name after a beat.
“Yes, Viscount.”
“Have you… ever lost a child?”
It was a cruel question to ask a maid who wasn’t even married.
But before Anne could feel insulted, a wave of fury surged in her chest. She clenched her fists tightly, avoiding his eyes to hide her face.
“Or is it concern for a former colleague from the Duke’s household?”
“I didn’t mean to challenge you, Viscount. If I spoke rudely, I apologize.”
She tried to speak calmly, reining in her emotions—but it didn’t come out quite right.
Looking down at her bowed head, Hannibal suddenly felt the urge to lift her chin.
He wanted to see what kind of expression she wore behind such unapologetic words.
Neatly tied hair without a single strand out of place, a crisp white apron over a black dress—she looked every bit a maid.
Yet from the graceful curve of her back, the deliberate clasp of her hands, to the poised angle of her stance—everything about her felt calculated and refined.
Even without much exposure to high society, Hannibal could tell: Anne Perot could rival any noblewoman he’d seen at the grandest of balls.
What struck him most was the poised, elegant face hiding emotions too deep to read.
He watched as her lowered head slowly lifted to meet his gaze. As their eyes met, Anne’s large brown eyes widened slightly, then quickly returned to calm composure.
Her expression wasn’t bright or dark, but somewhere in between—soft and strangely kind.
What kind of noblewoman could make such a serene face?
Hannibal found himself fixated on her long lashes, wondering what her honest expression might look like.
Maybe it was time to test her a little.
If a mere maid like Anne Perot had been shaken by Matilda’s outburst, wasn’t this the perfect chance?
“Take good care of her. We can’t kick her out until she’s recovered.”
“…You’re going to kick her out?”
Her face briefly registered surprise—and perhaps a hint of disappointment.
She no longer carried the Count’s child. So of course, she had to go eventually. Hannibal nodded.
“It’s impressive she lasted this long. Victoria never leaves anyone alone.”
Anne’s gaze rose slightly, her chin held high as she stared at Hannibal.
Though she wasn’t short, Hannibal’s towering figure forced her to look up.
Meeting her eyes, Hannibal added casually:
“Do you know what Victoria’s nickname is?”
“I don’t.”
“The Beast of Clayde. Because every woman our father brought in was either killed by her—or tormented until they fled.”
The vicious and brutal noblewoman of Clayde. A woman infamous for having literally beaten people to death.
Anne couldn’t help but be shocked by such a reputation.
But she also knew a different side of Victoria. Which is why she asked:
“What surprises me more is that no one in the household ever tried to stop her—or teach her otherwise. How could the pride of the West, the heart of the Clayde family, allow Lady Victoria to carry such disgrace?”
