Chapter 49
The count’s private bedroom.
With rough breathing, one of the two figures tangled together sat up.
It was Madam Becker, her face full of disgust.
“Sion, after all that nauseating bargaining with that bastard, all I got was Karl! Damn it!”
“There’s no one as nasty and venomous as Marquis Kleist.”
Even during their illicit tryst, the count couldn’t stop complaining about the marquis, only falling silent once he had dozed off.
How pathetic my situation is. To have to meet like this, in hiding.
It was bitter.
The count doted on her, spoiled her, never stinted on money—
but loving a married man was, by nature, a bitter thing.
Especially when that man had a cold and ruthless side.
It carried an instinctive sense of danger—
the fear that she could be discarded at any moment.
If she annoyed him unnecessarily, her gut told her, she’d be the first to be thrown away.
That was why she hadn’t told the count that Odette had noticed the affair.
I’d wanted to beg him to scold Odette thoroughly as soon as he came, but…
Lately, the count’s mood had been unusually foul.
If she brought it up now, he would probably storm out of bed and leave.
Does he even realize how sincerely I like him? That I love even that cold, ruthless side of him?
As always, Madam Becker erased every trace of her presence and quietly shut the door, heading into the corridor.
Three in the morning—
she only moved about during the hour when she was least likely to be seen.
She didn’t even carry a small candle for fear of being discovered.
These days, she had to be especially cautious.
Ever since she had been given the right to manage the estate’s finances, people had been trying to use her weaknesses for political games—
people like the head maid, the housekeeper, Paula, and the butler Rolf…
the countess’s former allies who had lost their power.
At first, they had raised a racket about an outsider lady’s maid gaining such authority.
But their resentment had gradually subsided.
Too many urgent expenditures had cropped up during the Founding Festival for anyone to have the luxury of challenging the legitimacy of her authority.
And when the count returned and gave tacit approval—
saying, “Follow Fernan’s wishes” about her right to manage the finances—
well, what could they do?
Still, they—the lady’s people—continued to nitpick and find fault with her at every turn.
And now that I’ve been given hiring authority too, how much more will they try to make my life hell? If I get caught in something, it’ll be nothing but trouble.
She moved with even greater care.
“Madam Becker?”
A voice spoke out of the darkness of the corridor.
“Kyaa! You scared me!”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry. I just stepped out for a drink of water, and when I saw you, I was glad… I must have startled you.”
Pressing a hand to her chest, Madam Becker saw the maid holding a candleholder.
By the faint candlelight, she recognized Malea’s face.
At least it’s not Paula.
Madam Becker let out a breath of relief.
Malea had been loyal from the start—
she had even given Madam Becker precious peony tea leaves from the salon exhibition.
Still, she couldn’t let her guard down completely.
As one of the countess’s personal maids, she could easily switch loyalties again.
“Where are you coming from?”
“…I felt stifled, so I went for a short walk.”
“I see. You’re headed down to the basement, right? Shall we go together?”
It felt slightly awkward, but refusing the offer—especially without a light—would look even stranger.
So she nodded, and they began walking together.
“I hear you’ve become one of the lady’s personal maids? Congratulations. You haven’t been here long, yet you’ve been promoted so quickly. Impressive.”
Worried that Malea might ask about her late-night stroll, Madam Becker deliberately steered the conversation.
“Oh, you’re the impressive one, Madam. The right to manage the estate’s finances is something only the lady of the house should have, and now you have hiring authority too. At this point, you have more power than the lady herself.”
Is she implying I’ve overstepped and taken power above my station?
For a moment, she thought so—
but Malea continued in a warm, pleasant tone.
“I’m genuinely happy for you. You were so active during the Founding Festival. Now that you have hiring authority, I’m sure the estate will run much better. Honestly, the lady… well, she doesn’t really understand the circumstances of us lower folk.”
Hearing the kind of praise she had secretly wanted, Madam Becker couldn’t help but let out a bitter sigh.
“What good is it? The so-called power in this household says I shouldn’t have the financial rights, and they keep badmouthing me behind my back.”
“Honestly, what can they do by badmouthing? The master and young master approved your authority. Just endure it a bit longer, Madam. Against real power, petty politics is powerless. In the end, you’ll win.”
Madam Becker blinked.
The words were unexpectedly comforting.
“You know I was promoted purely on my eye for things, right? After seeing how chaotic the Founding Festival was, I realized you have the qualities of a fine lady—more than the lady herself. If she’d been in charge, she wouldn’t have done half as well.”
“Was I… really that capable?”
“Of course. You’ve managed better than the lady, who’s been handling money for twenty-five years. If you were the mistress, this family would be even greater. You’ll see.”
It was true that the paintings Malea had picked out at the salon exhibition had multiplied in price in just a few days.
Her knack for selecting works that would skyrocket in value was beyond doubt.
Hearing such conviction from Malea made Madam Becker’s shoulders straighten unconsciously.
“Besides, you have an air of a noblewoman—refined, educated. If you were mistress, my work would be much easier.”
Well, yes… The only reason they call her ‘madam’ is because she married the count. In truth, I come from higher birth—a lawyer’s daughter, while Sasha’s father was a moneylender.
Usually, a mistress’s maid was someone who had served her since before marriage.
But Madam Becker had been hastily hired just before Sasha’s wedding—
meaning there was no real bond or loyalty.
Her father had gone bankrupt under crushing interest rates and handed her over to a moneylender in place of debt repayment.
“Ah, you know this is just between us, right? What I mean is… you’re in no way inferior to the lady. You’re doing wonderfully, so be confident.”
Malea’s whispered words tickled her vanity, and even after parting ways and returning to her room, Madam Becker couldn’t shake the thought.
What if—just what if—I became the countess?
She had never imagined marrying the count before.
With Fernan as his heir, divorce was unlikely,
and even if he did divorce, why would he marry a widow from her younger days?
I’ve thought before that if I got pregnant with his child, he’d treat me less harshly… but mistress of the house?
Yet now it seemed absurd to think she couldn’t take the place of a moneylender’s daughter.
Handling the household’s authority had shown her the role of mistress was hardly difficult.
Leaning against the door, she noticed the white tea set on her desk—a gift from Malea.
A top-grade tea caddy engraved with the imperial crest.
She could easily imagine herself, as a refined noblewoman, being invited to the empress’s salon.
She could see herself acting far more cultured than Sasha ever had.
Really… Sasha becoming countess was just a matter of being chosen by the count. Nothing more.
She didn’t know that divorce among nobles was nothing like among commoners—
that nobles didn’t marry or divorce for love.
Sasha opened the tea caddy, took out some leaves, and brewed herself a cup.
She had no idea that peony tea was said to aid conception—
nor that, made with the empire’s finest ingredients and crafted with great care by apothecaries, the imperial peony tea was highly effective.
What’s with this ridiculous line?
Four hours on her feet, Paula thumped her aching legs.
There were still six people ahead of her, and irritation bubbled up.
All this over one damned maid?
If Madam Becker had just voluntarily returned the financial rights, none of this would be happening.
That authority had been bad enough, but who would’ve thought she’d be given hiring rights as if they were hers by birth?
A woman sold for debt, clinging to greed like a parasite.
And the count just lets her?
If the count had any sense, even without returning the financial rights to his mother, he should have given them to the butler or the housekeeper.
For a maid to have control over the estate’s management was utterly absurd.
But instead, the count had crushed the lady’s position entirely with the words, “Do as Fernan wishes.”
Stripped of her most essential authority, the countess now spent every day in her room, hurling curses at Fernan—calling him “just as ungrateful as his father.”
It was this suffocating situation that had led Paula to stand here in line.
Finally, the person ahead of her left, and all six before her had been turned away, looking crestfallen.
So it’s true—only about one in four gets their fortune read. And they’re really choosing based on whose future they can see just by looking at them.
“Next person, come in.”
Paula swallowed.
At last, it was her turn.
