The castle he arrived at, dragging his exhausted body, was bustling with activity. Frowning in confusion at the unusually chaotic atmosphere, Curtis dismounted from his horse just as Robert hurried over to greet him. The maids and servants were rushing about, clearly preoccupied with something.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re better off seeing it for yourself.”
With a knowing smile, Robert led him into the large kitchen. The preparation table was crowded with people. As Curtis approached, the maids and servants noticed him and quietly stepped aside.
“Alice, did you slice the king oyster mushrooms? And did you remove the base from the enoki mushrooms?”
“Yes, I did. What should I do next?”
“Tear them thinly. Do the same for the scallions, but cut them diagonally.”
Three people stood at the counter: Alice, the kitchen assistant; Cassie, a maid from the guest quarters; and leading them, to everyone’s surprise, was Roxana.
“I’ve seasoned the chicken thighs with salt and pepper. What’s next?”
“Melt butter in a thick pot and sear them until golden brown. I’ve already started the chicken stock, so once that’s done, you can begin the beef stock. Cassie.”
With skilled hands, the three women processed and arranged the ingredients. As the dishes progressed, the kitchen filled with savory, appetizing aromas.
Even as Curtis observed them, the women didn’t so much as glance at him, entirely focused on their cooking. Watching the meal take shape, Curtis tilted his head.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“We’re preparing food for Lady Frey. She keeps skipping meals, so Miss Roxana decided to cook for her herself.”
“For Frey?”
No matter how luxurious the food, or even desserts she once liked as a child, Frey hadn’t touched a bite. Curtis crossed his arms, half-doubtful, half-curious, and waited to see the finished product. But what emerged was a humble meal.
“What’s this? You expect her to eat something like that?”
“She won’t eat extravagant dishes, and you think she’ll eat that?”
The maids and servants whispered skeptically, but Roxana proudly introduced the two dishes.
“Mushroom stew and chicken stew with lentils.”
“You think Frey will eat this?”
Curtis, who had been silent amidst the murmurs, finally spoke. The kitchen instantly fell quiet.
“Yes.”
“And why, of all people, should I feed your food to my sister?”
His calm question reminded Roxana of the words he had once snapped at her, rejecting her medicine:
“I don’t need it. How do I know you didn’t poison it?”
It was a reasonable suspicion. Still, something ached deep in her chest. Hiding her emotions, Roxana answered calmly:
“You saw the entire cooking process. If Lady Frey doesn’t eat either dish, I’ll go without food until tomorrow.”
“So will I.”
“Me too.”
Cassie and Alice quickly joined in. Roxana gave them a grateful smile.
—
She had nothing to lose. With Curtis’s silent approval, Roxana presented both dishes to Frey. But before she even lifted the lids, Frey scowled.
“I told you, I’m not eating.”
“You’ve only had one meal since yesterday. You need to eat something.”
“How many times do I have to say no before you understand?”
“Then at least smell it once. The three of us worked really hard.”
Robert held his breath—Frey hated being asked anything more than twice. She was sure to flip the tray. But she didn’t. She simply turned her head away sharply.
The unexpected reaction surprised even Curtis. As Frey fell silent, Roxana gently lifted the lids. The scent of chicken broth, mushrooms, and scallions wafted into the air. Frey, who had seemed ready to ignore it all, twitched her nose and turned back slightly, sniffing the air.
“What’s this…?”
“One is a mushroom stew, and the other is chicken stew with lentils.”
Roxana placed a spoon in Frey’s hand.
“Rich, heavily spiced food seems to upset your stomach. I made these stews with a soft texture and easy digestion in mind. Just one bite—if it doesn’t suit you, you don’t have to finish.”
Without replying, Frey hesitantly scooped up a spoonful and took a bite. As she carefully swallowed, a flood of memories rushed in. The scent had seemed familiar—because she had eaten this before. At the convent. The nuns had made her stews just like these.
“Stop crying, Frey. Try eating this.”
It was a warm, sunlit taste. The mushroom stew had a delicate texture, and the chicken stew was made with meat the head nun had walked all the way to the distant market to buy.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. Even though her brother had returned and she had become a noble lady again, it was a taste she had never forgotten.
The castle was full of plenty, but it wasn’t the same as the convent. Life in the castle changed everything—luxurious meals made with the finest ingredients, soft beds, elegant dresses. All things she had once longed for, but without the three nuns who had embraced her, it all felt empty.
“Frey?”
Noticing her sudden tears, Curtis stepped closer.
“Are you in pain?”
“No, Brother…”
Frey wiped her tears with the back of her hand and shook her head.
“It’s just… it tastes so good. Really, really good.”
She scraped her spoon along the bowl until both stews were gone.
From that day on, Frey began eating Roxana’s cooking little by little. After a month, the gauntness in her cheeks softened, and the bony outlines of her hands and feet gradually filled out. Robert was more pleased than anyone.
“She must have eaten similar meals at the convent. It’s a relief it suits her taste.”
“…I see.”
Curtis put down the tax documents he’d been reviewing all night and stretched with a yawn.
“Roxana must have made the food exactly like what Frey had at Angela Convent.”
The unexpected comment widened Robert’s eyes. Curtis had never spoken about the past before. All Robert had were rumors he’d heard from Derek.
“Did she stay long at the convent?”
“No. I left shortly after entrusting her to them.”
“I see.”
“I left my blind little sister behind and walked away. I deserve to be resented.”
Curtis rubbed the back of his stiff neck. Warm early spring sunlight poured through the window behind him. He turned at the sound of laughter—maids were entering with buckets of water.
Among the similarly aged girls in bonnets, one pair of gray eyes immediately stood out. It was Roxana. Unlike the other maids who let their bangs or side curls peek out playfully, she tucked all her hair neatly under her bonnet. Her forehead was fair and clean, with long, tidy brows. She wore a faint smile, as if someone had just told a pleasant joke.
Getting Frey to eat again was something no skilled chef or seasoned maid had managed. It was a remarkable achievement, and Curtis had expected Roxana to ask for something in return. Not forgiveness, but perhaps a request to return to the convent, or at least a lighter assignment. Yet she asked for nothing, simply continuing to care for Frey without a single complaint.
As Curtis’s eyes followed her with quiet intensity, Robert, startled, quickly tried to dismiss his earlier remark.
“Please don’t say such things. You’ve worked tirelessly to reclaim and stabilize the estate. I’m sure Lady Frey will come to understand one day.”
“Think so?”
Frey had only just started eating again, but nothing else had changed. She was still like a wildcat—suspicious, defensive, aggressive if someone tried to medicate her. That didn’t change even for Curtis or Roxana.
“Anyway, what was the report?”
“Ah, right.”
Blinking as if he’d forgotten, Robert held out something. It was an invitation bearing a familiar crest on fine stationery. As soon as Curtis confirmed the seal, his brows furrowed.
“From Baroness Philomena.”
It was an invitation to a banquet ten days from now.
Baroness Philomena was a prominent figure in the southern social scene, thanks to the enormous wealth left by her late husband and the broad network she built from it. Her favorite hobby was matchmaking. Ten couples had married under her guidance. The intent behind this invitation was clear, and Curtis sneered.
“That meddling woman just can’t wait to marry me off.”
“Uniting people in love is a sacred duty.”
“Only romantics chasing fairytales believe that nonsense.”
Curtis rolled his eyes and crumpled the invitation, tossing it into the fireplace ashes. Watching this with disappointment, Robert’s eyes suddenly lit up with an idea.
