<Chapter 11>
Lucien shook her head.
“There weren’t many. And more than anything, I can’t say I’m blameless.”
“If you think that, living here must be difficult for you. Isn’t that right?”
Lucien hesitated for a moment, then carefully nodded.
This place didn’t suit her. Sometimes she had to endure sharp glances and painful words.
“And yet, you chose to stay here, Miss Lucien. Why is that?”
“…Because if I ran away, I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise.”
Lucien had survived thanks to the sacrifice of the former Duke. What he asked in return was for her to help Benedict.
But if she simply ran away from the mansion?
That would only be convenient for Lucien. It would be like fleeing from the servants’ harsh stares without repaying the debt she owed.
She didn’t want to be that shameless.
“See? How could I dislike such an honest child?”
“…Nanny.”
“Come now, go back to your room. Don’t forget to tuck the blanket up to your neck. I’ll stay here and do some sewing.”
Tabitha ended the conversation with a bright smile. Lucien bowed politely and followed her advice, slipping into the narrow corridor.
Just then, a new kitchen maid was entering through the back door at the end of the hallway. She shut the door with a rather irritable bang.
Was something going on this early in the morning?
Lucien looked on with concern as the maid clapped her hands and muttered to herself.
“Ugh, what terrible luck—some beggar showed up first thing in the morning!”
A beggar?
Lucien found that odd.
During her time with the traveling troupe, she had naturally interacted with beggars. They were an important source of information.
When deciding where the troupe should perform, they often relied on the stories beggars told while begging.
Whether there had been a recent funeral, whether crops had failed, whether a compassionate lord governed the area.
They would listen to such circumstances and go wherever there was the most money to be made.
Thanks to that, Lucien had many conversations with them and understood their ways to a certain extent.
The most basic thing she knew: beggars came out to beg after lunchtime. Because people were more generous on a full stomach.
Keeping that in mind, Lucien carefully opened the back door and looked around.
In the darkness of dawn, still more night than morning, she spotted someone’s back.
She ran toward him.
The crunching of dry grass grew louder with each step, and the man turned to look back, seemingly alerted by the sound.
He looked more like a beggar than any she had ever seen.
His shoulder-length brown hair was tangled and matted. What he wore was more like a sack than clothes.
On top of that, he gave off the pungent smell unique to someone who hadn’t washed in a long time. No wonder the maid had slammed the door in fright.
But… he doesn’t seem like a real beggar.
He was wearing a pair of cracked metal glasses.
It was unlikely that a poor beggar would own something so precious. And even if they did, they’d probably sell it for food.
Then maybe…
Lucien wondered—could this be Alfie Bell, the butler’s son who had been studying out in the world? Maybe something had happened to him on his way back.
Benedict had described him as serious and very cold. The kind of person whose gray eyes showed no emotion—yes, that description matched well…
“Waaah! Generous young lady, are you here to give alms?”
Lucien jumped in surprise at his boisterous voice.
He was smiling mischievously behind his slightly cracked glasses. There was nothing serious or cold about him.
“Ah, um… I…”
As Lucien hesitated, he suddenly stretched out both hands.
“Please make this beggar a happy one~.”
His hands were covered in grime.
Without hesitation, Lucien reached out and took his hand.
Aside from the filth, his hand was soft. Definitely not the hand of someone living on the streets.
Beggar men usually had very rough hands, often with whip scars on the backs. She’d heard they were sometimes treated cruelly in exchange for food.
But this man’s hands were different. They had light calluses—just the kind that come from hard, honest work.
“Oh? Little miss isn’t scared at all, huh?”
Perhaps realizing she was feeling out his hand to judge him, he quickly pulled it away and laughed like he found it amusing.
Lucien suddenly had the feeling he might disappear from sight, so she didn’t hesitate to ask a question.
“You’re the butler’s son, right?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he quietly looked at her and pulled a key from his coat, offering it to her.
Realizing what it meant, Lucien quickly stepped back, hiding her hands behind her back. She wouldn’t accept it.
“Give it to him. And you, generous young lady… don’t stay here too long either.”
When she stared at him as if to ask what he meant, he grinned and replied:
“Because… that kind of gaze isn’t something a child should endure. Even if our little mistress doesn’t quite realize it.”
As if he understood all of Lucien’s circumstances.
“You know me?”
“I heard about the accident. That’s more than enough to know you. Just like you probably know me too. I should apologize.”
He shrugged.
“Thanks to you, I spent quite a while sitting at the bottom of the stairs yesterday. I almost got caught.”
“Ah…”
Lucien was ashamed that he had overheard their conversation yesterday. It must have stirred painful memories for him.
“I thought I’d have to explain the situation to our young master, but surprisingly, he already understood. That was a relief.”
He gently pulled Lucien’s hand and placed the key in it.
“I’m counting on you, okay?”
He smiled playfully, then turned away.
Lucien looked at his back, the key still warm in her palm.
So, he was refusing to live in this mansion.
And the reason must be… the accident involving his mother that Benedict had spoken about.
It was understandable to hesitate returning to a place filled with painful memories.
But… something felt off.
Determined to find out, Lucien ran forward and grabbed his arm.
“But… you’ve been coming here for days, haven’t you?”
That dawn, she had definitely seen the door to the butler’s room slightly ajar.
Maybe he’d spent time wondering if he should open it.
She had interrupted him by coming downstairs.
But if he had only come to return the key and explain things to Benedict, what was all that time in front of the door for?
“Hmm, well…”
Alfie touched a finger to his lips and rolled his gray eyes.
“Maybe it was just a whim.”
He easily pulled his arm from Lucien’s grip.
There was no way she could overpower an eighteen-year-old boy. It was only natural.
But if Alfie left like this… what would happen to Benedict, who had been waiting for him?
Lucien, unsure of what to do, remembered something he had said earlier:
“I know you better than anyone. And you probably know me just as well.”
Then, the right words came to her. Words she needed to say. Though they weren’t originally hers.
“You must have… met a lot of cruel adults. Right?”
Her voice trembled slightly. It was a question about his past—his childhood, long gone.
Or maybe, in his heart, that story was still ongoing.
Just as Lucien couldn’t forget the cold eyes and sharp words of adults, perhaps Alfie also still carried those memories with him.
He paused and asked without turning back.
“Did you?”
“Not many. And more than anything, I can’t say I’m blameless.”
“Even so…”
He reached out and gently placed his hand on Lucien’s head.
“…you’re still here.”
“I made a promise.”
Lucien stepped in front of him and replied firmly.
She didn’t miss the way Alfie’s gaze wavered slightly at the word “promise.”
That’s when she knew. He had a promise too.
That’s why he kept lingering around the butler’s room.
“I’ll go get Benedict!”
Just as he turned to walk away again, Lucien shoved the key into his ragged pocket and blurted out:
“Wait here! If you don’t speak to him yourself, Benedict will be hurt!”
As she ran back toward the mansion, she looked back again and again, checking to see if he was still there.
Each time, their eyes met—Alfie staring at her with an unreadable expression.
