Chapter 67
“Oh my, what on earth happened here! You all look like drowned mice!”
The moment they stepped down from the carriage, Carlo fussed loudly. Timothy snapped back irritably.
“Old man, you seem to be in a good mood?”
“Of course not! How could I possibly enjoy the misfortune that’s befallen my master, young master, and teacher?”
“You’ve got no credibility when you’re grinning like that, you know?”
Timothy brushed back his wet hair with his fingers, raising his brows. For a child of only seven, he wore such an arrogant expression so well that Carlo couldn’t help admiring how much he resembled his master. Wrapping the towel he had ready around Timothy’s shoulders, Carlo spoke gently.
“I smiled only because you, young master, were smiling.”
“…Hmph.”
“So it must have been an enjoyable outing.”
“Well, more or less…”
Timothy’s blue eyes turned behind him. Agnes, draping a towel over her shoulders, and Ethan, shaking the water from his hair, were there.
“Someone annoyed me a bit, but I still had fun.”
Carlo chuckled softly. Just from Timothy’s gaze, he could tell that the “annoying person” was Ethan.
They’ve grown quite close, it seems.
Before Agnes arrived, Timothy had seemed nothing but a hopeless little rascal. If he’d truly been heir to the Batenberg family, Carlo would have trained him regardless of difficulty, but Ethan had ordered distance. So Carlo merely watched with a good-natured smile, knowing Timothy wasn’t someone to bare his true self to. Though the child was his sister’s son, he ultimately belonged to Reynold.
Ethan’s firm boundary-drawing was a habit born of shouldering responsibility and duty alone since childhood. But to a seven-year-old, it was cruel neglect, a cold dismissal.
And Carlo himself had gone along with that neglect.
Whenever Timothy leaned on him a little more than on other servants, Carlo was struck with guilt.
This is all thanks to the teacher.
Agnes was remarkable—she had broken down the wall between two people who found it nearly impossible to open their hearts.
“Your body’s cold, young master. A bath has been prepared—please, go at once.”
“All right. What about teacher?”
“She has a bath ready as well. Please don’t worry.”
Only then did Timothy follow the servant away. Carlo watched fondly, then turned to Ethan.
“Master, more letters have arrived today.”
“From whom?”
“Who else? Reynold, of course. As always, it’s about wanting to see the young master. I took the liberty of opening them first.”
“You’re admitting you read my mail?”
“Not in secret—I read them openly.”
“…”
“How long will you ignore him? What if the fox goes back into hiding?”
Jayden Oakley Reynold was a man who would even harm his twin for his own aims. He possessed relentless patience, shameless audacity, and meticulousness that left no trace. Fearful as he was, he was equally cautious. He wouldn’t move rashly.
“They’ll never give up Timothy. He’s the only legitimate heir.”
“That’s true, but…”
“Well, I’ll admit I’ve dragged things out. This was an opportunity I waited a year for. Otherwise, I would’ve already pushed the child outside and let him do whatever it took.”
Ethan wiped the rainwater from his face with a towel. The sound of laughter in the rain still echoed in his ears—the child bending backward in delight, laughing so freely.
If not for Agnes…
Ethan wondered.
Had she not become Timothy’s tutor, would he have already thrown the boy before the murderer? He had brought him here as bait in the first place. After all, he could not allow the one who killed Greta to also take her son.
If Timothy were put at risk, perhaps they could finally lure the culprit out. Would he have thought that sufficient? Would he have then told Timothy: This is the one who killed your parents?
Ethan disliked indulging in “what-ifs.” Futures not chosen were meaningless; speculating on them was a waste of time.
“If I put Timothy in danger again, the teacher will never forgive me.”
“Indeed, she would despise you.”
And not only that—since she always thought of the child first, the moment she sensed danger, she would surely throw herself in harm’s way.
Just as she had shielded Timothy even from mere rain.
Ethan lifted his gaze toward Agnes.
She was drying herself off when she seemed to feel his eyes on her. She looked up, saw him, and quickly turned away.
She hadn’t once met his eyes since they’d left the carriage.
“What shall we do then? Keep ignoring him?”
But even if they didn’t let Timothy out and allowed Reynold no opportunity, Jayden Oakley Reynold would not retreat so easily. He would find some way.
If Timothy could not be seized, then he had to be killed.
But if he couldn’t kill him either, what then?
Jayden’s face, identical to the late Marquis Reynold, was itself a powerful weapon against Timothy. Even if he knew it wasn’t his father, the boy’s thirst for affection would render him helpless before Jayden’s words. Ethan remembered Timothy’s face crumbling the instant he saw Jayden.
“…Leave him be, for now.”
Ethan postponed his choice—unaware that he would come to regret it soon enough.
“Shall I have your bath prepared in your quarters, sir?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
Agnes busied herself toweling her hair, deliberately averting her gaze.
She regretted looking up only to find Ethan’s eyes fixed on her again. His persistent stare weighed heavily on her, all the more unbearable because the more she avoided him, the more relentless he became.
Knowing that openly dodging only backfired, she still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. So she fled the entrance hall.
The sharp contrast hit her—how reality felt cruel, as if she were a despicable thief, compared to the warmth of the fleeting illusion earlier.
She needed distance. She needed time.
Water sloshed noisily in her boots with each step, the sound making her feel hunted. It seemed like an accusation: for daring to feel happiness in a moment that wasn’t hers.
Why hadn’t Dalia Martinez come? If she had, Agnes could have simply watched them from behind, blessing their happiness, relieved to leave them in peace.
Agnes stopped, leaning against a column in the first-floor corridor. With her cold hand, she rubbed at her eyes.
“If only Miss Martinez had come…”
“Teacher.”
Agnes jumped, brushing away the hand that had touched her shoulder with a sharp smack.
“Y-Your Excellency…”
Ethan looked down at his hand.
Agnes opened her mouth to apologize, but froze under the coldness of his gaze.
“Forgive me if I startled you. You seemed to stumble.”
“…”
“And as for Martinez—she left yesterday afternoon for Tannen. She wouldn’t have come, no matter how long you waited.”
He stepped closer as he spoke. Agnes pressed herself against the column. The sound of rain pounded in her ears.
“You were trying to match me with her, weren’t you, teacher?”
Only half a step remained between them. Agnes parted her lips, gasping faintly for air.
“Did you wish me to marry Dalia Martinez?”
“…I’m sorry. I only thought it would be for the best.”
“For the best? For whom?”
“…”
“For Timothy? Or…”
Agnes dared to look up. Ethan’s cold eyes bore down on her.
“…for you?”
“No!”
“Then who?”
“I only thought you two suited each other so well. And Miss Martinez’s one-sided affection seemed so pitiful…”
Ethan inclined his head, as if to urge her on. Agnes babbled on, hardly aware of what she was saying.
“Yes, I also thought she could be a good guardian for Timothy. That he might grow up in a stable home. I believed it would be the best path for everyone, so…”
“So you wanted me to marry her?”
“…I thought it would be good for you, too, Your Excellency.”
“How considerate. Yes, you’ve always worked for others’ sake, haven’t you? For Timothy, for Dalia Martinez. Admirably selfless.”
But it wasn’t so. Her wish for Timothy’s stable home, her pity for Dalia’s longing—those were real. Yet more than that, it had been for herself. For her own peace of mind. She had never once thought of what Ethan might feel. The discomfort she had tried to ignore now rose, sharp and insistent.
“…I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Thanks to you, I was able to refuse Dalia Martinez properly.”
“…?”
“I told her I already liked someone else. She accepted it gracefully. I’m only sorry I couldn’t grant your wish for me to marry her. Didn’t I warn you not to strain yourself so much?”
“You… already like someone? Ah—”
Agnes’s head shot up, eyes brightening—only for Ethan to lower his. She froze. Their lips were so close they might touch with the slightest movement. If she spoke, her breath would brush against him.
“I haven’t said anything yet, teacher.”
“…”
“But shameless as it is, I can still be hurt. It would be better if you didn’t like me too much.”
Agnes’s eyes trembled. Seeing the shock in her hazel gaze, Ethan smiled bitterly. She truly hadn’t suspected a thing. He almost felt like she had confirmed she’d never thought of him.
“No need to be so afraid. I’m not confessing to you this very moment.”
But how was that any different?
“I only want you to know.”
Otherwise, she might keep bringing him other marriage candidates.
And running away from him every time—that was unacceptable.
Then, shamelessly, Ethan turned his lips and brushed a kiss against her cold cheek.
Agnes squeezed her eyes shut.
