Chapter 11
It was a polite request, one that wouldn’t typically be made to a servant.
Because Grey was the quiet and reserved second young master, his name rarely came up among the attendants and servants.
In fact, Jamie was talked about far more often due to his playful nature, making Grey practically invisible for a member of a ducal family.
“Didn’t the designer already come by?”
Anne asked again, and Grey scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, yeah, but… I just wanted someone to help check how I look.”
“Sis—!”
Jamie called out to Anne while approaching Grey from a distance.
“Can you look over the young master’s outfit? I really can’t tell what’s what. There are three ties that look the same, three shirts, one jacket with gold thread, another with silver embroidery… What else did he say? Anyway, there’s just too much!”
Jamie grabbed Anne’s arm and pulled her along. Grey stepped aside to let them pass, effectively blocking Anne from refusing.
“Didn’t the designer suggest a coordinated outfit?”
There were at least three complete sets prepared — shirts and pants, jackets and ties, belts and various jeweled cufflinks and brooches, matching socks and shoes.
The men standing idly behind Anne shrugged as they looked at the clothes scattered across the bed.
“The designer said we could pick whatever we liked.”
That wasn’t technically wrong, but could the child of the Benton dukedom really just walk into his first social debut wearing a random ensemble?
Anne sighed and began to match the clothes based on color and design.
Grey had spent most of his life as a commoner, and Jamie—well, no further comment was needed. Anne held up a jacket and a pair of trousers.
“Do these look okay?”
Grey nodded with a pleased smile.
“Looks good.”
“I’ll go with what the young master says too!” Jamie chimed in.
Anne frowned.
It was a black jacket with ornate embroidery on the sleeves, a white shirt with ruffles on the chest and cuffs, and navy velvet-patterned pants with a glossy sheen.
To anyone with eyes, it was a completely mismatched outfit.
After briefly scanning the unorganized pile, Anne quickly assembled a coordinated set based on fabric and color.
“Wear this instead. Only use the tie and shoes that match with it. Don’t mix anything up.”
“Got it!”
Jamie answered energetically on Grey’s behalf, who was smiling silently.
Anne clicked her tongue once, gave a short bow, and turned to leave.
“Anne.”
Just as she was about to turn the corner, Grey suddenly called out — he had followed her.
“Thank you.”
Anne tilted her head, puzzled by the sight of Grey speaking so openly, cheeks flushed, ears red.
“I only did what I was asked to do.”
“But you still did it. Everyone else pretends not to see me or avoids me, but you didn’t.”
In just over a year, Grey had grown tall enough to almost meet Anne’s eye level.
This was no longer the child who used to crouch at the end of the hallway in fear of sleeping alone, clinging to the hem of her skirt.
Now his eyes were gentle, warm, and somehow full of yearning — a depth that spoke of experiences beyond his years.
‘Probably because he’s had a hard life since childhood.’
“You’re the only one in this house who truly sees me. Anne, I mean it — thank you so much.”
Anne looked at the sheepishly grinning Grey with an indifferent expression.
“Jamie genuinely admires you, young master. He’ll make a much more useful and loyal attendant than I ever could.”
Anne had her own reasons for entrusting Jamie to Grey, so she couldn’t be completely cold.
But that didn’t mean she treated him the same as before.
So what if the duke’s illegitimate son was lonely and miserable? Anne had been through plenty herself.
At least he had a noble father.
Thinking that he was pitiful had been her own arrogant delusion.
A noble receiving sympathy from a maid? Absurd.
Maybe the duchess had a point in hating her so much.
Without even glancing at Grey, Anne lowered her eyes and stepped away.
From the corner of her vision, she saw his fingers twitch as if reaching out, but she didn’t let him touch her.
“I’ll be going. I’m busy.”
“Anne.”
She ignored his voice and closed her ears.
* * *
“Ughhh—”
Cassie stretched with a groan. Anne also rotated her shoulders a few times and sat on the edge of a chair.
“My shoulders already hurt.”
“Just think of today as your funeral.”
Her fingertips were sore and her ankles ached. They had run around so much that the whole day felt like a blur.
The party had begun, and they were given a brief break before they started serving food in earnest.
“Up there, I bet the young ladies are all dressed in gowns more expensive than our yearly wages.”
“And they’ll toss them after wearing them once.”
“I wish they’d throw them away to me.”
“What for? You’d never get a chance to wear them.”
“Ugh, I’d just sell them!”
Sighs and complaints bounced back and forth between the servants.
Just then, another group of maids entered the break room, grumbling loudly and cursing.
“That damn pervert!”
“What? What happened?”
The maids already resting turned toward them with interest.
“Didn’t they say that old geezer Clyade was about ready to drop dead?”
“That crazy old man gropes every woman he sees! He just proposed to me—can you believe it?”
The Clyade family was a powerful noble house that had ruled the western city of Tegeness for generations.
It was so far from the imperial capital, Edith Tara, in the southeastern edge of the empire, that news from there was rare.
Even when Anne was serving as duchess, all she ever heard about Tegeness were wild rumors and speculation.
The common perception about Tegeness was that it was primitive, barbaric, and ignorant — a place where people still believed in and worshipped witches.
Because of that, priests constantly sought opportunities for conversion and mission work, while lower-tier nobles who couldn’t find footing in the capital tried to seize power there.
It was also a fortified border city with a massive military presence, constantly raising the emperor’s ire.
The most infamous member of the Clyade family was likely Arthur Clyade.
Though the head of a great house, he only visited the west about once a year. Most of the time, he stayed in Edith Tara, hopping from party to party.
When drunk, he lost all sense of dignity and manners, even badmouthing his own homeland.
As a result, he heavily contributed to reinforcing the capital’s prejudice against the western provinces.
He especially had a weakness for women and was secretly known among the maids as the “Bluebeard Count.”
“Even if I wanted to be a noble, no way I’d marry that geezer.”
“You’d die for sure. They say he’s already replaced five wives — and they were all commoners.”
“He locks them in a warehouse, doesn’t even give them water, and lets them waste away.”
“I heard that too. Beats them with a whip every night. And if they don’t count the lashes properly, he doesn’t stop. Ugh, I’d rather stay a maid forever!”
The maids shivered and clutched their arms as they whispered wildly. Anne listened with a bored expression, nodding absently.
Then one of them raised her finger confidently.
“Still! There’s the young count!”
The other maids’ eyes sparkled.
After all, the Clyade family had long been known for their stunning looks.
They were famous for their mysterious violet eyes — said to have bewitched even witches — and their silver hair, said to outshine the night sky.
So naturally, they assumed the young count, Hannibal Clyade, had inherited that beauty.
But beyond that, very little was known about him.
Rumors said he had taken over his father’s duties at the age of fourteen. That he had suppressed desert beasts and border tribes with overwhelming might. That he was the most respected and supported lord in all of the western regions.
These unbelievable stories only added to his mystique.
Despite his unmarried status, noble families from across the empire vied for the position of his wife.
People mocked the west as barbaric and uncivilized, but they still coveted its wealth and power.
That’s why the noblewomen of the capital were more curious about the young count — who had never once appeared in high society — than they were about the scandal-ridden old count.
“They say he’s even better looking than his father and inherited the Clyade features more strongly. Ugh, I want to see him!”
The maids giggled and gossiped away their fatigue and stress, their imaginations running wild with half-true stories.
“That mysterious young count? Probably all lies. Just look at his father.”
“No, no. They say the count was quite the looker in his youth. He just acts like a pig now.”
Even in old age, the remnants of the count’s once-handsome features hinted at his former glory.
The maids imagined what he must’ve looked like when he was young—then cringed, reminded of all his sordid scandals.
“They throw flirtatious looks based on their youthful memories and end up hated. Old nobles never consider their age and always chase after kids.”
“So true.”
Before long, the head maid came looking for them. The maids scattered like mice before a cat. Work was piling up.
Carrying plates of food, Anne muttered to Cassie:
“There probably aren’t many maids in the west, right?”
“In a region full of desert beasts? It’s not just maids they’re short on. Every place is desperate for workers.”
They say the first thing you see when visiting Tegeness is the enormous fortress wall — a clear sign of the dangers lurking outside.
Even on horseback from the Benton duchy, riding without rest, it would take a full month to reach there.
How far and distant that place must be.
Still, Anne thought, if it’s that far away…
Then surely, she won’t have anything to do with Grey anymore.
