Chapter 35
The very next day after Hannibal sent a letter to the Deruca estate, an unexpected visitor arrived early in the morning.
“The Marchioness of Deruca is here?”
Anne, who had been serving tea, gasped in surprise, and Victoria was so shocked that she dropped her teacup, shattering it.
Clatter— The sharp sound rang out as porcelain rolled on the floor, and tea splashed onto their dresses.
“Miss, are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. But why… why is the Marchioness here? Didn’t you say she only asked yesterday if she could be my tutor? I mean, she just—”
Although Anne had relayed to Victoria what Hannibal had said, neither had expected the Marchioness to show up so soon.
“Your dress is wet. Change quickly and go greet her.”
“Y-Yeah, I should greet her. Right. Greet… her. Okay.”
Victoria, flustered and clearly frightened—something quite unlike her usual self—hurried to change clothes.
When she finally emerged in a rush, the Marchioness was already stepping inside the manor with crisp, confident footsteps.
“Welcome, Grandmother. Had we known you were coming, we would have sent someone to receive you.”
Hannibal greeted her politely though his expression remained unreadable.
The Marchioness of Deruca was Sarah Clayde’s mother, and thus Hannibal’s maternal grandmother.
“This is the first time you’ve ever asked me for something. How could I not come right away?”
Clearing her throat, the Marchioness sharply scanned the surroundings.
“Where’s Victoria? A guest arrives, and she doesn’t even come to greet them?”
“Hello, Marchioness.”
Seeing Victoria rushing down the stairs, the Marchioness frowned.
“No matter how urgent it is, a lady should walk with grace. Tsk.”
The strict-looking woman appeared to be in her late fifties—a middle-aged woman still full of energy.
“M-My apologies.”
Victoria immediately shrank under the Marchioness’s piercing gaze.
“This way to the drawing room.”
As Hannibal turned, the Marchioness followed, and Victoria trailed behind, reading the mood.
Anne quickly ordered the maids to set the table and poured well-heated tea into three empty cups.
“Is she your head maid?”
The Marchioness pointed at Anne’s bonnet and asked Hannibal.
“Yes. Anne, introduce yourself.”
“I’m Anne Ferrow, ma’am.”
“You’re not from the West. Where are you from?”
“I’m from Edith Tara.”
Clink. The teaspoon clattered sharply onto the floor.
“A maid from the capital? Hannibal, have you lost your mind?”
“Grandmother, Anne was the one who corrected Victoria’s behavior and exposed May Marlowe’s embezzlement. She’s done a great service.”
Though the Marchioness’s glare was no less sharp than Hannibal’s own, he defended Anne sincerely.
Surprised, Anne thought to herself that perhaps she was finally being recognized as a proper employee of the manor.
“And how do you know she didn’t have ulterior motives? You! Who was your former master?”
“The Duke of Benton, ma’am.”
“Ha. So a maid from such a prestigious ducal family in the capital ends up here?”
“Grandmother!”
The Marchioness looked as if she was about to start pointing fingers. Hannibal stepped between her and Anne.
Now redirected, the Marchioness raised her voice in frustration.
“I came here because you asked, and all I get are ungrateful looks. Is this how Sarah raised you?”
“I called you here to educate Victoria.”
“So I’m supposed to stay silent and keep my nose out of everything else? I’m your grandmother, Hannibal.”
“Since Mother passed, you’ve not once inquired about my well-being. If this is how it’ll be, I’ll find another tutor.”
Though they had little contact since childhood, the Marchioness was the only noblewoman Hannibal could ask for help.
The Deruca family had long-standing ties with the Claydes and were considered the second most powerful noble house in the West after them.
To secure this status, the Marquis of Deruca had once married off his barely-twenty daughter to the fifty-year-old Count Arthur.
Regardless of what people whispered behind their backs, the act was painted as a display of unwavering loyalty, and the family became deeply entrenched in Western high society.
Though relations were now strained to the point that even entering the lord’s estate was difficult, maintaining ties with the Claydes was still seen as essential by the Deruca family.
Thus, the Marchioness couldn’t afford to miss the rare opportunity Hannibal presented.
“…If Victoria is to marry into a proper family, it will also reflect well on you as the lord. I’ll help. But don’t you ever put that girl in front of me again.”
“Anne.”
Reluctantly, Hannibal signaled Anne to withdraw.
As she quietly exited, the Marchioness kept raising her voice, nitpicking every little thing, while Victoria sat silently, barely breathing.
As Anne closed the door to the drawing room, she caught a glimpse of Victoria, hunched over and powerless, her usual bright and lively self nowhere to be seen—as if she might vanish at any moment.
“Starting tomorrow, I’ll begin proper lessons. Be dressed appropriately and ready before morning tea.”
With a snort, the Marchioness left the estate, escorted by Hannibal and Victoria.
Only then did Victoria seem to collapse as if all her strength had drained away. Anne rushed to support her.
“Miss!”
“Victoria, are you unwell?”
Hannibal, finally concerned, looked toward his sister. Pale and trembling, Victoria lifted her head from Anne’s arms.
“Brother… can’t we get a different tutor?”
Her pleading voice made Hannibal sigh.
“There’s no one in the West more well-versed in high society than the Marchioness.”
“…”
“And realistically, who would be willing to teach you right now? Your reputation is already in shambles.”
With even the capital filled with vicious rumors, her standing in the West was clearly worse.
Besides, with only two months until the ball, there was no time to spare in learning to dance.
Knowing that, Anne couldn’t bring herself to object either.
“I want to rest. I’m tired.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Leaving a silent Hannibal behind, Anne helped Victoria back to her room.
Even after drinking warm tea, her hands were ice-cold.
“Miss, you must have been terribly nervous.”
“Y-Yeah… I thought the Countess had come back to life. She scared me so much last time. I never thought I’d meet her again.”
Mumbling, Victoria closed her eyes—more exhausted than Anne had ever seen her.
The next day, Victoria woke early, her face pale, and dressed up before the Marchioness arrived.
This time, she went out to greet her in the lobby. The Marchioness simply tilted her chin at the sight.
“You’re twenty and don’t even know how to put on makeup properly? Tsk.”
Scolded from the start, Victoria followed the Marchioness to her seat.
Even as she worked, Anne glanced through the drawing room window at the lesson—watching Victoria correct her posture and obey instructions.
As time passed, Victoria looked more and more distressed, on the verge of tears.
Was there truly no other tutor available?
Sarah Clayde had been the one who abused Victoria.
Was it really possible she had no role in Victoria’s violent behavior and hatred of women?
As Anne’s doubts deepened, she saw Victoria stumble and collapse inside the room.
“Miss!”
Anne burst through the drawing room doors and caught the falling Victoria.
“No knocking? Where are your manners?”
“The young lady has fainted, ma’am. I’ve called for the physician and will escort her to her room.”
Even seeing Victoria unconscious, the Marchioness remained cold.
Anne lifted her chin defiantly as she spoke, and saw the older woman mutter “How impudent.”
Not caring about the glares at her back, Anne joined the bustling servants to help.
“Miss, how much pain were you in? What happened?”
Anne wiped the sweat from Victoria’s forehead with a damp cloth, worry etched across her face.
As the physician examined her, a maid lightly tapped Anne’s shoulder from behind.
“The Marchioness wishes to see you downstairs.”
Anne followed the maid down the stairs.
The Marchioness stood in the lobby, seemingly ready to leave.
“Ma’am, you called—”
SLAP!
Without warning, a harsh slap sent Anne staggering backward.
“Insolent girl! Know your place!”
“Grandmother!”
Hannibal had just come out to see the Marchioness off and rushed to Anne’s side.
“I was merely teaching. She barged in without knocking, even when her betters were present.”
“I was rude. I apologize.”
Covering her swollen cheek, Anne bowed deeply.
“You could’ve just said so, Grandmother.”
Hannibal shouted, stepping in front of Anne protectively.
“You’re too soft. That’s why your maids don’t respect the Claydes.”
The Marchioness sneered at the sight of Hannibal defending a capital-born maid.
Recalling the recent scandal, Hannibal had no retort and fell silent.
With a scoff, the Marchioness finally left the estate.
“Are you alright?”
Returning after seeing her off, Hannibal asked Anne.
His concern was unfamiliar.
All this sympathy over a single slap?
She had expected he’d just brush it off as her fault somehow.
“I’m fine.”
Even though her face was visibly swollen, Anne tried to act like nothing was wrong.
