TNYM 9

Chapter: 9

Mary.

That was my name.

It wasn’t given to me by my parents, but by Aunt Emma, the woman who raised me. There was no special meaning behind it—she said the name “Mary” simply came to mind at the time.

When I turned six, Aunt Emma told me the truth.

That I was not her biological child, and that my parents had abandoned me.

“It was a night when the rain was pouring unusually hard. A young couple came carrying you and asked to stay just one night. I was worried you’d catch a cold, so I let you inside. And then—those ungrateful people left you behind and ran off before dawn.”

Only then did I understand.

Why Aunt Emma had always treated me so coldly.

Because I wasn’t her real daughter.

I understood her feelings.

She always gave my older brother the softest bread, meat, even dessert—while I received nothing more than a single piece of old, hard bread.

Sometimes she would scold me, saying I was useless and only wasting food.

She even piled all the household chores onto me, telling me to make myself useful.

I understood all of it.

If I become a good child, maybe Aunt Emma and Uncle Tom will love me a little.

Aunt Emma. Uncle Tom. And my older brother, Wilton.

To become part of their family—to be loved—I tried my hardest.

“Auntie, I’ll clean the windows!”

“Uncle, here! I brought you some cool water.”

“Brother, I picked these strawberries from the mountain. Please have some!”

Even when no one asked, I helped with chores first. I always smiled brightly and behaved myself.

I thought that if I kept this up, someday they would come to like me.

When I turned seven, Aunt Emma said to me,

“You’re old enough to work for yourself now. Earn your own keep.”

“…What?”

“Why? You don’t like it? Are you going to be ungrateful, just like your parents?”

“N-no, Auntie.”

I began working at a restaurant near our house. The owner, Uncle Homan, hesitated at first because I was so young, but after hearing my situation, he agreed to take me in.

The work was hard, but it wasn’t all misery.

“Mary, try eating this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called fluffy jelly. It’s popular with children these days.”

Uncle Homan would sometimes give me delicious desserts. He also made sure I got breaks, and even set up a small resting space in the storage room so I could relax comfortably.

And it wasn’t just him.

“Here you go, little miss. Take it—it’s a tip.”

“Thank you!”

Regular customers often slipped me a few coins, calling it a tip. Thanks to that, I earned quite a lot compared to the work I did.

Of course, every bit of money I earned went straight into Aunt Emma’s hands—for rent, food, and countless other reasons.

Then, when I turned thirteen—

By chance, I overheard a conversation between Aunt Emma and Uncle Tom late at night.

“Dear, I have good news.”

“What is it?”

“Well, Count Octos Heldmons has taken an interest in Mary!”

“Octos? That old man?”

“Watch your mouth! He only looks old because he’s bald. He’s still quite healthy, you know.”

“Fine. So what, you’re planning to marry her off to him?”

“Of course!”

My heart sank at Aunt Emma’s immediate answer, without a hint of hesitation.

Count Octos Heldmons was thirty years older than me. Worse still, he had been divorced more than ten times. The thought of marrying someone like that was unbearable.

“Isn’t she too young to be married?”

“So what? She’s not my child. And his last wife was seventeen, they say. The count will probably like her even more.”

“Well, I suppose so.”

I stood there, dazed, listening to their laughter. I wanted to burst in and scream that I didn’t want to get married—but my feet wouldn’t move.

Would anything even change if I spoke up?

“Try to negotiate well. Ask for a hefty dowry, too.”

“Of course. They say good deeds bring blessings—taking in and raising a child with no parents really paid off.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to throw her out before? That she was nothing but a mouth to feed?”

“That was then. Now she earns money. And with that pretty face, we’ve really struck gold.”

At that moment, the hope that I might someday become their real family shattered into pieces.

I couldn’t listen any longer and fled.

Not long after, I quietly left the house.

And so, with nothing to my name, I wandered from place to place.

That was when I happened to hear that the Hamilton household was hiring servants. They were said to accept anyone—regardless of age, gender, or status—as long as they were passionate about their work.

I came here without hesitation.

If nothing else, I was confident in my passion.

“I want to work hard, save money, buy a house, marry someone I love, and have adorable children to build a happy family!”

Just as I said in the interview, I had a dream—to create a happy future with my own hands.

* * *

I told the story of how I came to the grand ducal household, carefully filtering out the worst parts.

Such dark stories wouldn’t be good for a young master’s heart.

“Sometimes it was sad. They always gave all the good food to my brother.”

I spoke lightly, smiling as if I were merely complaining about something trivial, and left out the most depressing parts.

The young master, who had been listening silently with a serious expression, spoke for the first time when I mentioned nearly being married off to Count Octos Heldmons.

“Are they insane? How could they try to marry you off to some disgusting old geezer?”

“Well… he was forty, so maybe not quite a geezer—”

“He is a geezer. A senile old man. Which family did you say he was from? Heldmons?”

“Heldmons.”

“Just wait a few years. When I become an adult, I’ll teach that count a proper lesson.”

The young master was furious, as if it were his own problem.

Seeing him fume like that lifted my spirits a little, and a smile naturally spread across my lips.

“Thank you, young master.”

“I’m not joking. In the name of Hamilton, I’ll make sure that old count won’t be able to show his face anywhere.”

“Yes. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Honestly, I didn’t expect much.

By the time the young master grew up, he would probably have forgotten he ever said such a thing.

Still, just knowing that someone cared about me was enough to make me happy.

* * *

After that day,

The young master would occasionally share his desserts with me.

“Eat this cake.”

“What? But this is your dessert, young master.”

“I’m full. I can’t eat it.”

“Then why did you have it brought here?”

“Because I felt like it. Got a problem?”

“No, not at all. Hehe, thank you—I’ll enjoy it.”

It seemed my words about being sad that I never got to eat good food as a child had stayed with him.

I’m just a maid… Is it really okay for me to eat the young master’s dessert?

I worried that Lady Lise would scold me if she found out. Even so, I could never resist the temptation of the sweet desserts placed right in front of me, and I picked up my fork every time.

After all, the young master said he’d throw them all away if I didn’t eat them.

“Sugar and cream are so precious—how could you just throw them away?”

“Then eat them if they’re such a waste.”

Food is precious. I can’t let desserts the chef worked so hard to make be thrown away.

Pudding. Macarons. Tarts. Mille-feuille. Éclairs.

As I spent my days eating desserts with names I could barely remember and learning to read and write, my life was filled with quiet happiness.

Then one day—

“Miss Mary. After you deliver dinner, please come to the main residence for a moment.”

“Pardon? Why the main residence…?”

“Her Grace has asked to see you.”

Why would Lady Lianne call for me? Had she found out that I’d been eating desserts meant for the young master?

They say a guilty conscience makes the feet tingle.

My heart pounded violently. The entire walk to the main residence felt like being dragged off to prison.

I faced Lady Lianne, trembling with tension. Just like the first time I’d seen her, she wore a veil, hiding her expression.

Before her lips could part, I quickly bowed deeply and blurted out,

“I’m sorry! I only did it because it felt like such a waste to throw the desserts away! I’ll never do it again! So please… don’t send me away.”