Chapter 8
Vivian waved off Barner’s offer to guide her through the garden and politely declined.
Once she was certain that Barner and the other servants had retreated, Vivian let down her neatly tied hair. She carefully slipped off the heels that had been pinching her since earlier and hid them in a secluded corner of the garden.
The warmth of the green grass seeped between her pristine white toes as she stepped lightly.
Shaking off all the tension that had weighed on her, she finally ran freely through the expansive garden. Her feet traced paths across the estate without hesitation.
Her head, crowned with soft white hair, rose just above the trimmed branches that lined her path.
Vivian inhaled the salty scent of the Tannic Sea, mingled with the still-warm summer air. She puffed out her cheeks, exhaled forcefully, and sprinted across the garden with renewed energy.
From a distance, the summer villa of the Lockberg family perched on the cliff resembled a fortress. Vivian wanted to feel every hidden treasure the estate held.
Although she had Norma’s permission, she realized she could not brazenly wander here every day. For now, she would simply take in as much as her eyes could absorb.
Yet, unlike her confident first steps, Vivian soon found herself hesitating.
Should she not have accepted Barner’s guidance?
Her face fell into a troubled expression. She had never imagined she could get lost in the garden. No matter where she went, the greenhouse filled with blooming flowers offered no hint of the way out.
Then, her eyes caught sight of an archway carved from stone with intricate designs.
The entrance, closed off by iron bars and inaccessible from the outside, felt incongruous with the overgrown garden surrounding it.
Drawn almost as if in a trance, Vivian approached and stared through the iron bars.
What could be beyond?
Her hesitation was brief. She leaned forward, slipping her head through the gap between the bars. But no matter how far she stretched, there was nothing visible beyond.
“Who’s there?”
The composed voice of an unfamiliar intruder reached her in a fleeting instant.
Startled, Vivian flinched backward—but her movement wasn’t smooth.
“Ah…!”
Her hair, which had slipped in easily, now caught as she tried to pull back. The small white head wobbled helplessly between the bars.
I have to get it out…
A shiver ran down her arms at the presence behind her. Only one person could be here, apart from Norma and Barner.
“Y-Your Grace!”
Vivian finally freed her neck and bowed deeply. Realizing her blunder, she bit her lip. Holding the edge of her dress with her right hand, she leaned back—not at the waist, but at the chest—in a formal yet completely flawed bow. She straightened her back and looked around nervously.
Edmund Lockberg could not suppress a chuckle at the absurd sight before him.
The small feet soiled with dirt and grass, her messy hair, the tiny head stuck between the iron bars—everything about her was comically pitiful.
Then his eyes settled on the child who had turned to look at him, a small girl from the Marvell family, Vivian Marvell.
The green-eyed child, hiding behind her mother’s shadow and watching cautiously, was clearly the only daughter of the Marvell family. Among the estate staff, no parent had a child so small. She must be the cherished young lady of the Marvells.
Edmund intended to wait patiently until the girl looked back at him. In the silent summer villa of the Lockbergs, he wanted to observe firsthand the curiosity and audacity of a child daring to sneak into an area reserved for the family heir.
At last, the white crown of her head disappeared from view, revealing a face flushed bright red.
Her hair cascaded like waves as she had bent deeply in embarrassment. When she lifted her head again, her dampened locks hung limply.
“I-I’m sorry.”
Vivian Marvell barely reached Edmund Lockberg’s waist. At twelve years old, she was still a child, far from the naval cadet he was, preparing to serve as the next officer for Argent.
Edmund narrowed his eyes and approached her with measured steps.
“This is Lockberg private property—an area reserved for the family head alone.”
He stopped just short of her and looked into her large, upturned eyes.
“What impure intent led you to spy here?”
The phrase “impure intent” stiffened her small face.
Edmund slowly lowered his gaze. The red marks left by the iron bars were visible on the back of her pale neck.
Clumsy? Foolish?
Glancing at the bars behind her, Edmund let out another soft chuckle. Though her head had slipped in easily, pulling it back out was naturally difficult. Who in their right mind would think to stick their head through such a narrow gap? Whether the young lady knew this was unclear, but her tearful eyes and drooping mouth—seeming to plead for mercy—irritated him slightly.
“Answer me.”
Vivian slowly raised her head and offered a trembling voice.
“I-I didn’t know…”
“……”
“I swear. I was just looking for the greenhouse…”
If I had known it was such a place, I wouldn’t have come.
Her lips were pale as she spoke. In the presence of a gaze that seemed ready to choke her, Vivian froze completely.
“Why didn’t you accept Barner’s guidance?”
“I wanted to explore slowly, at my own pace,” she said.
Edmund raised one brow slightly. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth at her small, audacious reply.
How many could truly act so boldly in Lockberg’s estate?
His eyes lingered on Vivian, as if confirming that at least one daring child—perhaps a young Fobert—was present.
“Leave.”
Her small white feet scrambled away, leaving traces of green from the grass.
Edmund noted the evidence of her passage but gave no further thought to a child barely half his height. He turned and walked away, leaving the heavy summer air behind.
The stone structure looked out of place amid the verdant garden.
Vivian, breathless, had run straight to the garden’s entrance without noticing sooner. She realized the gravity of her crime: daring to peek into an area reserved solely for the Lockberg family head. Yet she felt immense gratitude that the young marquis had let her go without a word.
Had she paid attention to the Dowager’s warnings, this could have been avoided. Her excitement at visiting the greenhouse had caused her to ignore those instructions—and it was entirely her fault.
“Stupid.”
Vivian clenched her fists, a habit she had whenever scolded, even in front of Lady Purin. For the first time, she felt a flush of shame so strong it burned her chest.
Of all places, she had to make a fool of herself in front of the young marquis.
Recalling both the previous dinner and her current blunder, she felt nothing but regret. Her composure seemed to crumble at every turn, leaving her heart tight with frustration.
I should have studied etiquette more diligently.
Remembering the earlier mishap, Vivian sighed deeply and buried her face in her hands.
She shook off the dirtied hem of her dress, slipped back into her shoes, and outwardly restored the perfect image of a young noblewoman.
With her hair neatly tidied, she made her way to the waiting carriage, where the coachman escorted her aboard.
The carriage, initially slow, picked up speed. Watching the leafy avenue fade behind her, Vivian was lost in thought.
A feeling of profound inadequacy gnawed at her.
Vivian struggled with the strange emotion—something entirely new to her. The pure, calm whiteness and green of her heart felt overlaid with darker shades. The rhythmic clatter of the carriage made her stomach churn, and her chest felt constricted, as if clogged with some invisible weight.
