Chapter 8
“Yes.”
One of the duke’s eyebrows lifted in interest.
“Tell me.”
“I understand that people of high standing, like yourself, require multiple children for various reasons. For example, an heir to succeed the family, and another to be used in forging alliances with other houses.”
“Hmm.”
“You have only one daughter, so you needed another child to fulfill those other roles. Is that not why you adopted me?”
“Did the director tell you this?”
“No.”
“Then how did you come to know such things?”
Instead of admitting the absurd truth—that I’d read it in a novel—I tried to make myself sound clever.
“I figured it out on my own while I was at the orphanage.”
“On your own?”
“The children at Curtis Orphanage are all like that, aren’t they? Illegitimate children of nobles. Inconvenient, but kept in reserve for emergencies. If another child is needed, they’re retrieved. If not, they’re simply abandoned.”
“Hmph.”
Ivan seemed discomfited to hear such a stark, unfiltered truth—one the aristocracy preferred to keep quiet—from the mouth of a child.
I pressed on, pretending not to notice.
“That’s why they teach noble etiquette there, unlike at other orphanages. Since I was transferred from a different one, I knew just how special Curtis was. It wasn’t hard to piece things together.”
In reality, I had possessed Fredia after she was already at Curtis, so I had no idea what other orphanages in this world were like. I only knew they were different from what I’d read in the book.
But my story seemed plausible enough to Ivan.
“You are clever. However, you are not my illegitimate child. Knowing that, can you still guess why I brought you here?”
I knew everything about his circumstances, but those were plans he’d made in secret. If I revealed that I knew it all, he would surely become suspicious.
Should I pretend I don’t know? Or just say I suspected it had something to do with Harace?
As I was debating, the chef emerged from the kitchen carrying dessert. He must have seen that we were finishing our meal. With a flourish, he lifted a silver knife and plunged it into the center of a cake, the blade gliding through soft sponge and a swirl of artfully piped whipped cream.
In that moment, the cake completely captivated me.
“Uh… well, I guessed it might have something to do with the cake,” I blurted out. “Because His Highness the First Prince likes cake so much…”
The words hung in the air, and I snapped my mouth shut. When did I even start staring at the cake?
I whipped my head back to Ivan and saw him biting his lip, trying to suppress a smile.
“S-sorry, I mean, because Your Highness looked favorably upon the cake…”
“Upon you,” he corrected gently.
“Ah, yes! Your Highness, the First Prince, the cake…”
“You.”
“Yes! No! I mean, me!”
Ugh, how mortifying! This stupid cake! After I’d gone to all the trouble of acting so smart and perceptive!
Heat flooded my face. I risked a glance at Ivan and saw him covering his face with one hand, pressing firmly on the bridge of his nose.
“Are you all right?”
“The cake… Ahem. Eat the cake first.”
Ivan signaled for the chef to serve me a slice.
“A child is a child, after all,” he muttered to himself, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
What was that about? I decided it was best to pretend I hadn’t seen anything.
The chef placed a generous slice of cake on a plate and set it before me.
“Please enjoy, miss. The whipped cream was made from milk drawn just this morning.” A faint trace of amusement lingered in his voice.
I glanced at Ivan for permission, and he nodded. Then, after dismissing the chef and servants, he spoke again.
“Listen while you eat.”
I quickly picked up my fork, cut off a large piece, and stuffed it into my mouth. As I mumbled and chewed the soft, fluffy cake, Ivan continued.
“You don’t need to know everything at once. For now, your duty here is to learn etiquette. I will assign a tutor to you, starting tomorrow. I expect you to apply yourself.”
With my cheeks puffed out, I managed a muffled reply.
“Yeth.”
“I trust you will not disappoint me.”
His voice was firm, but his expression had softened, so his words didn’t feel like a burden. They give me a nice room and delicious food. Studying etiquette is a small price to pay.
I nodded earnestly, my mouth still full of cake.
“Yes!”
“Good. I have work to attend to, so I will take my leave. If you want more dessert, you may ask for the rest to be brought to your room.”
“Yes, thank you.”
As I bowed my head, the duke, who had started to rise, paused. He stared at me intently for a moment, then reached out and poked my cake-filled cheek with his index finger.
“Huh…?”
I looked up at him, puzzled. He flinched and quickly withdrew his hand.
“Th-there was something on your face. I’ll be going.”
With that, he practically fled from the dining hall.
His eyes were definitely sparkling just now. What was that all about?
* * *
Not long after I returned to my room, there was a knock on the door. It was the same maid from this morning. She had announced she would find me something to wear in place of my rags, and now she held a dress in her arms.
“I found a dress that was going to be thrown out because it was too small for Lady Isabella.”
I was small for a fourteen-year-old, likely from malnutrition, so a dress that was too small for Isabella, who was a year older, would probably fit me just fine.
But the maid’s expression was strange as she set it down.
“Is there a problem?”
“The hem is a little torn. I’m not sure you’ll be able to wear it. What should we do?”
I examined it. The hole was far too large to be called ‘a little’ torn. I could have fit my head through it. How does a dress even get a tear like that?
“Is there nothing else?”
“No, there isn’t,” the maid said curtly. “Otherwise, you’ll have to keep wearing what you have on now. Her ladyship must see you before new clothes can be ordered, and she is currently unwell.”
In other words, I couldn’t get new clothes without permission from Katherine, who was holed up in her room because she couldn’t stand the sight of me. I had no idea when she might emerge, and even when she did, I doubted she would be in a hurry to buy me anything.
“Then it’s really all right for me to wear this dress, as long as I can mend it?” I asked.
“You intend to wear this?” she replied, a hint of a sneer in her voice. “I can’t mend it for you; I have no skill with a needle. And the seamstresses are already busy with tasks the lady of the house has assigned them. I’m sorry, but if you wish to wear this, you’ll have to mend it yourself.”
The words tumbled out as if she’d been rehearsing them. This was clearly her plan all along.
How petty, to pick on a child.
I sighed and held up the dress. The thick fabric would be warm against the chilly morning and evening air. It was also lightweight and, above all, beautiful. It was absurd to be adopted into a powerful family only to continue wearing rags from an orphanage.
With a slightly dejected expression, I sighed again.
“I suppose it can’t be helped. As long as I mend it, I can really wear it? You won’t change your mind later and claim it was the young lady’s favorite dress or something?”
“Of course not.”
I eyed the dress suspiciously. It did seem to be something meant for the trash. If Isabella had cherished it, it wouldn’t have been stored away long enough to collect so much dust. Holding the garment, which shed a small cloud every time I moved it, I nodded as if reluctantly giving in.
“I’m not very confident, but I’ll try mending it myself.”
The maid handed me a sewing kit with a satisfied smirk and departed, her retreating back radiating smug anticipation. She was no doubt already imagining me becoming the laughingstock of the house.
“Did Isabella put her up to this, or is the maid acting on her own? This is a little different from the original novel, so I can’t be sure… but for now, let’s get this fixed.”
I went to the window, held the dress outside, and shook it vigorously, watching the dust scatter into the wind. After clearing it off, I spread the dress on the bed. It was lovely in every detail—delicate lace, luxurious fabric, and decorations that were elegant and tasteful.
Good, I’m satisfied.
Looking closely at the tear, I saw it was diagonal, not horizontal. Simply stitching it closed would leave an obvious scar.
“Hmm…”
They must have deliberately ripped an old dress Isabella had already discarded.
“There’s always a pecking order, no matter where you go,” I muttered to myself. “It was the same when I worked at the factory. People don’t automatically mature just because they get older.”
A sigh escaped me.
“Honestly, if all adults were actually mature, we wouldn’t have middle-aged men who can’t read a room or tell right from wrong, or old bachelors who can’t distinguish a compliment from sexual harassment. Pfft.”
Clicking my tongue, I wet the end of the thread, narrowed my eyes, and focused on the eye of the needle. Then I realized I could see it perfectly clearly and straightened my hunched-over posture.
“Right, my eyesight is good now.”
Phew. Whenever I get into that position, I start muttering to myself like an old woman.
Perhaps because she’d never spent her nights staring at a smartphone in the dark, Fredia had excellent vision. It was the first thing I’d noticed when I woke up in this body. All this time, I’ve been seeing the world like I was half-blind. To think things could look this clear without contacts or glasses.
Humming a nonsensical tune, I threaded the needle. In that instant, the concentration of the entire universe seemed to gather in my eyes and hands.
With a spirited cry, I plunged the needle into the fabric. Despite my grand pronouncements, my hands moved with practical skill.
Empty Fist Basting was also known as tacking. Sewing was a quiet activity, and I had to do something to liven it up, even if I was alone.
“Now for the blind stitch! The herringbone! The backstitch! And the half backstitch!”
I was, in fact, quite good at sewing. I’d even had a side job making doll clothes. With my nimble fingers, it had been a pretty lucrative way to earn pocket money. Whether it was sewing or embroidery, there was nothing I couldn’t do with a needle.
The maid had probably intended for me to parade around in a clumsy, patched-up dress.
Unfortunately for her, a short while later, what I draped over myself was not a monstrosity but a beautiful dress, artfully deconstructed and reassembled into a completely new and fashionable design.
“Making doll clothes or human clothes, it’s all pretty much the same,” I said with a triumphant little laugh.
