Kitten Blue Eyes (7)

“I’m sorry, Cynthia. I was about to clean the flower garden. Do you have something for me to do?”

At the calm voice, Cynthia knit her brows.

“Are you a gardener? Are you a florist? Why are you going to the garden?! Get ready to go out!”

“Yes, Lady Cynthia.”

Anne kept her face lowered and spoke humbly.

She offered obedient answers—no resistance, no asking where they were going.

“They’re all idiots, every last one.”

Grumbling, Cynthia bumped Anne’s arm with her elbow as she passed.

Though she staggered, Anne followed after her.

Anne’s mother had been the Viscount of Brennel’s first wife.

Her mother’s family, though untitled, had money; the Viscount of Brennel had a title and needed money.

It was a classic marriage of convenience.

Even so, the couple did not seem particularly ill matched.

In their first year, Anne was conceived, and Anne’s mother went to her parents’ home before giving birth.

Misfortune began there.

The viscountess who had gone to her parents’ home caught a contagious disease that suddenly spread.

The Viscount of Brennel refused to let his wife return to the house.

Anne’s mother gave birth to her while ill with the plague.

The relatives who tended her also died of the disease.

The Viscount of Brennel neglected the child born where plague raged.

When the only nurse who had not fallen ill brought Anne to House Brennel after a few months, the viscount had already taken a new wife.

That new wife was Cynthia’s mother.

The Viscount of Brennel shunned Anne, born amid plague.

He feared that if he touched Anne, he might catch the disease.

Naturally, there was no funeral for Anne’s mother.

Though she was the viscount’s eldest daughter, Anne was thoroughly cold-shouldered.

The following year Cynthia was born.

Then in quick succession came Julie, Isabelle, and Dario.

From the time she could walk, Anne waited hand and foot on the four siblings.

The most vicious of the four was Cynthia.

The one most like Cynthia was Julie.

Isabelle was sometimes kind, but whenever Anne began to trust in that kindness, she humiliated her in front of others.

So Anne was as wary of Isabelle as of Cynthia.

Dario was a bottomless glutton.

Until the age of ten, Anne did not know that she and the four were half siblings.

She thought her family name “Brennel” meant only that she belonged to House Brennel.

‘Roza. Why isn’t Roza “Roza Brennel”?’

Roza told Anne that it was rare for servants to have family names.

‘Young miss, you are the viscount’s daughter—so you are Anne Brennel.’

Only then did Anne realize she was the Viscount of Brennel’s daughter.

Even then, and still now, Anne called her birth father “my lord viscount.”

“Jinx of a girl.”

Cynthia would often yank Anne’s hair and strike her head.

“Bad-luck brat.”

“Disgusting wench.”

“A demon who devoured her mother.”

Learning at ten that she was the house’s eldest daughter changed nothing.

What Anne learned as she grew was to endure pain—or, even when she felt it, to make no sound.

Once she realized that Cynthia and her siblings disliked her ginger-red hair, she hardened her patience still more.

House Brennel’s emblem was ginger-red hair.

Anne’s hair was ginger-red at a glance.

Cynthia’s was a dull red.

From Julie to Isabelle to Dario, the red faded by degrees.

Though she bore the house’s emblematic red hair, Anne’s role was to be bullied by Cynthia and to serve.

Anne could not read.

“What am I to do with my being illiterate.”

Anne would tease herself in the mirror with a helpless joke.

But she did not simply give up because she could not read.

Anne was happiest in the gardens.

So she learned the work of the Aengkeo Orchard and, by steadily taking even odd jobs, became friendly with the gardeners.

Even if she could recognize only the pictures, she would scavenge plant books and “read” them.

But she did not have much time to focus on garden work.

“Can’t you do it properly?!”

It was because Cynthia, as now, would suddenly call her to wait on her.

“I’ll have to dig the potatoes tonight—or at dawn.”

While being scolded by habit, Anne ran through her to-dos in her head.

The potatoes she had planted in a scrap of earth and watched thrive were her recent joy.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Cynthia.”

Anne was wiping the dust from Cynthia’s shoes.

As her hand brushed a little against Cynthia’s ankle, Cynthia made a scene as if cut by a knife.

‘Loudmouthed Great Hairy Cicada.’

When facing Cynthia, Anne tried to lose herself in her own thoughts.

But she did not think of other things only.

Perhaps because she had eaten “others’ mood” since she crawled as a baby, Anne was quick to read the air.

It felt like an instinct for survival.

The way Cynthia lately behaved like a seizure was because of the annihilation of Baron Miller’s house.

The few quiet days had been because she was frightened by their sudden fall.

Given their closeness with House Miller, it was natural to be shocked.

Even Anne, who had no personal ties, had been startled at the Miller family’s downfall.

Anne had sensed early the unsettled air wafting through the house.

For a time, the house had been giddy.

That was just after Cynthia stepped into Baden society.

The puffed-up mood had to do with House Miller as well.

Both houses seemed intent on currying favor in the capital.

Brennel and Miller were vassals of the Marquess of Rain.

There was no harm in setting a foot in the capital, but acting against House Rain was dangerous.

Then the Marquess of Rain died by a fall from his horse.

Yet no one in House Brennel expressed concern about the accident.

Something smelled wrong.

Anne’s survival instinct warned of danger.

Though Julie and Isabelle sneered, Anne forced an approach and tried to grasp the circumstances.

Brennel and Miller were cozying up to the Chancellor’s house, the Marquess of Manners.

“Is House Brennel headed for ruin.”

The capital and Rain were far apart.

The Marquess of Manners might be powerful in the capital, but in the far north he wielded little force.

The viscount of Brennel and the baron of Miller had done something outrageous.

Shortly before, blossoms in the Aengkeo Orchard had fallen in showers here and there.

It was strange.

Stranger still—only a few days later, the Miller house was eradicated.

Things were flowing in a dangerous direction.

“Should I gather what money I have and flee to some village in the countryside?”

Anne did not want to dither and be swept away with a sinking house.

The viscount was short-sighted and quick-tempered.

Cynthia, like her father, was foolish.

She believed herself very clever—but she was not.

She was even quicker to temper than the viscount, and her judgment was worse.

Until now, she had seemed passable only because Lady Miller had guided her from the side.

Once Lady Miller vanished, even outsiders—whom she had at least watched for—saw nothing but folly.

She had the very temperament to fall into a trap and be killed.

“I’ll dig the potatoes tonight and go straight to the next village.”

Anne cemented her resolve.

“Young lady, look over there.”

“Ugh, unlucky…… Move!”

When Anne tried to switch to the other shoe, Cynthia swung her knee.

Clicking her tongue, Cynthia passed by as Anne landed on her backside.

“Take a good hard fall, Great Hairy Cicada.”

Scrambling up, Anne muttered a curse inside.

Cynthia did not fall.

Instead, with a mouth puckered as if chewing an unripe persimmon, she bowed to the party approaching from that side.

“Lady Alicia, it has been a while.”

Anne and the maids beside her lowered their heads with Cynthia.

Alicia Rain?

Anne thought with her face lowered.

This Tama Forest was House Brennel’s domain.

It lay far from House Rain.

There were many places for the marquess’s family to visit—there was no particular reason to come here.

It was not odd for Alicia Rain to be here, but it was unexpected.

“It has been a while, Lady…….”

“Cynthia.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Cynthia. The forest is beautiful.”

In a warm voice, she spoke gently to Cynthia.

But while the tone was soft, the content was precisely tuned to turn Cynthia inside out.

Anne pressed her lips together.

Within the viscount’s house, Cynthia comported herself like a queen.

There was no one in the household who did not know her name.

Alicia’s phrasing—almost as if asking for the name—was an obvious provocation.

Anne had heard plenty about Alicia Rain.

The first lady of House Rain in two hundred years.

Anne had wanted to see the marquessate’s lady at least once, but House Brennel would never permit that.

She was glad to see, even over a shoulder like this, Alicia—who would become Grand Duchess of Tessen.

If one believed Cynthia, Alicia was an incompetent who had lucked into a fine house.

Yet rumor said Alicia Rain was like an angel.

From Alicia’s first words, Anne understood that though known as an angel, she was no soft touch.

She was certainly not the incompetent Cynthia claimed.

Perhaps Alicia had come out to Tama Forest to look into House Brennel.

“Perhaps……”

In this place, House Rain was akin to a king.

It might be that they had already noticed a vassal’s betrayal.

“Who is the lady beside you?”

While Anne drifted in thought, Alicia, standing before Cynthia, sent her gaze over.

When a smile traced the face that had seemed cool, her impression turned innocent and gentle.

Anne stared blankly at the violet eyes in that smiling face.

“…….”

Alicia had acknowledged Anne because, among Cynthia’s attendants, she alone was not in a maid’s livery.

Though old, faded, and out of fashion, Anne wore a neat dress.

With daggered eyes, Cynthia growled low at Anne.

“Get out of my sight.”

“I’m sorry, Cynthia.”

Elbowed aside by Cynthia, Anne bobbed and withdrew.

“My lady.”

A maid at Alicia’s side whispered in her ear.

Surprise rose on Alicia’s face as she listened.

Her violet eyes slid and settled on Anne.

Smiling, Alicia spoke toward Anne.

“Lady Anne.”

At the unfamiliar form of address, Anne faltered.

No one had ever called Anne “Lady Anne,” even in jest.

“……I—I……”

“Who are you calling ‘lady’?!”

Cynthia, who had seemed ready to be polite, could not suppress her temper and burst out.

At the rude shout, Alicia’s eyes went round.

“Lady Cynthia. The red-haired young lady beside you is not Lady Anne, eldest daughter of House Brennel? Which would make her your elder sister.”

Alicia, unshocked by Cynthia’s discourtesy, spoke courteously.

“…….”

Anne was so flustered she turned to ice.

“Lady Anne.”

Each time she heard the honor-steeped address, gooseflesh climbed her back.

It was the first time anyone had called her so kindly.

“Who are you calling sister……! Lady Alicia, it seems you don’t quite know our family’s situation. She’s not someone worth minding.”

Cynthia started to shout—then, remembering who she faced, spoke with a sullen look.

With a glance, she tried to have Anne removed.

“Cynthia. Though your mothers differ, that’s too much to say to your own sibling. Lady Anne, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re the only daughter of Lady Patricia, yes? Her Masquerade is my favorite book.”

Until now, no one had spoken to Anne about her mother.

In House Brennel, it had been made a thorough taboo.

“You…… know my mother?”

Anne forgot her fear of Cynthia and spoke.

“I haven’t met her myself either, but Lady Patricia’s bestsellers are essential reading for society ladies. What I know of etiquette is practically what I learned by reading your mother’s books.”

Smiling kindly, Alicia spoke.

Feeling a strange emotion, Anne parted her lips.