Chapter 7
2. The World of Adults
Ever since the funeral, Benedict’s room had been constantly visited by retainers. They came one after another, bringing up petitions and official requests—things he had never heard of before.
“You don’t need to check the contents. The Duke—well, the former Duke—had already approved it a long time ago. You must give your seal of approval. As soon as possible!”
They pressed him urgently, as if their very lives depended on it.
But Benedict couldn’t bring himself to stamp his seal on documents he hadn’t even read.
He thought it would be better if they just explained it properly… but the retainers didn’t seem to have the time or patience for that.
They simply repeated over and over that everything had already been discussed with his father, and he only needed to sign off on it.
Eventually, his nanny couldn’t stand it anymore and stepped in on his behalf.
“The young Duke still needs time! How can he collect his thoughts if you come barging in every single day like this?”
Driven out by her scolding, the retainers finally left the room. But soon enough, voices full of dissatisfaction could be heard echoing from the hallway.
“I’m worried the young Duke is too inexperienced. He still needs a nanny, after all.”
“Should we petition the royal family to provide some oversight? At this rate, nothing will get done.”
“I’m sure a guardian will be appointed before he’s formally instated. There’s no way a boy like him could possibly handle the role of Duke properly.”
The nanny was about to storm after them, her face flushed with rage at their blunt remarks.
“Don’t,” Benedict said weakly, stopping her as he pulled on his coat.
“Where are you going so early in the morning?”
“I just… need to think.”
“There’s no need to let those people get to you. You’re still very young, Your Grace.”
She tried to comfort him with heartfelt words, but somehow they didn’t sink in.
Benedict knew all too well—painfully well—that he was young and inexperienced.
He couldn’t deny it anymore: when it came to the world of adults, he truly didn’t understand a thing.
Ah, if only—if only someone could tell him which direction to go.
What he needed desperately was an adult he could trust. A guiding light.
“…I’ll just go for a short walk.”
Leaving the nanny behind in the room, Benedict stepped out alone.
Meanwhile, Lucien had returned to the Duke’s estate. Not only that, this time she had been given a beautiful guest room on the second floor of the main residence.
Now on her third day staying there, Lucien was beginning to feel uneasy.
‘I… I’m just eating here without doing anything!’
Having lived in places where food was scarce, she deeply appreciated being well-fed. But the idea of eating without working made her feel ashamed. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“I need to earn my keep!”
With that decision, Lucien got up before the sun rose. She carefully washed her face and hands.
Then, she quietly slipped out of her room and went down the stairs. The grand hall was still quiet, not a soul in sight. She made her way to the staircase leading down to the servants’ quarters.
It was pitch dark from here. The other servants were surely still asleep; not even a single candle had been lit.
But Lucien was used to moving through the darkness and wasn’t afraid. She slowly descended the stairs by feel.
Soon, her eyes adjusted, and in the faint light of dawn, she could begin to see the layout of the underground area.
A narrow hallway stretched ahead, with two doors on each side.
She carefully traced her fingers across the plaques, reading the labels—a result of her three days spent diligently learning letters alone in her room.
“Pantry,” “Wine Cellar,” “Storage,” and “Butler’s Room.”
All the doors were closed—except, curiously, the butler’s room, which was slightly ajar.
Maybe someone had simply forgotten to close it?
Lucien thought to shut it on their behalf but stopped. What if it was left that way intentionally?
Beyond the four doors, the hallway led into the kitchen and the servants’ dining hall.
Lucien entered the hall first and lit a small candle on one of the tables.
Though she’d lived as a wanderer for a long time, she had once worked for years at an orphanage—specifically cleaning.
She knew what the first task of an early winter morning was: cleaning the stove and oven. Especially removing the ashes was crucial.
She quickly found a tidy pile of aprons, rags, and a bucket of cleaning tools.
“Let’s get started.”
Just having work to do again brought a natural smile to her face.
David Dujardin, the Duke’s chef, strode toward work like a general marching into battle, his eyes blazing.
Today, he was determined to confront the lazy kitchen maid, Jane, once and for all.
He had long since mastered the art of nitpicking every little detail, and yesterday, he’d finally blown up:
“If I come in tomorrow morning and the kitchen is still a mess, don’t even think about stepping in here again!”
Maybe now she’d finally shape up?
Or maybe it would be even worse than usual. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just run off entirely out of spite.
Bracing for the worst, he creaked open the door.
A gentle warmth greeted him.
Had someone already started the stove in the hall?
The morning commute had been bitterly cold, so the warmth was a welcome comfort.
But when he stepped into the kitchen, he froze, looking around in shock.
“What the—? She could clean like this?!”
The oven was spotless, not a speck of ash. The baking pans gleamed like new. The copper pots hanging on the walls sparkled without a single fingerprint.
Not a speck of dust on the prep tables, and the white dishcloths were neatly folded in the basket.
“Was I… too harsh yesterday?”
He scratched his head, suddenly feeling guilty.
But wait—where was Jane?
He glanced around and soon heard someone busily scrubbing at the large table in the servants’ dining hall.
She was even cleaning there?
Impressed, he walked over, ready to heap praise on the maid.
“Ah, good morning!”
But the person who greeted him wasn’t Jane—it was Lucien.
Dujardin froze, his eyes darting between the apron she wore and the rag in her hand. His voice trembled.
“Y-you did all the cleaning? Th-the kitchen? My kitchen?!”
“Yes! If I did something wrong, please let me know. I’ll fix it right away.”
Her cheerful answer left him speechless, mouth agape.
He knew all about traveling performers. Filthy beggars, every last one.
When they were hungry, they ate rats from the gutter. Wherever they went, disease followed.
And now—one of them had entered his sacred kitchen? Touched his pots and utensils?
His whole body began to tremble.
“Get out of here, now!”
He shouted, making Lucien drop the cloth in shock.
She reached to pick it up, but he stormed forward and roughly grabbed her by the scruff of her neck.
“Don’t touch anything! You—you plague-carrying little beggar! Get out this instant!”
With that, Lucien was shoved backward, out the back door.
“If I see you again, I’ll beat you black and blue! You hear me?!”
He slammed the door without even waiting for her reply.
Lucien stood there, fidgeting with her clothes. All she had wanted was to be helpful. Maybe she’d made a mistake.
Well… even with good intentions, she had touched other people’s things without permission.
“I was wrong. I should have asked first.”
But that didn’t make the pain in her heart any less.
She had started this to repay a kindness—but truthfully, she had hoped for a word of praise, too.
A simple, “You did a great job,” or, “That was really helpful.”
Clutching her wounded heart, Lucien turned and walked away.
She knew that the worse things got, the more she needed to think positively.
And to think positively, she needed to go to a place where good things had happened before.
In this unfamiliar place, there was only one spot like that.
She arrived near the stream and stepped into the grove of trees.
Crunch, crunch—her feet rustled through fallen leaves as she approached a red dogwood tree with long branches hanging low.
“Huff, huff…”
She had run so hard her breath came out in white clouds.
And at the end of one such cloud—
Someone was standing there.
To her surprise, it was Benedict.
