Chapter 9
Part 1. The Governess and the Little Devil (8)
Agnes was pondering over the curriculum.
Whenever she had planned a curriculum before, she had done so based on observing the child’s talents and preferences firsthand, as well as through discussions with the parents about their hopes for the child.
Even as a private tutor, she couldn’t teach every subject, so she received help in areas beyond her expertise. What Agnes could offer were lessons in etiquette, music, art, social studies, and general cultural knowledge. She was also proficient in three or four foreign languages, though only at a conversational level.
She typically taught children under the age of ten. After that, they either went to school or were taught by specialists in each subject.
At that point, the role of the private tutor would end. She’d either move on to another household or take some time off.
‘How should I teach him?’
Moreover, seven-year-old Timothy was clever for his age.
Thanks to his constant rebellious attitude—like the time he handed her a paper that simply read “sophistry”—Agnes had already accumulated a few materials from their interactions.
He understood numbers, and his basic arithmetic was fine. He severely lacked manners and patience and had a foul mouth, but he had a good memory and excellent practical skills. If he put his mind to it, he’d improve quickly.
‘The problem is aptitude.’
It was hard enough to coordinate with parents who were overly interested, but dealing with one who had no interest at all was just as difficult. It would’ve been ideal if Timothy had clear interests, but when he didn’t, it required more thought.
For ten days, she’d talked about Timothy based on her 15-minute daily observations, but all she ever got in response was, “I’ll tell Carlo.”
‘Does he think I don’t have a mouth? Of course I’m consulting with the butler too…’
Carlo, the butler, had the most interaction with Timothy in the Battenberg estate. Timothy, who was naturally wary, at least showed some respect toward Carlo. He even pretended to listen when Carlo was called “old man.”
But that didn’t mean Carlo was in a position to give input on Timothy’s education. Agnes lifted the sheet labeled “sophistry” and covered her face with it.
‘Snack time… is in 20 minutes, right?’
Agnes decided to rest until Timothy returned.
“This is tough…”
Even for Agnes, dealing with uncooperative people was exhausting.
Before her regression, Agnes had never gotten too involved with any household. She always reminded herself that she was an employee, not a family member. She’d seen colleagues suffer for meddling too much and had met plenty of employers who got angry when a mere tutor dared to speak out.
Agnes only offered help where it was needed and never insisted on her opinions.
The choice always belonged to the family.
But working at the Battenberg estate was different—even for Agnes.
‘Because this time, I actually care about the outcome.’
Agnes blew air through pursed lips. The paper on her face fluttered slightly.
Seven-year-old Timothy was her area of expertise. She had taught many children before her death. Even if they were a little twisted, it wasn’t hard to figure them out when they were this young.
Ethan, however, was a difficult case. She had tried to get closer to him, but couldn’t read him at all. She thought he didn’t care about his nephew, yet he still bothered to listen to her long, tedious reports.
‘What is he doing? What is he thinking? How should I deal with him? Is it okay to keep pushing like this?’
Most of all, she couldn’t understand why Ethan tolerated her.
He could easily fire her for being a nosy, arrogant tutor. So why did he leave her be, even when she meddled?
“Ugh, I don’t get it…”
She’d dealt with many parents before, but never one this indifferent. She had prepared herself, but everything still felt vague. Maybe if she had researched the Battenberg family more beforehand, this would’ve been easier?
Not just public rumors, but secret gossip, whispers between servants, even groundless stories—any of it might have given her a clue.
‘No, it’s better to judge with my own eyes.’
Otherwise, she might fall victim to prejudice. She already knew the basics—anything more might’ve made her biased. And prejudice was easy to form when it came to Duke Battenberg and Marquis Reynold.
Even if she tried to treat the past as “something that hasn’t happened yet,” emotions didn’t just go away like slicing them off with a knife.
If she truly remembered the final moment of her death, Agnes probably wouldn’t have been able to walk into this mansion of her own will.
“……”
The afternoon air was quiet.
Ever since returning to the past, Agnes had been busy. One thing weighed on her conscience—she had left the Westwick estate without properly saying goodbye to the children. She had just told them it was an emergency and that she’d contact them later. By now, their resentment must’ve been towering.
Agnes’s goal here was to be just as good a governess to Timothy as she was to those children.
To guide him so he wouldn’t grow crooked, and to create a perfect home environment so he could thrive even without her. Improving her relationship with Ethan was part of that goal.
She wanted to help Timothy grow up without emotional wounds and occasionally give him advice like a mentor who stayed in touch.
A governess wouldn’t be needed for long—only until Timothy turned ten.
‘Can I do it in that time? …I can, right?’
But what even was a perfect home environment?
Agnes’s own family had been warm and loving, but they hadn’t had the means to live comfortably together. She loved her family deeply, but sometimes, she felt suffocated.
That probably wasn’t an ideal environment either.
‘In theory, it’d be a peaceful home with kind parents, having meals together and talking naturally… maybe?’
Kind parents… parents. Agnes closed her eyes and thought.
Who did the future Duke Battenberg marry again?
*
The next day.
Agnes gently lowered her gaze as she sipped from her teacup.
“Isn’t this peaceful, Timothy?”
“……”
“Such an elegant tea time. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“……”
“Would you like more cookies? They’re especially good today.”
“……”
“You need to answer me.”
Timothy slouched in his chair with a sullen look, his hands stuffed in his pockets, lips pouting in protest.
Agnes looked at him kindly.
“Are you sulking, Timothy?”
“…Who is?”
He finally muttered a reply in a small voice. His expression was a perfect storm of pettiness, frustration, annoyance, anger, and wounded pride. No matter how upset he got, Timothy could never ignore a challenge—which always left him defeated.
“Hey.”
Timothy kicked the tea table lightly with the tip of his shoe. Agnes set her teacup down.
“You’re supposed to call me ‘teacher,’ Timothy.”
“You’re just a pig, dummy, ugly, owl, and now… dung beetle.”
“Ah, we’ve added ‘dung beetle.’ You can call me Agnes if you’d like. My past students did.”
“But you’re working here as a governess.”
“That’s right.”
“Then why are you just playing around instead of teaching?”
“Me?”
Agnes took out her pocket watch to check the time. Then she smiled sweetly.
“We’re sticking to the lesson schedule just fine.”
Timothy snapped in frustration.
“How is goofing off and playing around a lesson?!”
“There’s a thing called play-based learning.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! What am I, three years old?”
“Do you want to study that badly, Timothy?”
“Of course!”
Before he could say “No!”, Agnes cut him off.
“Shall we make a bet? If I win, we keep playing. If you win, we study something. Deal?”
“Are you stupid? You think I’ll fall for that low-level trap?”
“You suggested it earlier. I just accepted.”
“……”
Timothy clenched his teeth in silence.
‘Grinding his teeth already? His jaw must hurt…’
Even if he was mad, the fact that he hadn’t run off was already a huge improvement. The only reason Timothy sat quietly for tea time was because of a bet—they’d agreed that if she caught him running away, he’d have to drink tea with her as long as she wanted.
Most adults would have either failed to catch the quick-footed boy or let him win out of pity, but Agnes had sprinted after him and tackled him down. She’d nearly flattened him.
‘If he’s already this weak to gambling temptation…’
It seemed his future addiction to gambling—starting in his mid to late teens—was already being foreshadowed.
“See? I told you gambling wasn’t something to do lightly. It’s bad.”
“And isn’t it bad for an adult to go all out in a bet with a kid?”
“As I always say, Timothy, I…”
“Yeah, yeah. You respect me because I’m smart, right? Don’t make me laugh. You think I’ll keep falling for that?”
“But I mean it.”
Timothy scoffed.
“It breaks my heart too. But I can’t deliberately lose and hurt Timothy’s pride, now can I?”
“Ha…”
It didn’t matter how pious, gentle, or kind she pretended to be. Agnes’s gray eyes gleamed with competitive fire like a predator staring down prey. She didn’t go easy on kids.
So much for compassion.
With a saintly expression, Agnes brought her hands together over her chest.
‘My life is on the line—of course I’ll give it my all.’
