Chapter 12 – The Governess and the Little Devil (11):
Agnes decided not to point out the fact that Timothy himself might not even realize. Instead, she reached out and brought over a pillow that hadn’t been stained with dye.
“You really had to spray dye… ugh…”
“Hic… mmph?”
“Here, Timothy. This side’s still dry. It would’ve been better if you’d just talked to me instead of doing this…”
She placed the boy on the clean side of the pillow and wrapped her arms around him. The boy was pulled into a tight hug. Startled, Timothy stopped crying and flailed, trying to push her away.
“Now, now, resistance is futile.”
“Wh-what are you saying, snf.”
“I told you, it’s no use. Don’t bother resisting.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Shhh.”
Agnes gently stroked Timothy’s round head. So small and cute.
“Oh, Timothy. Do you like me that much?”
“Are you crazy?”
“But I’ve grown to like you. A little too much, actually.”
When she had first arrived at the Battenberg mansion, she’d only seen him as a devilish brat whose rotten personality needed straightening out. She had no idea when she’d grown this attached. She knew getting emotionally involved with a student could be dangerous, but she couldn’t help it.
Well, Agnes had never been particularly calculating.
Her older sisters often clicked their tongues at her, calling her foolish—despite the fact that they lived comfortably thanks to Agnes supporting their parents.
“I did come here to earn money, that’s true. But Timothy, it’s not like I have to work here.”
“…Then…”
“But I chose to stay and be your teacher. Do you even know what I was doing just now? I was making a curriculum for you…”
“…”
“I haven’t even had a proper chance to do anything yet, and now you’re telling me to just leave? No. I can’t do that.”
“…”
“Where would I go, leaving behind such an adorable student?”
“Ugh… uuuuh…”
Timothy began to cry again. Agnes gently patted his shoulder and head to soothe him. She was used to comforting children, so that was fine—but the dye she was covered in was the problem.
He had picked the most caustic one, of course. The pain she had been trying to ignore now crawled across her skin. It stung, swelled, and burned. Her neck was bad enough, but her face—her eyes—were the real concern.
Agnes hadn’t gotten proper sleep in the past two weeks thanks to Timothy’s antics. She hadn’t fully adapted to the unfamiliar environment, and she was both mentally and physically exhausted. It was no wonder her immune system was struggling.
I can’t pass out now. I need to get Timothy out of here first…
She had pushed the wet bedding into a corner, but she would need someone to help clean it up. If she collapsed like this, Timothy would get covered in dye too. If it was this painful for her, it was definitely not something a child should come into contact with.
Still cradling the crying boy, Agnes endured the pain that was making her feel faint.
What do I do?
And then—
Someone entered through the open door. Had Agnes not lifted her eyes just then, she wouldn’t have noticed a thing.
It was Ethan.
He stood leaning casually against the doorway, watching Agnes and Timothy. The boy, too caught up in his sobbing, hadn’t noticed his uncle’s arrival. Ethan wore his usual cold expression, but there was a hint of disbelief on his face.
And rightly so—Agnes, drenched in red dye, with Timothy clinging to her across a pillow, was not exactly a normal sight.
Agnes worried Ethan might scold Timothy for sneaking into her room crying in the middle of the night. She herself was at her limit, but she didn’t want to stop Timothy from crying it out.
Gritting her teeth through the pain, she raised a finger to her lips.
Shh. Wait.
“…”
Surprisingly, Ethan didn’t move. He waited until Timothy fell asleep. By the time Agnes carefully moved the sleeping boy from her arms, her skin was burning. She itched to scratch at it with her nails, but that would’ve drawn blood.
Ugh, I’m going to pass out.
She gently laid Timothy down on a dry pillow and tried to straighten her back to look at Ethan.
But her vision spun, and strength drained from her limbs. She was at her limit. As she collapsed to the side and closed her eyes, someone caught her by the waist and neck.
“Acting all high and mighty, huh.”
Look who’s talking, Agnes thought faintly, before completely losing consciousness.
*
Agnes… you don’t need to push yourself so hard.
That’s what her mother had once gently told her when she took a job as a governess to support her ailing parents. Agnes always answered that she was fine, that it wasn’t too much—but in truth, she’d had to swallow the urge to snap back.
If I don’t work, how do you expect us to survive? Dad can’t even get out of bed. What about his medicine?
Agnes had always done her best. Before she died, and even after returning to life. In that sense, the future Marquis Reynold was an utterly incomprehensible creature to her. Lazy, debauched, aimless. With his pretty little head, it was impossible to tell if he even had thoughts at all.
“What’re you staring at?”
“I was just wondering if you’re capable of having a conversation.”
“….”
“You don’t seem quite sane, so I was unsure.”
“I can hear just fine. Spit it out. What do you want now?”
He always acted like he could do anything, but rarely actually delivered. If he had the energy to stay up drinking and partying, he could at least take the kids on a picnic.
“Don’t look down on me.”
“I’m standing and you’re lying down. That’s just gravity. If you don’t like it, sit up straight. Chairs aren’t for lying down.”
“I hate it when people look down on me.”
“Would you like me to kneel or something?”
“Whenever someone looks down at me like that, I just want to stab them. Reminds me of my brilliant uncle.”
“…”
“He always looked at me with disapproval. No matter what I did.”
“If you have something to say to him, tell him yourself. I don’t know him, so I can’t pass on messages.”
“Who said I was asking you to?”
“Ah, talking to yourself? My mistake, you were loud enough that I misunderstood.”
“You’re really impossible to beat, aren’t you?”
“You’ve never beaten me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want a father who’ll talk to his kids like a normal person.”
“…”
“Children need a father.”
“They don’t need anything like that. I’ve provided housing, meals, servants, and teachers. What more do they need?”
Agnes frowned. The words sounded familiar—she had heard the future Marquis Reynold say the same thing. She didn’t need to figure out who had said it first. She had come back from the future, and her memory came from a time he hadn’t yet experienced.
As the young marquis sprawled across the oversized chair with his legs on the table, his image blurred—and was replaced with another face, impossibly well-ordered and cold.
Straight posture, broad shoulders, emotionless blue eyes. The Duke of Battenberg.
Uncle or nephew, they’re both the same.
Two people who looked nothing alike… but were eerily similar in some ways.
“Ugh…”
Agnes groaned. Her cheek stung. She blinked rapidly. Her vision was a little blurry, but still intact.
“Good. Looks like your eyes weren’t damaged.”
That had been her biggest worry. Losing her sight over a child’s prank wouldn’t even earn sympathy.
“So you do worry about things.”
“Of course I—wait, huh?”
“Your vision is fine. The skin’s irritated, but with the right ointment, it’ll heal quickly.”
That voice—it couldn’t be…
“Your Grace?”
Agnes bolted upright, startled. Her head throbbed from how long she’d been lying down. Her eyesight might’ve been fine, but her brain didn’t feel so certain. She stared blankly at Ethan, who sat calmly in her room like he belonged there. His black hair gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the window.
She was in bed. And the Duke of Battenberg was standing at the window, looking down at her.
This was too surreal.
Is this a hallucination?
“Your Grace, why are you here…?”
“Timothy Evan Reynold is under my care. Therefore, anything that happens to him is my responsibility.”
“Well, I suppose, but…”
That didn’t explain why Ethan was in her bedroom, watching her.
He could’ve just told Carlo. Like always.
“Don’t tell me… you’ve been here this whole time?”
Agnes leaned away slightly and eyed him suspiciously.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I only got here recently. The doctor was just here.”
“Ah. Right…”
Agnes let out a low breath.
“You were lucky. It could’ve been much worse. If you want to quit, I’ll understand. I’ll make sure you’re generously compensated.”
“Who said I’m quitting? I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t need compensation.”
“…I thought you’d say that.”
Ethan clicked his tongue and shook his head, like he was dealing with an incorrigible problem child.
“But I still don’t understand why a teacher like you needs to go this far.”
“…”
You don’t need to try so hard, Agnes…
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Agnes suddenly felt a tightness in her throat. Her gaze dropped to her reddened hand.
No one could understand her desperation—because no one else knew the truth about her return.
Then, long fingers lifted her chin.
Huh?
Agnes stopped breathing. Ethan had stepped closer without her noticing, tilting her face up with his fingers. His blue eyes stared deep into hers.
Agnes didn’t know what expression to make. Her own flustered face, reflected in those deep blue eyes, looked pathetic. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
His well-shaped lips curled slightly.
“No scarring.”
“…”
And just like that, he stepped away.
The door closed behind him, and Agnes remained frozen in place for a long time.
