Episode 4
“Daddy.”
Ian and the servant both looked down at the same time.
The one holding onto Ian’s pant leg was a child — her hand so small and delicate that even holding it seemed like it might hurt her.
“Is this a child you know, Lord Wyndham?”
But before Ian could answer, the child spoke up again.
“Daddy…”
The stunned servant tried to gently correct her.
“Sweetheart, I think you might be confused—”
Just then, a woman came rushing over.
“Ayla!”
With deep brown hair tumbling in soft waves over her forehead, the woman was stunningly beautiful — so much so that words couldn’t do her justice.
The servant couldn’t help but freeze and stare at her.
‘She’s… beautiful…’
He found himself gaping, unable to take his eyes off her. Her eyes, which looked like emeralds from one angle and sapphires from another, briefly locked with his.
‘Even her eyes are perfect…’
She was so beautiful, it felt like his soul was being drawn into her. But then—
“Daddy…”
That strange word snapped him back to reality.
‘Right. That’s the issue here.’
“Child, you’re confused—”
But before the servant could finish, Ian spoke first.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
He greeted the woman as if they knew each other.
Then he crouched down to Ayla’s level and asked softly:
“Do you remember me?”
The gentle tone in Ian’s voice made the servant blink in surprise.
‘Wait, they know each other?’
Ayla gave a small nod and mumbled,
“Um… Daddy…”
Her voice was as soft as a feather, and the servant tilted his head in confusion.
‘Why does she keep calling Lord Wyndham Daddy…?’
Then it suddenly hit him.
‘Wait — is he the dad?!’
The servant panicked, quickly scanning the situation.
‘No way. That can’t be true… right?’
Then he noticed the mourning clothes on both the woman and the girl — symbols of grieving. He shook his head quickly.
‘No. No way. That can’t be it.’
At that moment, Ian turned to the servant and spoke.
“We’ll talk another time.”
“…Pardon?”
“As you can see, I’m with guests.”
Guests? These two women he just ran into?
“……”
The servant knew this was Ian’s way of brushing him off.
Still, he couldn’t make a scene in front of another noble — especially not in front of a grieving widow.
He had no choice but to back down.
“…Understood.”
Of course, that didn’t mean he was giving up.
‘If I return empty-handed again, Lady Marianne will… ugh…!’
As much as Ian was cold, dealing with the unpredictable Marianne was worse — she was like a ticking bomb. So he planned to visit Ian a few more times with the marriage proposal in hand.
Hiding all this behind a polite smile, the servant bowed.
“I’ll call on you again soon.”
****
A teahouse in Chaméron.
Estella sat in silence, her thoughts tangled.
‘What is even happening right now?’
She was confident that she could stay calm in any situation — but even she was thrown off by this.
Why had Ayla called that stranger “Daddy”?
And why had the man responded as if it made sense — even going as far as to bring them to a fancy tea shop?
“He’s not a familiar face.”
If someone looked that striking, she should remember him — but no matter how hard Estella searched her memory, nothing came up.
That could only mean one thing: he must be someone she met before entering the Barony of Vansenne.
‘I should probably just hear him out.’
Just then, the tea they had ordered was brought to the table.
The man picked up his cup and smiled warmly.
“I come here often, so they brought out my usual without even asking. I hope it suits your taste as well.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Estella replied, lifting her teacup as well.
She took a quiet sip, eyes drifting over the man as she tried to figure him out.
Unlike Ayla’s soft and light features, the man had deep black hair with not even a hint of brown in it.
‘He doesn’t resemble Ayla at all.’
Ayla had green eyes, while this man had grayish-blue eyes.
‘So he’s probably not a relative… maybe an old friend of the late Baron Vansenne?’
While all these thoughts ran through her head, her expression didn’t give anything away.
“The aroma is lovely,” she commented politely.
She continued silently piecing things together.
Fortunately, the man cleared up the mystery himself.
“I attended the Baron of Vansenne’s funeral a few days ago.”
Estella, who had been watching his long, strong fingers wrapped around the teacup, lifted her gaze slightly.
So that’s when he met Ayla? And she remembered him? That sounded like Ayla — she was a clever child, after all.
“It seems you don’t remember me.”
Estella set her cup down and gently shook her head.
“I’m afraid I don’t remember much from that day. I’m sorry.”
“That’s perfectly understandable.”
The man glanced at Ayla, who had dozed off and was now sleeping with her head in Estella’s lap.
“I wasn’t close with the Baron, so I didn’t enter the funeral hall. I stayed outside, but I did cross paths with your daughter in the garden.”
At that, all the out-of-place puzzle pieces in Estella’s mind started to fall into place.
When Ayla had softly called this man “Daddy,” it wasn’t because she actually thought he was.
She had just been trying to start a conversation — like when someone vaguely familiar approaches and says, “Aren’t you Stella’s friend?” just to confirm an assumption.
Estella looked down at her stepdaughter resting on her lap, pretending to be lost in thought.
“She’s got an excellent memory.”
“She certainly seems to.”
With his quiet response, Estella naturally turned her eyes to the window.
‘This is just one of those brief encounters.’
The man wasn’t a relative, nor a friend of her late husband. There was really nothing left to say.
So she asked no more questions.
She simply thought to herself:
‘The tea smells so good.’
And she was genuinely thankful for that.
‘How long has it been since I’ve had tea like this?’
Ever since her husband died, she’d been running like a horse with a whip at its back — no time for tea breaks or anything else.
Maybe that’s why she felt so grateful to this man — even if it was just for this brief luxury of sitting on a comfy sofa with a warm drink.
‘This tea really is lovely.’
As she quietly enjoyed the silence between them, Estella turned her head and looked at the man again.
He set down his teacup and slowly blinked — then, noticing her gaze, met her eyes.
His look seemed to ask, “Is there something you want to say?”
So she opened her lips slightly and asked,
“I hope we didn’t interrupt your plans.”
She remembered he had been speaking with a servant-like man earlier.
If that was something important, they might be holding him up with such a trivial connection.
“It was just wrapping up anyway, so no need to worry.”
“I see.”
When she replied in a light tone, he silently smiled and placed his cup down again.
“Do you have somewhere to go?”
A woman who had just lost her husband, wandering with a child — and during a mourning period, when widows were expected to avoid public appearances.
To anyone watching, it looked like she’d been kicked out after losing her inheritance.
Estella, knowing this, didn’t bother trying to cover herself with a pathetic excuse. She simply answered honestly.
“Somewhere to go… hmm. I’m not sure. But I don’t think it’s here in Chaméron.”
She lowered her gaze to the teacup in her hand, then added with a soft gesture,
“In a city like this, just enjoying a cup of tea might mean we’re sleeping on the street tomorrow.”
A roundabout way of saying that the cost of living was far too high here.
At that, the man gave the smallest nod — agreeing, but not showing too much emotion.
Estella hadn’t expected a deep response anyway, so she said nothing more.
She simply sipped her tea, savoring every drop.
Then, suddenly, a strange sentence broke through the calm:
“If you have nowhere to go… you’re welcome to stay at my estate.”
Estella, still looking down at the red tea in her cup, frowned slightly at the unexpected offer.
