Chapter 8
The Count stayed quiet for a moment, then finally spoke.
“I heard you’ve been going horse riding lately. Isn’t it uncomfortable for you?”
“Uncomfortable? What do you mean?”
Whenever he didn’t like my attitude, he would speak informally on purpose. I wondered if he knew that just made me want to be more sarcastic. I stayed alert, not knowing what he would say next.
“I’ve heard other noblewomen have at least three personal maids.”
“Is that so? One is enough for me.”
“You’ll need more than one if you plan to join social events. You should hire at least two.”
I squinted at him, trying to figure out what he was up to, but his face didn’t show much. For now, I decided to just agree.
Maybe he wanted someone to spy on me—to catch me doing something wrong and use it as a reason for divorce.
We drank our tea in silence for a while. When I reached the bottom of my cup, he spoke again.
“Appearance matters too, doesn’t it? Your maid… well, she does match you, I suppose.”
He smiled slightly. How dare he? I clicked my tongue. Bella’s face turned bright red, and it wasn’t because of the sunlight.
“A personal maid’s behavior is also important.”
The Count frowned as if the tea was bitter—or maybe because of what I said. Then he calmly set down his teacup.
“There are lots of eyes in high society. I’m worried the other women might make fun of you.”
His insulting words made me clench my teeth. I wanted to punch his smug face right there.
“They are all proper, educated ladies. I’m learning a lot from them.”
“Well, it’s a bit late for you to start learning how to be a proper lady, don’t you think?”
I quickly changed the topic back to horse riding. If we kept talking about appearances, Bella might cry.
“Oh, come on. Isn’t it never too late to learn? I just don’t have the right ‘horse’ yet, so I’m still a bit awkward. Don’t tease me.”
Of course, the Count’s family owned many horses—beautiful brown ones with strong manes. But I wasn’t talking about real horses. In our world, calling a man a “horse” was a type of adult joke.
This world has an adult theme, so the Count would understand. Basically, he was hinting, “Are you seeing another man lately?”—and mocking me that I was too old to cheat.
‘I’m not like you. I’ve been careful even at the riding club.’
It made my throat itch to speak such vulgar words politely. But getting angry would mean losing. Ignoring it would also mean losing. So I had to beat him at his own game—with sharper sarcasm.
I added with a smile,
“If I had a pretty mare like you, I’d be good at riding too.”
He lifted his cup, then set it down hard. The cup clinked loudly against the saucer.
I smiled sweetly at him. The Count’s estate had no mares—only strong stallions. By “pretty mare,” I meant his mistress.
“Too bad. All the horses I own are stallions.”
“Oh, is that so? I must’ve been mistaken.”
That hit him right where it hurt, and I enjoyed it. He tapped the table with his fingers and finally revealed his real reason for inviting me to tea.
“Anyway, get one more maid.”
I frowned. He waved his finger like he had won. Bella politely poured the tea, but her trembling hands showed how tense she was.
She thought I might throw the teacup at him. I slowly opened my mouth.
“Are you hiring someone new?”
“There’s a good candidate wasting her time in the laundry room. She used to be the baroness’s personal maid. It’s time she returned to that position.”
From that one sentence, I knew exactly who he meant. The Count barely knew anyone in the house, so if he knew someone’s history, it could only be one person—his mistress, who now worked in laundry.
“The laundry maid? Like I said before, personal maids must behave well too.”
I smiled and basically said: Your mistress doesn’t behave properly. It was true—being with a married man is bad behavior.
The Count’s eyebrows twitched. Mmm, that sweet taste of victory.
But I wasn’t aiming for a win in this silly word battle.
“Well, since you recommended her, I’ll trust her.”
That was enough of the mind games. It sounded like I was giving in. Bella’s hands turned pale, though. It wasn’t that serious—just a typical power struggle between me and the Count.
Still, I didn’t want to upset Bella more. So I added,
“I hope she’s as careful as Bella.”
“I don’t care about that. I told her to come here so you can see her face.”
I thought the Count was brave—what if I lost my temper and snapped her neck in some quiet room?
A countess could get away with hurting a servant. I never did, and neither did Carla. But in this society, it wasn’t rare for noblewomen to hurt maids out of anger.
Maybe he didn’t care that much about his mistress after all. Before I could think more, the Count called someone loudly.
“Liza!”
I turned to where he was looking. I had to admit, I was biased.
Truthfully, I didn’t even know what his mistress looked like. I didn’t remember the novel clearly. I only knew she was a maid.
We had met in bed once, but I had hidden under the blanket, so I didn’t even see her hair color properly.
Whenever I imagined her, I pictured a classic villainess—sharp eyes, smug face, a sexy beauty who could charm anyone.
But I was totally wrong.
“I’m Liza, ma’am.”
She looked like an angel. Her honey-blonde hair shone under her headscarf. Her pale skin was flawless, and her bright blue eyes sparkled like gems. Her cheeks were round and cute, and her big smile was like a flower in morning dew. I stared, enchanted.
She stood next to the Count naturally. She was fidgety—tapping her nails and rocking side to side—but somehow it made her look even more innocent.
“I’m honored to serve you.”
I snapped back to reality. They must have planned all this in advance. Even if I refused, the Count would have found a way to stick her next to me.
What was he thinking? I looked sharply at him. He was too busy admiring Liza to notice me. That happy smile on his lips made my stomach twist.
Her earrings sparkled in the sunlight.
“She used to do laundry, so she must be good with clothes.”
“Yes, ma’am! Leave it to me!”
I knew right away—Liza would not be easy to deal with. She didn’t show a single bit of guilt, even though she was meeting the wife of the man she was having an affair with.
She looked straight at me and answered without hesitation. Confident.
Maybe I was just imagining things. But I pushed that thought deep down.
“The Count doesn’t care about wrinkled pants, but I’m quite picky.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Liza didn’t even realize I was mocking her. She smiled brightly. I looked at her with pity. She smiled so sweetly—it felt like bullying a cheerful little bird.
I smiled too. The Count smiled as well.
Let them smile all they want.
Hell was just beginning.
