WDHMTU |CHAPTER 58

Chapter 58

 

What am I even doing right now…?

 

Marsha sat on the bed, her face heavy with unease as she gazed out at the darkening sky.

 

After Claudio left, with nothing particular to do, she lay down again. 

 

But to her dismay, she had fallen asleep once more—and didn’t wake until evening.

 

I’ve never wasted an entire day like this before.

 

When she was sick, rest had been unavoidable. 

 

But she wasn’t ill now.

 

Ugh… is it really okay to squander time like this?

 

She sighed, pressing a hand to her stomach. 

 

Having eaten and then immediately gone back to sleep left her feeling bloated and uncomfortable.

 

I wish I could get some fresh air…

 

Just then, someone knocked at her door.

 

“Y-yes?” Marsha jumped, her voice a little too high.

 

“A young lady’s maid has been assigned to you, my lady. May I come in?”

 

“Ah—yes…”

 

At her reply, a maid stepped in carefully.

 

“Good evening, my lady. I came to see what you would like for supper. Do you have a preference for the menu?”

 

Marsha shook her head quickly.

 

“No, no. I don’t need supper. I—I still feel too full to eat anything.”

 

“Oh…”

 

The maid hesitated. 

 

Her master had given strict orders: the young lady was to be properly cared for, her meals never neglected. 

 

Yet at midday, Marsha had been sleeping so deeply that she hadn’t dared disturb her.

 

But if I force her to eat now, she may fall ill instead…

 

With a gentle smile, the maid suggested,

“Then, perhaps I should prepare a bath for you?”

 

“Ah…”

 

Marsha blinked. 

 

Now that it was mentioned, she realized she hadn’t properly washed since the day before—she had done nothing but sleep. 

 

Flushing with embarrassment, she nodded.

 

“Then I shall come fetch you once everything is ready. Please wait just a moment.”

 

At that, Marsha had thought the maid would simply guide her to a servant’s bath. 

 

She had not expected to be ushered into a grand bathing chamber of extravagant marble and gilded fixtures—nor for the maids to insist on waiting upon her hand and foot.

 

Even when Marsha protested that she could bathe herself, they remained immovable. 

 

When they presented her afterward with a hand-stitched nightdress trimmed in lace, they even apologized for its simplicity.

 

“We did not expect a lady of your standing to come, so we had only this prepared as indoor wear.”

 

Marsha could only stare.

 

What on earth did Dio tell them about me?

 

The Duke of Gloria’s household servants wouldn’t possibly treat a country herbalist this way.

 

Don’t tell me… he introduced me as a noble lady?

 

Perhaps he’d found it troublesome to admit he’d brought along some peasant girl and had lied instead?

 

No… knowing his brazen personality, he wouldn’t bother spinning such a story. 

 

And besides, who would believe it—just looking at me would be enough to dispel such nonsense.

 

No matter how she thought it over, she found no answer. 

 

With an inward sigh, she allowed the maid to comb out her hair and finally asked,

“Actually… I’d like to take a walk. Is there somewhere quiet I could go?”

 

“Ah…”

 

The maid hesitated, recalling Urian’s instructions: The young lady is His Grace’s honored guest. 

 

Indulge her every wish.

 

But the main garden was still chaotic with departing merchants.

 

“There’s a smaller garden behind the residence. It isn’t as grand as the main one, but it is quiet—and quite suitable for a stroll.”

 

Guided by the maid, Marsha followed—and when she arrived, her eyes widened.

 

Oh my goodness…

 

It was a rose maze, radiant in full bloom.

 

I’ve never seen roses this large before…

 

The fragrance was delicate and soft, nothing like the harsh perfume she remembered roses to have. 

 

A different breed, perhaps?

 

Marsha wandered slowly into the maze. 

 

Lanterns hung here and there, their glow scattering across the roses and gleaming leaves until they shone like jewels. 

 

Passing beneath towering rose trees that could easily hide a grown man, she felt as if she’d stepped into a fairytale.

 

How… How can it be so beautiful?

 

The main garden was magnificent with its stonework, yes—but lacked this sort of delicate grace. 

 

For her, this hidden garden seemed the truer beauty.

 

“Ah-choo!”

 

She sneezed suddenly, having sniffed at the blossoms a little too eagerly.

 

“Oh, my lady! You must be cold!” the maid exclaimed, startled. “I should have brought a cloak. If you walk inside, you’ll find a bench. Please wait there—I’ll fetch one immediately.”

 

Marsha opened her mouth to protest, to say she wasn’t chilled at all.

 

But before she could speak, the maid had already dashed back toward the mansion.

 

Do the maids here train like knights too?

 

She runs as if for her life…

 

Marsha had no time to stop her. 

 

With a small shrug, she walked deeper into the maze toward the bench the maid had mentioned. 

 

She could have returned to the house, but the garden was too lovely—she wanted to linger here as long as she could.

 

Then, suddenly, she heard a rustling sound from within the roses.

 

What was that?

 

Her skin prickled. 

 

Someone was there.

 

Then—

 

“Hsssss!”

 

A sharp hiss.

 

A cat?

 

Her shoulders loosened in relief.

 

“Mrrrow!”

 

More cries followed, harsh and rapid—two cats fighting, perhaps. 

 

Marsha hurried toward the noise, intending to break it up.

 

But what awaited her was not a brawl—

 

It was a man, clutching an angry cat to his chest with one hand while the other clamped tightly over its mouth.

 

The lanternlight was dim, and his head was bowed. 

 

Yet… something about him struck Marsha as familiar.

 

Then he spoke, in a sharp whisper:

“Shh! Be quiet!”

 

The moment she heard his voice, she knew.

 

“…Wilford.”

 

“—!”

 

The man started so violently it was a wonder he didn’t faint. 

 

Reeling back, he dropped the cat, which yowled and bolted in the direction Marsha had come from. 

 

The maze was suddenly silent but for the two of them.

 

“Mar… Marsha Emelide?”

 

Wilford’s face drained of color, his trembling finger pointing at her as if she were a ghost.

 

Marsha’s eyes trembled violently. 

 

No… it can’t be… She wanted to believe it was a trick of the shadows, or a dream stirred by rose perfume.

 

But no—it was Wilford.

 

“What… what are you doing here?”

 

“What about you?!” he burst out, then instantly clapped his hand over his mouth, grimacing. He expected guards to come running at once. But the garden remained still.

 

“I asked first,” Marsha said, her gaze steady.

 

Wilford’s brows drew tight. 

 

This was not the timid, sunlit girl who used to glance at him nervously with a soft smile. 

 

Her eyes now were sharp, cold.

 

No… focus.

 

That doesn’t matter right now.

 

He had been despairing only moments ago. 

 

Even if he lingered in the duke’s estate, there was no guarantee he’d ever secure an audience. 

 

And if he tried barging into the duke’s presence or approaching one of his men, he’d be tossed out instantly.

 

So he had decided to hide here, bide his time.

 

But now—the very reason he had risked coming at all was standing before him. 

 

What kind of fate was this?

 

“You… you know the Duke of Gloria?”

 

He shook his head at his own question.

 

 “No, of course not. That’s impossible. You must have survived somehow and ended up serving here as a maid, is that it?”

 

He studied her from head to toe. 

 

Truthfully, her dress was far too fine for a maid. 

 

But what else could explain her presence in this place?

 

“You keep repeating yourself,” Marsha said coolly. “Why are you here? Sneaking around like this—don’t tell me you actually broke in?”

 

“I—I did not sneak in! I am Viscount Rosenny! A noble doesn’t need to crawl about like a rat. The duke invited merchants—of course I entered openly!”

 

Marsha’s lips curved in a sharp line. 

 

“Yet somehow, you don’t look very ‘open’ about it now.”

 

Her relentless retorts made his temper flare. 

 

He jabbed a finger at her, voice cracking.

 

“I’m here because I was searching for you! Satisfied now?!”

 

Marsha’s breath caught.

 

“…You… were looking for me?”

 

“Yes! Four years ago, you vanished. Do you have any idea what I went through because of that?”

 

Her throat tightened. 

 

The last card Wilford had played before—the one that bound them—was seared into her memory. 

 

This cruel man had been searching for her? Why?

 

“You wouldn’t know, of course! But because of you—because I was engaged to you—I was treated with nothing but contempt by that bastard!”

 

Wilford ripped at his cravat, his voice ragged.

 

“…Who do you mean?”

 

“Lucas! That bastard Lucas!”

 

Marsha gasped sharply.