Chapter 1
The Delivered Girl

The girl arrived by mail coach.

It was a late afternoon in early spring, the kind of day when Bill Remmer had been busy planting rose seedlings from dawn to dusk.

“Are you Mr. Bill Remmer?”

The child asked timidly, her careful voice directed toward the man standing there with a bewildered expression. Her accent was peculiar—soft, almost melodic.

“Yeah. I’m Bill Remmer, all right.”

Bill pulled off his straw hat, brushing dirt from his hands.

As the shade of the wide brim lifted, revealing his sun-darkened face, the girl flinched and swallowed nervously. Hardly surprising. Most people who saw the burly, rough-looking Bill Remmer for the first time reacted that way.

“And who might you be?”

His scowl made his already intimidating features even harsher.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Remmer. My name is Layla Llewellyn. I came from Robita.”

She spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable. Robita… Ah. Only then did Bill make sense of her odd accent.

“You mean you came all the way across the border, alone, to Berck?”

“Yes. By train.”

The girl gave an awkward smile and stiffened her posture unnaturally straight. Just then, the postman who had escorted her walked up.

“Ah, so she’s already found you, Mr. Remmer.”

“Perfect timing. But why did you bring her here?”

“I saw her struggling with her luggage outside the station. When I asked where she was headed, she said she was looking for the Herhardt family’s gardener, Mr. Bill Remmer. Since I was on my way here to deliver mail anyway, I brought her along.”

The postman handed Bill a letter with a polite smile. It was from distant relatives in Robita.

Impatient as always, Bill tore the envelope open on the spot. The letter explained the circumstances of a child—an orphan who had drifted from one relative’s house to another, only to be abandoned due to their crushing poverty. Her name: Layla Llewellyn. Which meant this small girl standing before him was that very orphan.

“Goddamn cowards. They sure didn’t waste any time passing the buck.”

Bill let out a dry laugh, more bitter than amused.

There were no relatives in Robita willing to take the child. Of all the people with even the faintest connection to her, Bill Remmer was supposedly the “best off.” So they had decided to send her to him. And if he refused, the letter suggested, he should just put her in an orphanage.

Muttering curses, Bill crumpled the letter and tossed it to the ground.

“Unbelievable. They sent a little girl all this way on her own?”

His face reddened with anger as the situation sank in. Passing her around like a hot potato, then finally throwing her across the border with nothing but a distant relative’s address—it was practically abandonment.

“Um, Mr. Remmer. I’m not that little, you know.”

The girl, who had been watching quietly, spoke up.

“I’ll be twelve in a few weeks.”

She whispered in a deliberately mature tone, rising slightly onto her toes. The sight made Bill chuckle again. She was so tiny he had guessed maybe ten years old at best. Well, at least she wasn’t quite as young as she looked.

Once the postman—who had “delivered” the troublesome child—left, only the two of them remained in the garden. Bill raked his hands through his hair, muttering silent complaints to heaven.

“Relative,” they called him. In truth, he was no closer to her father than a stranger on the street.

Over twenty years since he’d last seen that distant cousin, and now he was expected to raise the man’s daughter? A widowed gardener, saddled with a little girl?

She was dressed far too thinly for the lingering chill of spring, and her body was so frail she looked like a stick. The only things that stood out were her large green eyes and her hair, shimmering like golden thread.

It was absurd. He couldn’t possibly take her in.

Bill came to that conclusion swiftly. But the only alternative—the orphanage—wasn’t much better. He swore again under his breath.

The girl flinched but tried to keep a brave face. Even so, her nervous hands fidgeted, and her lips—red from being bitten—betrayed her unease.

“Come along.”

Bill shook his head and started walking.

“First thing’s first, we’ll get you fed.”

His curt words carried away on the evening breeze.

Layla, who had been standing stiff as a stick, finally followed. Step by step, her pace grew lighter, almost cheerful.

“That’s all you’re going to eat?”

Bill frowned at the small portion on her plate.

“Yes. I don’t eat much. Really.”

The girl smiled, and Bill felt even more uncomfortable.

“Kid, I can’t stand picky eaters.”

Her eyes went wide at his blunt remark. The lamplight fell across her thin wrist, peeking out from her rolled-up sleeve.

“You need to eat like a cow—big and hearty.”

His expression grew even more stern.

After a long blink, Layla hesitated, then placed another slice of meat and a chunk of bread on her plate. Hungry as she was, she devoured it quickly.

“I might not eat like a cow, but I do eat well, Mr. Remmer.”

She grinned with crumbs on her lips.

“Yeah. I can see that now.”

Bill chuckled and raised his mug again.

“You’re not scared of me?”

He deliberately furrowed his brow. But the girl met his eyes without wavering.

“No. You don’t yell at me. And you gave me food. So… I think you’re kind and nice.”

What kind of life had she lived, to call that kindness?

Bitter at heart, Bill stood abruptly and poured himself a full mug of beer.

The letter had said her mother abandoned husband and child for another man. Her father, crushed by despair, drank himself into sickness and died. Since then, Layla had been shuttled from one relative to the next. No wonder her life had been miserable.

Still… raising her was out of the question.

Bill drained his mug in silence, resolving that by next week at the latest, he would settle this matter once and for all.

“Did you hear? Gardener Remmer’s going to raise a little girl!”

The maid burst into the servants’ lounge, flustered and wide-eyed. All eyes turned toward her.

“A girl? Remmer? I’d sooner believe he’d raise a lion or an elephant.”

A footman snorted.

Bill Remmer, the Herhardt family’s gardener, had an uncanny talent for cultivating flowers. That gift alone had allowed him to keep his post for twenty years, despite being unsociable and gruff.

He treated the ducal family with the same blunt manner as anyone else, yet he was still trusted—especially by the Dowager Duchess. Her passion for flowers made her forgiving of all things related to her gardens. It had been her idea to grant Bill the cabin in the woods behind the estate.

Bill’s life was simple.

Work in the gardens, rest in the cabin. Except for the occasional drink with old colleagues, his world revolved around plants and trees. Ever since his wife died of illness over a decade ago, he rarely even spoke to women.

And now people claimed that stone-hearted Bill Remmer was raising a little girl? Impossible.

As skepticism spread, a maid at the window gasped.

“Oh my goodness. Look! Over there!”

Everyone crowded the window and soon wore the same stunned expression.

There was Bill, hunched as always, tending the garden. And following behind him—sure enough—was a tiny girl.

Her golden braid swung like a pendulum as she trotted along.

“Still thinking it over,” Bill always replied when asked about her.

“Can’t keep her here forever. Need to think it through.”

But as spring passed into summer, Layla Llewellyn had quietly become part of the estate. The sight of her roaming the gardens and woods had become familiar to the household staff.

“She looks taller already,” remarked Mrs. Mona, the cook, smiling out the window at Layla examining flowers by the woods.

“She’s got a long way to go. Tiny thing.”

“Remmer, children aren’t flowers. They don’t shoot up overnight, you know.”

She set down a basket on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Cookies and cake. We had a tea party yesterday.”

“I hate sweets.”

“They’re for Layla.”

Bill’s eyebrows twitched at her calm retort.

Though she wasn’t really supposed to stay, the staff had started caring for Layla—bringing her food, asking after her, even visiting her. It was troublesome.

“She’ll need new clothes soon. Another inch and her skirt won’t cover her knees.”

Mona clucked her tongue at the sight of Layla chasing birds. Bill said nothing; even he could see the truth.

Then Mona gasped, rushing to the window.

Bill glanced over lazily. Layla had scrambled up a tree after a bird, moving agilely as a squirrel.

“She’s got a knack for climbing,” Bill muttered.

“Remmer! You knew about this? Is this how you raise a girl?”

“As you see, she’s strong and healthy.”

“You’re raising her like a tomboy!”

Mona scolded him at length before finally leaving. Bill, shaking his head, wandered outside.

“Mr. Remmer!”

Layla waved, beaming. She scampered down from the tree and rushed to his side. Her gray dress was too short at the hem and sleeves. Hand-me-downs, clearly. He couldn’t let her greet the Duke like that. She needed clothes.

“Get ready to go.”

He spoke impulsively at the cabin’s back door. Fear flickered in her eyes.

“M-Mr. Remmer?”

“We’re just going to town for clothes. Don’t look so scared.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“The Duke’s coming soon. Can’t have you meeting him like this.”

“The Duke… he’s the master of this land, right?”

“That’s right. With school out, he’ll be back.”

“School? The Duke goes to school?”

She frowned in puzzlement. Bill chuckled, ruffling her messy hair.

“Even a Duke has to attend school at eighteen.”

“What? Eighteen? The Duke?”

Her shock made him laugh harder. Her soft, fluffy hair felt almost like spun sunlight against his rough fingers.

The train from the capital rolled into Karlsbar Station.

The servants waiting on the platform lined up smartly at the first-class carriage. A tall, slender young man descended.

“Welcome home, young master.”

Butler Hessen bowed deeply, followed by the rest of the staff.

Standing poised and elegant, Matthias returned the greeting with a slight nod. His lips curved in a perfect smile—neither too much nor too little.

As he strode forward, the Herhardt servants fell into motion. Onlookers scattered back to clear a path. Matthias never slowed, crossing the platform in graceful strides.

“The carriage is ready, sir.”

Noticing the waiting coach, Matthias let out a small laugh.

“Ah… yes. The Dowager never did trust automobiles.”

“Forgive us. Next time we’ll—”

“No. A classic ride now and then isn’t bad.”

He climbed in with effortless poise. Even in unhurried movements, his long limbs carried an aura of youthful strength.

The gilded coach rolled away, a wagon of luggage following at a respectful distance.