Chapter 17
Like a Surprise Gift

Layla of the Remmers had been invited to the Duke’s party.

The news spread quickly among the servants of Arvis. At first they were bewildered; in the end, they only clicked their tongues. Everyone who had worked in Arvis long enough knew that Lady Brandt treated poor Layla like her own pet.

“Honestly, why are all nobles so cruel?”

Madam Mona, the cook, came storming to the cottage that very afternoon. For Bill Remmer, who had been resting in the midday heat, it was like thunder crashing on his head.

“They call it kindness, but imagine how small the girl will feel in such a place.”

“Layla’s not the sort to cower over something like that. She’ll just show her face and come back, that’s all.”

“Men. You don’t understand a thing!”

When Mona rolled her eyes, Bill scratched his neck and stubbed out his cigarette.

“I only hope she’ll show them a thing or two for once.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What else? That pretty face of hers will put those highborn girls in their place.”

“Now hold on, isn’t that going too far…”

“Don’t tell me you were planning to send her in a school uniform?”

What’s wrong with a school uniform?

Bill blinked in confusion, but Mona only clicked her tongue in dismay.

“Bill Remmer, after all these years, you still don’t know how to raise a daughter?”

“Daughter? Don’t be ridiculous. I was just thinking… what to do with her.”

“Of course. Thinking. You’ll still be thinking when you send her to be married, when she brings you grandchildren, and when you’re laid out in your coffin!”

“What are you saying, married? She’s just a child still! You’re talking nonsense.”

Bill bristled, but Mona’s lips curved into a softer smile.

“And yet you say she’s not your daughter. You’re a strange man, Bill Remmer.”

“If you’ve only come to talk nonsense, then go.”

“Buy her a pretty dress, Mr. Remmer. Like a surprise gift. She’s a girl—think how happy she’ll be.”

Mona’s words carried the weight of command.

“Layla won’t ask for such things, and you’d never think to do it, so I’ll step in. I’ll help you.”

“And how, exactly?”

“You give me the money, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Then do as you like.”

Grumbling, Bill went inside and fetched his money pouch. Distrustful of banks, he always kept his savings in that worn leather bag.

By the time Mona had extracted enough for the dress and shoes, Layla returned from tending the goats. The two of them hastily hid any trace of their transaction.

Layla offered her guest a cup of tea, but Mona waved it off and left. Bill, meanwhile, discreetly shoved the pouch under his chair.

“Did she scold you on my account again? I haven’t been caught climbing trees lately.”

Layla sat beside him, her voice tinged with concern.

“Nothing of the sort. Stop worrying over nonsense.”

Bill coughed, relit his cigarette, and puffed.

“That’s good, then.”

Layla smiled, slipping off her straw hat and leaning back into the chair.

Every day that summer, she wore that same hat. Each time Bill saw it, his heart felt oddly full. The thought of her in a fine dress made that fullness swell—enough that the money Mona had pried from him no longer stung.

“Layla.”

At his sudden call, Layla lifted clear, bright eyes to him.

“What do you plan to do about the Duke’s party?”

“I’ll just stop by for a little while, then come back. Dr. Etman’s family was invited, so I’ll go with Kyle.”

“That so? Well, at least that good-for-nothing boy will be useful for once.”

The mention of Kyle gave Bill a rush of relief. A scrawny brat, always eating more than his share—but trustworthy enough, at least.

“Even so, won’t you need something? Clothes to wear, perhaps?”

“I’ll be fine, Uncle.”

Layla smiled again—the same clear smile she had always worn since childhood, the one that always unsettled Bill.

“Fine? Are you planning to wear your school uniform?”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

She chuckled, playful and light. But her ease only deepened Bill’s frown.

Have I truly never learned how to raise a daughter?

“No, no…”

He startled himself, muttering under his breath.

A daughter? What nonsense.

He shook his head firmly.

Layla looked at him in puzzlement. Her glasses glinted faintly in the dim light, tightening the ache in his chest.

He knew too well how hard she tried never to be a burden. How desperately she avoided being an obligation. And yet, he never found the right way to reassure her—only clumsy, blunt words.

Still, one thought hardened in him: Madam Mona had done a fine thing today, even if she had been a bit overbearing.

“Layla.”

Again, Bill summoned his courage.

“It’s… it’s damned hot today.”

And once again, he ended up where he always did.

Ashamed of himself, he coughed into his fist. Layla laughed softly, then reached out to clasp the hand resting on the chair’s arm.

Who’s comforting whom?

Bill scowled, but he didn’t shake her off. She smiled so sweetly it almost hurt to look. What a beautiful girl she was.

Layla woke without tossing or turning. Dawn had just broken, painting her room in ink-colored shadows.

She lay still, slowly scanning her surroundings.

The familiar ceiling. A window curtained in cream. A worn desk with a few open books. The faint scent of sunlit linens clinging to the blankets.

Home.

She exhaled in relief.

It had been a long time since she’d dreamed such a nightmare—memories of drifting from one relative’s house to another, alone in the world. Before Uncle Bill, her life had been a cycle of nightmares, but her time in the house that left her afraid of water had seared itself most deeply into her memory.

‘It’s all her fault!’

Her uncle by marriage would snarl those words whenever he was drunk. In sober moments, he was timid and quiet. But as she remembered it, he was drunk at least five nights a week. When he lost at gambling, he grew even crueler, lashing out at Layla with curses and blows.

She had hated him. Hated him bitterly. But as an orphan, Layla Llewellyn had no choice but to endure.

She worked relentlessly, never resting. She ate as little as possible. She kept herself small and quiet, like an old piece of furniture tucked in a corner. Even so, she was eventually thrown out. On that day, her aunt had pressed a small paper bag into her hands—cookies inside.

Layla had bowed politely, accepted them, and left. On the coach ride to yet another relative, she took out one cookie. Chocolate chip. So sweet it made her heart ache.

But she hadn’t cried. Not then. Instead, she practiced smiling. All the way to her next stop, she practiced smiling brightly, because no one in the world liked a crying orphan. Each time she was cast out, she grew better at it.

Yet the day she had to cross the Border alone, heading for Berck, smiling hadn’t come so easily. Even as a child, she’d known that the address in her hand was her last chance. If she were rejected again, an orphanage awaited her.

Still, she had forced herself to smile. And when she’d met Uncle Bill’s warm, pitying eyes, when she’d stepped across the threshold of this very room—she had never forgotten that moment. The day she gained a home, a family.

So it’s fine. Everything is fine.

Murmuring comfort to herself, Layla rose from bed.

Tonight was the Duke’s party. To say she wasn’t nervous would be a lie. But she didn’t want to dwell on it either. She would go, endure quietly, and return.

Lady Claudine would never know. Never know that Layla Llewellyn would do anything—anything—for Uncle Bill and their warm little cottage.

She opened the window, washed up, dressed, and stepped out with a bright smile for the man waiting by the door.

“Let’s go together, Uncle!”

By afternoon, the mansion was ready.

It was a grand event, but for the servants of Arvis it was routine. Each one performed their task with practiced ease. All that remained was for the sun to set, for the party to begin. As with everything under the Herhardt name, tonight would be perfect.

Matthias left the dressing room in his evening coat. With his hair combed back from his brow, his features seemed colder still. The faint smile on his lips did nothing to soften the sharpness of his eyes, the severity of his face.

“Everything has been arranged as instructed, sir.”

Dismissed of the attendants, Hessen bowed quietly. Matthias picked up a cigarette, arching one brow as he turned.

“They departed about an hour ago. The items should have reached their destination by now.”

“I see.”

He tipped his chin, lit the cigarette, and exhaled smoke.

“Well done.”

The faintest smile accompanied his words. Hessen bowed once more.

It had been his mother who told him that Claudine had invited Layla Llewellyn to the party. Praise for a young lady’s kindness, her generous heart. That sort of talk.

Left alone, it promised to be an amusing spectacle. Layla would appear shabby. Claudine would bestow all her pity and charity.

Matthias thought he understood why Layla provoked Claudine. The girl was irritating. And breaking her pride was enjoyable.

So he had no desire to hand that pleasure away. Claudine wanted it, but Matthias von Herhardt was not a man who shared what was his.

“What should be done with these, sir?”

Hessen gestured toward a box beside the cold fireplace—the box of gifts the cook had prepared in Bill Remmer’s name.

It was supposed to be delivered to the cottage today. But instead, Hessen had replaced it with things Matthias himself had arranged. Those items had gone on, disguised as Bill’s gift. And the box prepared for Layla had been brought here.

Matthias regarded it coolly through the haze of smoke. He didn’t need to open it to guess its contents.

“Throw it away.”

The order slipped out with the smoke—calm, final.