Chapter 39
Beloved Son

So, the boy was clever after all.

Seeing her son’s door still firmly shut, Mrs. Etman felt relieved.

That afternoon a few days ago, Kyle had returned from meeting Layla looking like a man who had lost his soul. He hadn’t said a word, only shut himself in his room. From that alone, Mrs. Etman could read what must have passed between the two.

“Madam, the young master didn’t eat again today.”

Mrs. Becker, the housekeeper, spoke worriedly when she saw her coming down from the second floor.

“Leave him be. When the heart is troubled, eating itself is a torment.”

The unexpected reply made Mrs. Becker’s eyes widen. Usually her mistress fretted over the boy skipping even one meal. But knowing her employer would not confide further, she simply bowed and withdrew.

For the first time in a while, Mrs. Etman went out to the garden to tend the flowerbeds.

The Etman garden was full of rare roses transplanted from the Herhardt estate. Elise von Herhardt only gave them to women she considered close friends, and Mrs. Etman had received more than a few.

Here in Karlsbar, she alone, without a title, enjoyed friendship with both mistresses of the Herhardt house. That had always been her pride. She was certain that if Kyle married the daughter of a lesser noble family introduced by the Dowager Duchess, the Etmans’ position would be unshakable.

And to reach that point, how hard she had worked. Yet her husband and son had threatened to ruin it all—for the sake of that one girl, Layla.

Yes, she had wronged that poor child.

Linda Etman admitted it willingly.

But she felt no regret. For Kyle, she would do things far harsher still. Finding him a proper match was, in the end, also in Layla’s best interest.

Arms full of roses cut and sorted by color, she returned to the drawing room. She was arranging them in a vase when Dr. Etman came home.

“Kyle? Is he still like that?”

“Yes. He must have much on his mind.”

“It’s something to do with Layla, I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll go and speak to her myself.”

She set the vase in the center of the table and spoke calmly.

“You?”

“Did you forget? Kyle is my son too.”

Her smile sharpened.

“And I love him far more than you ever could.”

When Mrs. Etman arrived at the cottage, Layla was scrubbing a great pot in the yard. Water from the pump splashed everywhere—her apron, sleeves, even the tips of her hair were soaked.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Etman.”

Layla rose, greeting her without visible alarm.

“Come inside—”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

Mrs. Etman’s eyes traveled slowly over the girl before she handed her a leather pouch. Layla did not need to open it to know what it contained.

She nearly thanked her—habit—but bit it back, taking the pouch in silence. The steady gaze Layla fixed on her displeased Mrs. Etman enough to draw a frown.

“You look as though you have much to say.”

“Yes.”

The ready answer made Mrs. Etman laugh lightly. Layla’s heart raced, but she would not bow her head this time, not as she had in the tearoom.

“Well. I suppose that’s understandable. I’ll allow it.”

Her lips curved, but the line of her mouth stayed rigid.

“So, you ended things with Kyle properly.”

“You must know that. That’s why you’re returning this money.”

“What exactly did you say to him?”

Her eyes flickered, suddenly uneasy at Layla’s tone—so different from before.

“I didn’t say what you fear.”

“Fear?”

“Yes. That I might have told Kyle the truth of that day.”

“Well. I didn’t realize you could be so impertinent.”

“If I’ve been rude, forgive me. I only wished to assure you—Kyle knows nothing of it.”

Layla lowered her head in polite apology. But when she raised her eyes again, they were steadier, clearer than before.

“I didn’t tell him. And I never will.”

Just speaking his name made her chest ache. The sight of him by the brook that day—his back as she walked away—would be a wound that never healed.

“I’ll do it for Kyle. For no one else.”

“For Kyle?”

Mrs. Etman scoffed, but Layla did not waver.

“Yes. I know how much he loves you. Whatever you are to me, you are his mother, precious to him. I want to protect that.”

“How strange. How does a cheeky, brazen girl like you live so long with such a meek, docile face?”

“If that’s how I seemed, then I apologize.”

Layla bowed once more. To Mrs. Etman, it felt like mockery, and color rose hotly in her cheeks.

“But I am sincere. I wanted you to know you needn’t worry.”

“A promise made so confidently—very well, I’ll believe you this once.”

She narrowed her eyes, hiding her relief.

“And since you claim to care so much for Kyle, I trust you’ll explain the broken engagement in a way that spares him as much as possible.”

“Yes. I will. But Mrs. Etman…”

Layla looked down at the pouch, then back up.

“There’s one thing I’d like you to apologize for.”

“…What? Apologize?”

“Yes. I can accept anything you said to me, even if it wasn’t true. But what you said to Uncle Bill—you must apologize for that.”

Her grip on the pouch turned her knuckles white, but she did not step back.

“You said it was a tragedy he took me in. That you resented him for it.”

Mrs. Etman gave a short laugh, as if baffled. But Layla repeated the words she had spoken that day, slowly, clearly.

“Please. Apologize for that.”

Her voice carried, gentle but firm, on the cool evening breeze.

Matthias, passing by after a swim, leaned casually against the wall, lips twitching in amusement at the unexpected show.

He had meant only to check whether Layla was crying again. Instead, he had stumbled on something far more entertaining.

He wanted to see Linda Etman’s face, but he restrained himself. If he appeared, the curtain would fall on this delightful play.

So he waited by the back window of Layla’s room, idly stroking the white dove perched on the sill, listening for her reply.

And finally, Mrs. Etman’s voice broke the silence, trembling with barely concealed anger.

“Apologize? I’d sooner pity Mr. Remmer. To think of that poor man, saddled with raising a child like you.”

Of course. Another prediction proved correct. Matthias chuckled, smoothing the bird’s feathers.

He remembered the sight of Layla through this very window—drenched in cold sweat, sobbing miserably, shaking so badly she could scarcely breathe.

Pathetic.

His smile curved, bright and sharp as a blade.

If only she would say it. If only she would shout it out.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

He murmured the words to the bird before turning away.

If Layla failed to provide amusement, then he would make it himself.

The rumor began with Madam Mona.

“Have you heard? About why Layla and Kyle’s engagement fell apart?”

Everywhere she went, she repeated the tale, voice rising with outrage.

“Apparently it was Mrs. Etman who stole the Remmers’ tuition money! Mr. Berger, the postman, just told me. She had someone take it for her, all to force Layla to give up university—and give up Kyle!”

Gasps and nervous laughter followed her, but Madam Mona always came prepared.

“I know, unbelievable, isn’t it? I thought so too at first. But the man she hired has been caught by the police! Berger saw it himself at the station and even heard the details from the officers. And you’ll never guess who it was.”

She dropped her voice, ensuring every ear leaned closer.

“You know Mr. Rayner, don’t you? Mrs. Etman’s cousin. That businessman? It was him.”

“Mr. Rayner? Daniel Rayner?”

“Yes! That very same!”

Her listeners cried out in disbelief, and her voice grew even more heated.

“And after all that, Mrs. Etman had the gall to summon Layla and tell her, ‘I took the money myself—will you still dare marry my son?’ If not for a gentleman overhearing and alerting the police, she might have gotten away with it!”

From there the story spread like fireworks across the night sky, blazing brighter with every telling.

Such cruelty! Such malice, toward that poor girl!

The louder Madam Mona grew, the graver her audience’s faces became.

“I knew it. Layla would never give up both university and marriage without cause.”

“But how could Mrs. Etman, of all people, commit something so cruel?”

Soon they were repeating the tale with her fervor, eager preachers of scandal.

By day’s end, all of Arvis knew.

It was late afternoon when Madam Mona, pausing at last to catch her breath, noticed Bill Remmer at work.

Surely, the poor man didn’t know yet.

Even Madam Mona felt some reluctance. But who was Bill Remmer, if not the girl’s father in all but name? He had the greatest right to know.

“Well then. If no one else will, I must.”

Steeling herself, Madam Mona bustled toward the garden.