Chapter 7
Something Even More Frightening

At first, she thought she was seeing things.

Layla often did. With her poor eyesight, she sometimes mistook berries on the forest path for squirrels, or a drifting branch on the water for a person and nearly jumped out of her skin.

But this time, the figure was far too human to dismiss as imagination. A man. A large, naked man. When even his wet, black hair came into view, there was no excuse left to cling to.

What was floating down the current was unmistakably Duke Matthias von Herhardt.

Startled, Layla dropped the newspaper she had been holding. Had she not clutched at the tree trunk, she would have gone tumbling after it.

Her head screamed at her: Close your eyes. No—climb down this instant and leave the forest. Or at least scream! But all she could do was stare blankly at the man wearing not a single thread.

The Duke, too, made no attempt to conceal himself. He floated on the water, gazing at her in silence.

Then just drift away with the current, please…

She begged silently, but instead, Matthias suddenly turned and began swimming toward her.

“N-no! Don’t!”

Layla’s shrill cry echoed into the clear sky.

“Stop! Don’t come! You mustn’t come here!”

Terrified, she scrambled down the tree and ran.

Courtesy toward the Duke was the last thing on her mind. She forgot about her basket, her hat—everything. She only ran. Her legs moved without thought.

“Layla!”

Halfway down the path to the cabin, she nearly crashed into Kyle. He caught her before she could collapse.

“Where have you been? You weren’t home, I was just going to look for you.”

“Kyle, Kyle… what do I do?”

Breath ragged with panic, Layla muttered like someone half out of her mind.

“Why? What happened? Did you run into a wild animal?”

She shook her head violently. Kyle, puzzled, glanced down the path. Nothing. Just the usual, peaceful forest.

“Then what? Why are you so shaken?”

“…What do I do…”

Layla’s legs gave way and she sank to the ground. She hid her face in her apron and shook her head over and over.

She didn’t want to remember, but the memory forced its way back.

Clutching even at her hair now, she whispered, “What do I do, Kyle? What should I do?”

“I can’t answer if you don’t tell me. What happened?”

Kyle frowned, crouching before her. At last she lifted her head—her face as red as a ripe raspberry. Her lips trembled as if to speak, but then she buried her face again.

“Hey, what did you see? A ghost?”

Kyle chuckled, amused.

No.

Layla wanted to say it, but the words stuck in her throat.

Something even more frightening.

The soundless murmur burned out on her breath.

The scene had been so absurd that Matthias actually laughed. Droplets fell from the tips of his wet hair, rolling down the bridge of his nose.

He swam back to the boathouse, dressed, and returned. By then, Layla had already abandoned everything and fled.

He surveyed what she’d left behind: the large basket, her hat, the newspaper lying on the ground, the damp handkerchief.

So many berries—was she planning to wipe out the raspberries of Arvis entirely? It was almost comical. That such a small creature had carried that heavy basket seemed unbelievable.

Yes, it had been this very tree. The day he nearly shot her, mistaking her for a bird.

Matthias lifted his gaze to the great tree. He could picture her small face peering down at him from the branches and let out another soft laugh.

To think she still climbs trees at her age…

He nearly went after her but changed his mind and turned toward the mansion.

He had a meeting with the directors that afternoon. Until now, he had not taken part in the company’s management, but after his discharge it would all fall to him. He needed to grasp its structure and operations fully.

The Herhardt family, long rooted in landholdings, had expanded into trade and resources. It was his grandfather’s bold investment in oil fields in the New World that had multiplied their wealth.

Generations of honor and power now lay in Matthias’s hands. His duty was to preserve it and pass it on to the next heir. He would do so perfectly. He had never once doubted it. It was only natural.

Back at the mansion, Matthias went straight to his chambers. He changed clothes, smoothed back his disheveled hair.

When all was in order, he reclined by the west-facing window. An hour still remained before his appointment. Too long to waste, he thought, and began to rise—when he heard a bird’s song.

He turned toward the sound.

The canary in the cage on his table was singing. Silent until now, it sang with such beauty that it seemed to erase the thought that it might never know how.

Matthias opened the cage. The canary flitted out, clipped wings beating furiously.

He leaned on the windowsill and watched. Tirelessly, the tiny thing flew, fell, rose again, and fell again. On and on, circling the room.

At last, exhausted, it settled quietly on the arm of a chair. Matthias picked it up. No longer shrieking or struggling, the canary lay docile in his hand.

Intrigued, he placed it on his finger. He expected it to flee. Instead, it remained, staring boldly at him.

“It feels like I’ve stepped into a new world.”

Layla whispered in awe. The silver-haired optician laughed warmly.

“Your eyes were in poor shape—it’s no wonder. You’ve endured much.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Just a little troublesome when reading.”

Cheerfully, she adjusted the spectacles back onto her face. The once-blurred world sprang into dazzling clarity. The sheer normalcy of it filled her with wonder all over again.

The countless raspberries she had gathered had become jam, and the jars had become enough money for spectacles. Without hesitation, she had cycled into town. She had known exactly where the shop was, having eyed it before.

After a few more words with the optician, Layla stepped out into the street. The world, so startlingly sharp, seemed strange and new.

Every light step carried her gratitude for the wild berries of Arvis, her love for them, and a quiet pride in the girl who had stood sweating over boiling pots to stir jam.

So why, on such a perfect day, did that shameful memory intrude?

The Duke’s naked body in the river—she grimaced, remembering.

The shock, the fear. She hadn’t gone back for her basket until sunset.

The forest had been still, the river glittering peacefully.

Relieved, she had gathered her things and left. But her cheeks burned, and the heat wouldn’t fade. Distracted, she hadn’t even noticed the weight of the basket in her hands. For days afterward, she couldn’t even meet Bill’s or Kyle’s eyes without fluster.

Even if it was his land, how could a Duke go swimming bare in broad daylight?

Layla shook her head, as though to cast off the memory.

Until the Duke leaves, I won’t go near the river again.

Resolute, she lifted her foot to walk—when a familiar voice called out.

“…Layla?”

That high, clear voice—Claudine von Brandt.

So, it had come.

Layla steadied her breath and turned. She had even readied a polite smile. But what she saw was not only Claudine.

It was him. The very man who had unsettled her thoughts just moments before—Duke Matthias von Herhardt.

Too sharp, too vivid—the world, now seen with new eyes. And he was standing there within it.

Layla started, glancing quickly to Claudine. It had been some time since they last met; Claudine had not visited during the Duke’s absence. And in that time, Claudine had become the very picture of a lady.

Layla bowed. Both of them inclined their heads in elegant acknowledgment.

“Since when do you wear spectacles? I almost didn’t recognize you,” Claudine said.

If only she would go on her way… But Claudine spoke again.

Layla held her prepared smile, striving not to let her gaze drift toward the Duke.

“Have you been well?”

Claudine’s eyes swept her slowly, appraising.

“Yes, my lady.”

“We were just on our way to tea.”

Claudine, blooming with a gracious smile, gestured toward the hotel across the street.

Yes, my lady. Of course, my lady.

As Layla weighed which reply would suffice, Claudine added magnanimously, “Join us, Layla.”

“What?”

“It’s been so long. A cup of tea together would be nice. Would that be all right, Lord Herhardt?”

She didn’t ask Layla—she asked Matthias. And with a faint curve of his lips, he consented.

Layla Llewellyn’s wishes, as always, did not matter.

They resumed walking, attendants following quietly behind.

Layla turned her bicycle around with a swallowed sigh. The squeak of its worn wheels blended with the measured steps of the noble pair.