Chapter 70
You Are Nothing

“You’ve made the right choice, Miss Llewellyn. There’s no place better than your hometown school.”

The headmaster’s face lit with delight. Sitting across the reception table, Layla lowered her eyes with a faint smile, looking a little embarrassed by her earlier wavering.

“I’m truly sorry for troubling you with such words.”

“Troubling? Not at all. As long as you’re staying, that’s what matters. But Miss Llewellyn… have you really no intention of seeing Theo again?”

“What? Theo… ah!”

It took her a moment to recall the name of the shopkeeper’s son. Just then, the headmaster’s wife came in with a tea tray, rescuing Layla from the awkward moment.

“Dear, don’t pressure her. Can’t you see how uncomfortable it makes her?”

“I’m not pressuring her. It’s just a shame. Theo’s such a fine, dependable young man.”

The headmaster studied Layla’s expression hopefully. Theo clearly still had feelings, but Layla only looked politely troubled.

Perhaps she thinks him beneath her… after all, she once had a match proposed with Dr. Etman’s son. But surely, she must know now that aiming too high ends badly.

The headmaster, lost in thought, gave an awkward chuckle and changed the subject.

“Ah, Miss Llewellyn. For next year’s festival—if the school puts on a play, how about you taking the lead role? We’d gather a huge donation, I’m sure.”

His silly joke drew a small laugh from Layla. A genuine laugh, for the first time in a while.

They sipped their tea, talking about the school, the children, and plans for the next term. When she left the headmaster’s house, she didn’t hurry back to Arvis. She drifted through the bitter cold streets, past huddled pedestrians and frosted shop windows, her steps heavy.

At the plaza in front of the central station, she stopped.

If I just… left everything behind and went somewhere, anywhere…

The impulse flared but quickly died. She knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Uncle Bill. And even if she convinced him to flee Arvis, the Duke would never give up. More likely, he’d punish her harder for defiance.

She shut her eyes briefly, cutting the thoughts short, then turned back the way she came.

The Duke’s decision to keep Uncle Bill on as Arvis’s gardener was obvious in its intent. But in the end, it was just lust. Once he had his fill, he would lose interest. Then he would cast her aside. Layla was certain of it—because that night, Matthias von Herhardt had made her understand all too well what she meant to him.

Please… discard me quickly.

Her desperate prayer echoed in her mind as she turned onto the sycamore-lined road. Kyle’s letters came back to her.

My dearest Layla.

Always the same beginning, in dozens of letters she had read again and again that morning. She hadn’t needed to ask Uncle Bill why they never reached her—she knew, and she understood his heart. That only made the sorrow deeper.

‘Um… Layla, those letters…’

The morning after they’d returned from the station, Uncle Bill had asked hesitantly over breakfast.

‘I’m sorry.’

Layla had only smiled silently. His face fell.

‘I really… I’ve no right to face you.’

In the pale winter light, his hair looked whiter than ever. Perhaps he had truly gone gray these past months.

‘But if your heart is still with Kyle, then I’ll stand with you both.’

His eyes held quiet resolve.

‘I’ve been a fool, deciding your path for you. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.’

He’d said many things, apologizing again and again, but the words never sank deep into Layla’s heart.

“I’m all right, Uncle.”

It was all she could manage.

“Let’s have breakfast.”

Her eyes shone red, but she smiled. He could only nod, unable to speak further. Neither of them ate much that morning.

Before passing through Arvis’s gates, Layla clenched her fists, drawing in a deep breath.

Just as you are nothing to me, I am nothing to you.

Each time that night replayed in her mind, she swore it again: I will never be wounded by a man to whom I am nothing.

Her legs shook, sweat gathered in her palms, but she did not stop. She hurried her steps, so by the time she reached the cottage her breath was ragged.

Slipping inside, she let out a long sigh of relief. The house was empty—Uncle Bill had thrown himself into repairing the glasshouse from morning till night, determined to repay the mercy shown him.

Layla staggered into her room and collapsed onto the bed.

My dearest Layla.

Kyle’s letters rose up in her mind, only to be swept aside by memories of that night. She wanted to cry until she had nothing left. Instead, a soft tapping came at the window. Once, it had filled her with joy. Now, it froze her with dread.

Her hands trembled as she drew back the curtain. Opening the window, she found Phoebe, bearing the Duke’s letter.

“Is it really necessary to keep that gardener at Arvis?”

Claudine’s voice was mild, her smile intact, but everyone in the sitting room turned toward her.

Claudine!

Beside her, Countess Brandt gave a sharp, silent reproach. Claudine remained composed.

“Your decision to pardon him was admirable, Your Grace. But to let him stay at Arvis troubles me. A man foolish enough to cause such a disaster might very well do so again.”

“I understand your concern. But it was Bill Remmer who created the glasshouse you love so dearly. No one else could restore it as he can.”

Matthias’s tone was calm, his face pleasant. Yet Claudine knew—he never went back on his word.

“Of course, I do love Arvis’s paradise. If it means seeing the glasshouse restored, then… yes, I suppose keeping him a while longer isn’t so bad.”

She yielded, gracefully. Countess Brandt looked relieved.

They spoke of the Dowager Duchess’s health, of society’s praise for the House of Herhardt’s clemency, of wedding preparations. Claudine’s words were polished, her smile flawless. No one could know how often she thought of Layla Llewellyn.

She was certain Matthias had taken her.

That was the kind of man he was—cold-blooded, ruthless. If he wanted something, he would have it, no matter the means. Layla could not have escaped him.

When she first heard of the accident at Arvis, Claudine had felt both grief and relief. Grief that the beloved glasshouse was ruined, but relief that the gardener—and with him, Layla—would be gone.

Of course, she knew banishment would not end their bond. Still, she wanted Layla gone from Arvis. She could not abide sharing her future estate with her husband’s mistress.

The wife of a Duke, living under one roof with his concubine—!

Surely Matthias would never degrade himself, but if she stood by idly, perhaps that was exactly the humiliation she would face.

If I were you, Claudine, I wouldn’t provoke Matthias.

Riette’s words, when they had last met, still rang in her ears.

If it’s truly over, then good. But if it isn’t, best to leave it be.

Strange words, delivered with unusual seriousness. Claudine neither understood nor agreed.

Why else would Matthias insist on keeping that gardener? It was plain who he was protecting. Layla Llewellyn. To sway the Duke of Herhardt—what skill with men that girl must have, behind that innocent face.

Claustrophobic with disgust at her own thoughts, Claudine only smiled brighter, carried herself more elegantly. Yet by dinner’s end, fatigue trembled even at the corners of her lips. Fortunately, both ladies of the house retired early, ending the meal sooner than usual.

“Earlier, I held my tongue before Matthias, but I agree with you,” Countess Brandt told her daughter later, in Claudine’s guest room. “Why keep a gardener who caused such a calamity? Sometimes the Herhardts can be far too lenient.”

Claudine, gazing calmly out at the ruined glasshouse and wide gardens, turned back with a serene smile.

“Don’t worry, Mother. That gardener won’t last beyond next summer.”

“What do you mean? You wouldn’t dare dismiss a man trusted by both the Dowager and Matthias?”

Her mother looked aghast. Claudine only replied smoothly:

“A new Duchess deserves a new gardener.”

“It’s prepared as you ordered.”

Hessen approached Matthias in the annex sitting room, his voice low. Matthias glanced at the silver domed dish set on the table.

“Well done.”

He gave a short nod, then lounged back on the sofa.

Hessen delivered the day’s post before withdrawing. Mostly invitations to holiday parties and social events. Among them, a letter announcing the Crown Prince and Princess’s tour of the northern provinces, with Arvis on their itinerary.

Matthias took out his fountain pen and began writing replies. When he capped it at last, a soft laugh escaped him.

Layla Llewellyn.

Her name was etched in gold on the pen’s cap, glimmering under the lamplight. He had carried it with him since autumn—at first in jest, then by habit.

Why do you keep stealing my things?

He recalled her furious protest, and smiled.

“Really… are you a crow, Your Grace?”

That absurd question, too, brought amusement.

Twisting the pen between long fingers, Matthias glanced at his watch. Just as he thought now, came a knock he knew well.

Leaving the pen in its place, he rose and went to the door. There, exactly as he expected, stood her.

His woman. Layla.