Chapter 9
That Lowly Yet Beautiful Girl

“Could that girl really be her? The orphan raised by the gardener?”

Countess Brandt’s brow furrowed as she gazed out the window at the garden. There, a young lady in spectacles was helping the gardener tidy the rosebeds.

“Yes, Mother. That’s Layla,” Claudine replied lightly, her hands continuing their embroidery with steady grace.

While her mother paced the window with unease, Claudine calmly worked her needle. Under her touch, roses bloomed in vivid color across the hoop of fabric.

“She’s a pretty girl. It seems the older she gets, the prettier she becomes.”

“And that doesn’t trouble you?”

“I know what you’re worried about, Mother.”

Claudine set her embroidery frame aside, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. Her mother’s eyes widened.

Countess Brandt, frail of body, had suffered miscarriage after miscarriage before finally bearing a single child safely—a daughter, Claudine, the sole heir of House Brandt.

Plagued by her inability to produce a son, the Countess had lived in constant fear that her husband’s love would wane. Though the Count had never fathered a son with any mistress either, that offered her little comfort. At any moment, some young and beautiful woman might appear to give him a son and steal his affections away.

Claudine felt pity for her mother. And, in equal measure, weariness.

“But I don’t intend to let myself live like that.”

Her words fell like a solemn declaration. The Countess sighed in disbelief.

“You’re still too young to understand men. If it were me—”

“You’d have every beautiful woman swept away from Matthias’s sight, is that it?”

Claudine gave a theatrical sigh and laughed.

“You’re right, Mother. I am still young, and I don’t claim to know men. But I do know that even the most esteemed men almost always keep a mistress or two.”

“Claudine!”

“Of course, I would rather it never happen. But if it does, it wouldn’t shock me.”

She shrugged lightly.

The moment she had run into Layla had surprised even her. That a pretty girl would grow into a beautiful woman was natural, but the change in Layla had exceeded expectation.

With her small, delicate frame—typical of women from Robita—and her finely drawn features, Layla looked almost like a fairy. The mysterious green of her eyes and her luminous, porcelain-pale complexion only heightened the effect.

That was why Claudine had suddenly invited her to join them. She had been curious—how would Matthias react, faced with such a girl? And he had met her expectations precisely: polite interest, polite indifference, perfect composure. Exactly enough.

“But Claudine, it’s not good to have such a girl near Matthias.”

The Countess’s worry did not abate.

“Should I speak to the Herhardts about it?”

“Mother.”

Claudine’s voice dropped low.

She had vowed never to live like this—to have everything, yet waste her days weeping over love. That vow was why she had decided to accept an engagement with Matthias von Herhardt.

He was noble, wealthy, and striking. To expect such a man to love only the wife chosen for him in a political marriage? One might as well believe in a fairy tale ending.

Perhaps he would feel lust for beautiful women. Like her father. Like so many men. But a man who knew how to keep a mistress as only that—such a man was harmless. The dangerous ones were those who did not. And Claudine was certain Matthias belonged to the first kind.

Did she love him?

Claudine tilted her head and smiled faintly.

Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it hardly mattered. Matthias knew it too.

What mattered was that the ever-dutiful Duke of Herhardt would play his role as husband and father flawlessly. That was what Claudine wanted: a marriage that safeguarded her dignity and pride.

“Even if Lord Herhardt were to take an interest in that lowly yet beautiful girl, what would it matter?”

At that, the Countess’s eyes flew wide.

“Heavens, Claudine! What on earth are you saying?”

“She’d be nothing more than a mistress.”

Claudine even let out a small laugh.

“Perhaps that kind of girl would be easier. A girl too far beneath me to threaten my place, one I could hold in the palm of my hand, tame as I pleased.”

“Oh, Claudine… you truly don’t understand love.”

Her mother’s sigh deepened as she looked at her daughter.

Claudine glanced back at those blue eyes—eyes forever damp with tears because of love—and turned her head with a wry smile.

Outside the window, she saw Layla again. The girl had just stood, laughing as she patted the small of her back.

When Kyle arrived at the cabin, it was empty. Layla and Uncle Bill must have gone out to the garden together. He thought of going after them, but changed his mind and sat on the porch instead.

Thinking of Layla’s face behind her glasses brought a crooked smile to his lips. Even with spectacles, the future Mrs. Etman was lovely. Strange at first, perhaps, but now just the thought of her made his heart race.

Feeling his cheeks heat, Kyle coughed for no reason at all. Soon after, Layla and Bill returned.

“What is that hat?”

Kyle frowned at the sight of the ridiculous hat covering her pretty face.

“Wow, it’s awful. Don’t tell me you actually paid for that?”

Teasing again, he found both Layla and Bill staring at him with fierce glares.

“Uncle bought it for me!”

Layla’s face scrunched as she shouted. Bill hefted the shovel from his wheelbarrow in answer.

“On second thought, it’s beautiful. Gorgeous! Uncle Bill, your taste is unmatched!”

Startled, Kyle scrambled to change his tune.

“Don’t mock it. It’s precious to me.”

Still scowling, Layla removed the offending hat. It was a straw hat, lavishly decorated with artificial flowers and ribbons.

While Bill unpacked his tools, Layla prepared lunch. The hat sat carefully at the edge of the table like an honored guest. Kyle, sitting opposite it, glanced nervously at Layla.

“Layla. Are you mad?”

“Yes.”

She plunked his plate down hard.

At least she’s feeding me, Kyle thought in relief.

“Sorry. If I’d known, do you think I’d have said that?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why the sudden gift?”

“I asked him for it.”

“You? You actually asked for something?”

Kyle was incredulous. The Layla he knew never demanded anything from anyone.

“Because he was so upset about the glasses.”

“Upset your eyes got worse?”

“No. Upset that I saved up in secret and bought expensive glasses without a word.”

She sat down across from him, lowering her voice.

When she had first walked in wearing them, Bill had gone utterly blank. After she explained how she’d afforded them, his face had turned cold as stone. Layla had never seen him so angry.

‘Layla, am I really so untrustworthy to you?’

His eyes had been so sad she could hardly breathe. The more she tried to explain—that she owed him too much already, that she wanted to do something on her own—the sadder his eyes grew.

Since that day, a faint distance had lingered between them.

Bill sulked, lips pressed shut. Layla floundered, unsure how to mend it. The solution she found was the hat.

‘Uncle, would you buy me a hat? A really pretty one, please.’

She had blurted it out one evening at dinner.

When she explained earnestly, Uncle Bill had chuckled.

The very next day, after buying pruning shears in town, he had returned with a straw hat smothered in ribbons and flowers.

‘Bought it in Lindness. If you don’t like it, take it back yourself.’

He’d handed it over with feigned indifference.

‘You chose it yourself?’

‘Something like that.’

‘It’s beautiful.’

Layla had beamed, placing it proudly on her head.

Bill had bought her many things over the years, but usually through Mrs. Mona or by letting Layla pick for herself. For him to choose something on his own—especially a woman’s hat—Layla knew how much it meant. How much love it carried.

For Bill Remmer, flowers were the most beautiful thing in the world. So a hat adorned with flowers had to be the most beautiful hat. In her eyes, it truly was.

“Layla! You should’ve told me sooner!”

Kyle looked stricken.

“Now I feel like garbage for mocking it!”

“You didn’t exactly give me time to explain. You started teasing me the moment you saw it.”

“That’s true, but still…”

“You insolent freeloader! Once again raiding my pantry! One of these days I’ll be billing your father for every meal you’ve eaten here!”

Bill burst in with a booming voice, though his expression was more playful than stern.

Catching sight of the hat on the table, he gave an awkward grin. Layla’s gentle smile in return was so tender that, for a moment, Kyle almost felt a pang of foolish jealousy.

Any man who loved Layla Llewellyn would have to accept being second. Bill would always be her first.

Kyle swallowed that thought and grabbed his fork. Who cared about Bill’s scolding? Layla’s cooking was worth it.

After lunch, Bill returned to work, leaving Kyle and Layla alone in the cabin.

As always, Layla sat on the porch reading, while Kyle pretended to read, stealing glances at her. She was wholly absorbed, except when reaching for a biscuit.

Shouldn’t have lent her that novel…

Even as he regretted it, he smiled.

She had no idea how pretty she looked with her brow furrowed in concentration. Or how endearing when she chewed absentmindedly on a biscuit.

Should I tell her today?

He closed his book and set it aside, staring at her seriously. He had thought he could wait longer. But now he wasn’t sure.

His heart raced whenever their fingers brushed. Heat surged through him, dreams left him guilty in the morning.

But worse than all that was the fear—that someone else might appear one day and steal her away.

Maybe it was better to just risk everything and confess.

Kyle parted his lips—just as the slow sound of hooves reached them. He turned.

There, astride a horse, in riding attire, was Duke Matthias von Herhardt.

Layla, just about to take a bite of her biscuit, started violently and looked up.

The Duke reined in at the porch railing.

His gaze brushed over Kyle, then stopped on Layla’s face—flushed with shock.