# 31
31. The Count's Circumstances (1)
As I came into contact with the people around him recently, I realized that his life was far from smooth, beyond what I had imagined. What is visible before the eyes is not everything. At least Vincent's life was proof of that. His path ahead, though blind, could not become smooth just because one's eyes could see.
Violet continued to visit the mansion frequently after that. Sometimes Ethan accompanied her. Perhaps because we had become people who shared a secret, there was less hesitation in her visits than before. At first, their visits were burdensome, but at some point I grew accustomed to them, and now they had become a kind of pleasure for me as well.
And that man, Lucas. I could never understand his intention in telling me that he was the one who blinded Vincent. Even after that, whenever he saw me, he smiled as if nothing had happened. In the end, even until the moment he left, his words remained a mystery.
And Vincent's attitude toward Lucas was also as calm as ever. Then does that mean Lucas really wasn't the one? What does Vincent know? What about Ethan? How much does he know? With my immature mind, I simply couldn't understand their relationship.
True. What could a mere maid know? How could I apply my standards to their lives?
I only came to understand Vincent's attitude of doubting, being wary of, and turning away from people a little better, but I didn't think I could do anything about it. Even if I sensed a subtle crisis in their relationship, it wasn't a problem I could interfere with. I just need to do my job well.
Unnecessary curiosity only invites trouble.
I reminded myself once again of the purpose for which I was hired.
[Sending this because it's so pretty.]
Golden letters sent it with a dried flower inside the envelope. It was a white flower that became transparent when bathed in sunlight. I shook it this way and that, then tucked it inside a book I enjoyed reading. And I looked at the clear sky.
The mansion was quiet for the first time in a while. The noisy days already felt like a dream.
"It's quiet."
"Yeah."
Today I decided to read the books I hadn't been able to read. The place was in front of his room's window. Perhaps because the incident that broke out on the day we had our private tea time remained as a nightmare, he had gone back to being holed up in his room again. Instead of dragging him out, I prepared a seat by the wide-open window.
"It's so quiet that it feels a bit lonely."
"Not at all. Being alone is comfortable."
"You're truly desolate."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
His retort was steeped in composure. His peaceful-looking face turned toward the window. I looked at Vincent. What are you thinking right now? It was a question that kept popping up recently. I had thought he was simply a person whose personality turned foul because he went blind, but I recently realized that I actually knew his inner thoughts the least.
I pretended otherwise to him, but I am curious.
What on earth are you thinking?
"I've been smelling sweetness since earlier."
"Sweetness? Ah, I brought something called pound cake for dessert today."
I recalled the cake I had momentarily forgotten. When I handed over the empty dishes after the meal, the chef held out something called pound cake for dessert.
'He's liked sweets since he was young.'
The wrinkled face was dyed with joy. I tilted my head looking at the yellowish bread inside the transparent cover.
"Pound cake?"
He showed rare interest. I was a bit surprised by the quick response.
"Do you like sweets?"
"A little."
While saying that, he quickly felt around with his hands. Thanks to recent practice, his movements were quite natural, but they couldn't fool my eyes. He really does like sweets. A face like salt but a taste for sugar—it was unexpected.
I removed the transparent cover, placed a pre-cut slice of cake on a small plate, and offered it to him. When I even placed a fork in his hand, he felt the edge of the plate with his hand, then plunged the fork deep into the cake.
However, the awkwardly pierced cake slipped right off the fork. Vincent, not realizing he had an empty fork, put it in his mouth and smacked his lips in puzzlement. Then he lowered the fork again and stabbed uselessly at the wrong place instead of the plate. Seeing that it would take half a day more if he ate like that, I simply placed the cake in his hand.
He seemed to frown slightly but immediately put it in his mouth. The way he chewed away, he was really eating it deliciously. Having devoured a slice in no time, he reached out his hand again. When I gave him a new slice, he ate it quietly.
Watching him eat made me curious about the taste. So I casually took a slice and put it in my mouth. The sweetness sharply stimulated my tongue. It was really sweet. No, it was excessively sweet. But it was delicious. I'd never had anything this delicious before.
So there's bread like this in the world. I inwardly admired the chef here's excellent skills, and secretly took pieces of the pound cake one by one and put them in my mouth. With the two of us eating, the plate holding the small pound cake was empty in no time.
"It's fluttering."
"Pardon?"
As I was stealthily taking the last remaining slice and stuffing it in my mouth, he tapped the windowsill. Ah, I touched the back of my hair. A long ribbon was being blown by the wind and hitting the windowsill. It was a faint sound, but it must have sounded clear to him.
"The ribbon tying my hair seems a bit long, so it must be hitting the windowsill."
"Is it not what you usually use?"
"No. It's different. Lady Violet gave it to me as a gift."
A few days ago, Violet gave me a box with a ribbon, saying it was a gift. When I opened the lid, there was a pure white hair ribbon inside, with rounded edges and flower patterns embroidered at the ends. The texture was so soft that it was obviously an expensive item. So when I refused, saying I couldn't accept something like this, Violet told me not to be modest and even firmly pressed the ribbon into my hand.
'When Paula made me a bouquet before, it bothered me that I used a hair ribbon. Thanks to Paula's advice, I was able to muster courage. It's a gift I'm giving because I'm so grateful, so please accept it comfortably.'
I had also received a small bouquet as a gift then. Unfortunately, the bouquet I placed in a vase in my room withered after only a few days, but this was a gift I could treasure for a long time. Moreover, her gentle face contained a subtle forcefulness. In the end, when I expressed my gratitude and accepted it, Violet even tied my hair with the ribbon herself. She seemed to have noticed my intention to keep it stored in its box.
"Must be nice."
"It is nice, but it's also burdensome. She gave me something so pretty that I'm not sure if I should be wearing it."
It was my first time having such an expensive and feminine item, so I was cautious even to touch it. It doesn't suit me at all. Out of embarrassment, I unnecessarily fiddled with the ribbon, but then quickly let go, fearing I might wear even that out.
Then Vincent wrapped his hand around the ribbon fluttering in the wind. With his hand fully extended, he seemed to be feeling the ribbon, gauging what kind of shape it was.
After feeling the ribbon for a while, he suddenly spat out an impression.
"It must suit you well."
"No..."
I was about to wave my hand and say it was too pretty to suit me, but I stopped. Recalling the insolent maid's face in his mind, I swallowed my rebuttal.
"Your beauty will shine."
"Where did you hear such a phrase?"
"Violet used to say it often."
He spoke as if he had tried making a joke for once. I laughed briefly and wiped my hands on my apron. My heart throbbed. I didn't want to drag out this topic.
He felt the cake plate with his hand and showed a puzzled expression.
"Why is it already empty?"
"I'll continue reading the book."
I pretended not to know and opened the book I had been reading. He tilted his head, then took a sip of tea instead. I glanced at him as I read on. My voice flowed quite smoothly.
"You read quite well now."
"Thank you."
Compliments always feel good. I smiled with satisfaction and finished reading the remaining content.
"You seem to really like books."
"Ah, does it look like that?"
"Because you read so joyfully every time. You seem like you don't know what to do with yourself from the enjoyment."
"Yes, I like them. Did I tell you that I worked at a bookstore when I was young?"
"You did. The day you first offered to read to me."
"Right, I did. That time, you told me the bookstore owner made the child into a delusional person when they were young—do you remember?"
"Well. I remember that you started this forcefully while pretending to care for me to satisfy your own selfish desires."
"You have a really good memory."
I sneered, asking if he also remembered throwing things at me and yelling at me to get out. Then he retorted that he remembered me forcibly shoving food into his mouth. When I asked if he remembered smelling because I hadn't washed, he said he remembered me throwing him into the bathtub to wash him.
I laughed out loud.
"I'm honored that you remember all our memories like this."
He also smiled broadly following me.
"Same here."
Awkward laughter echoed for a moment.
"That time, you said you no longer read books. How is it, it's better to read after all, right?"
"Well. It would be even better if you read with a bit more vitality."
"It's a shame I only have one voice."
"Practice more. Another ego hidden inside you might come out."
"Thank you for the advice."
Louder laughter than before rang out.
"It would be even better if you didn't do rat-like things like secretly sneaking bites of cake."
"..."
The corners of my mouth that had been pointing upward drooped down. Son of a bitch. How did he know that too.
"It's not like I ate that much... We could have shared that... How petty..."
Muttering low, I buried my face in the book that only had the last page left. He acted like he didn't even hear my words and only looked out the window. The breeze blew softly. His hand was still fingering the edges of my hair ribbon swaying in the wind.
"Do you like this kind of life?"
"What do you mean?"
I briefly raised my head and looked at him beyond the book. He was still looking out the window.
"I'm asking if you're satisfied with a life like this, holed up in the mansion, attending to me."
"...Why do you ask such a thing?"
"Because I haven't heard you talk about your family. When people come to an unfamiliar place like this, they usually miss their hometown. Homesickness, for instance."
Family. Forgotten emotions surged. I struggled to suppress what was trying to leap up.
I rolled my eyes round and round, then set the book down. I raised the corners of my mouth habitually, then lowered them again. There's no need for this. It's good that he can't see. Because there's no need to hide my expression.
Pretending to be fine is easy. Because I've done it every time.
"Yes. I'm satisfied."
"You don't want to go home?"
"Not really."
"Why?"
Why, you ask. Just because they're family doesn't mean you have to miss each other. The demon bastard who appeared in my dreams every night and tormented me came to mind.
"Because there's no reason to go back."
"..."
He turned his head toward me. I averted my eyes from his and looked down, fiddling with the empty plate that only had crumbs left. I should ask for more next time, I thought as I erased the useless memories.
"You said you had sisters."
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Four. Five including me."
"Which one are you among them?"
"The first."
I answered casually while spinning the empty plate round and round. It was an unwelcome topic, so I didn't want to think deeply about it. Wanting to finish the conversation quickly, I only answered the questions rapidly, without adding any lengthy explanations.
"You talked about your younger sibling before. You said the second one?"
"Yes, that's right. But why are you asking such things?"
Embarrassingly so. I added that and forced a smile. He rested his chin on his hand and looked at me. His other hand was still fingering my hair ribbon.