Chapter 6

Huff, huff.

The sound of Olivia’s rapid breathing and pounding heart echoed in her ears. She felt the grass beneath her shoes. The hot air brushed past her cheeks quickly. Annie’s urgent voice called after her, but Olivia didn’t look back.

“Madam!”

“Don’t follow me.”

“Madam, please…!”

‘Please.’

She ran past the spiral staircase to the central hall, crossed the corridor, and onto the lawn and grass, running and running. She was glad she hadn’t worn the cumbersome crinoline. The long skirt kept getting caught under her feet, but at least it didn’t lift up or get in the way. She felt sick.

She thought she might vomit. She couldn’t bear anyone being near her.

—There’s talk in the family about adopting an heir soon.

—I opposed it. You and the Earl are still young, how could anyone suggest such a thing?

—But now, it seems there’s no other way.

—They’re even talking about having ‘that woman’ bear a child, or taking her as a concubine.

—You must accept one of the two, Countess.

Ah, ah…

Her heart felt ready to burst. Her legs trembled, and she couldn’t breathe. It felt as if a heavy stone were pressing on her left chest.

That woman. Heather Genoa.

Olivia remembered vividly the first time she saw her. Flaming red hair, mesmerizing green eyes, and a sensual, voluptuous aura that seemed overwhelming.

—I’ve heard much about you from Sir Lenahan, Madame.

—…Is that what you should call me?

—He told me to address you that way.

On the surface, Olivia pretended to be calm, unaffected, and generous no matter who watched, but it wasn’t true. She was not the type who could be like that. From that day on, her insides burned every hour of every day. Even when she closed her eyes, drank tea, or took walks, she imagined it.

Lenahan stroking her Heather. Lenahan cupping her cheek, just as he once did to Olivia… It felt as if a worm was eating away inside her body. Every time she imagined such things, a corner of her heart collapsed. She wanted to cover her face with both hands and crumble all the way down to the ends of the earth.

‘Olivia Harper. Why are you so wretched?’

‘How far will you go in your foolishness and misery?’

‘You are…’

Clack.

As soon as she arrived at her destination, Olivia locked the door. Through the glass door, she saw Annie, her face stained with tears, desperately knocking. Annie kept calling her urgently with her lips, ‘Madam, Madam…!’ Olivia stared at her indifferently, then turned her head.

She no longer had the strength to run, so she walked quickly to the heart of the Glass Garden. She saw the round tea table and the long benches on either side. She saw the small fountain with water pooled.

She approached as if collapsing, throwing herself down. She covered her mouth and face so the sobs wouldn’t escape, even though no one would see her—she did it instinctively. When she let go, tears poured out as if she were vomiting them. She curled her trembling body, blocking her mouth, feeling like all the moisture was draining from her body.

She closed her eyes just like that.

‘……’

Rustle. When Olivia opened her eyes again, she didn’t know how much time had passed. She’d heard someone’s presence but hadn’t noticed. She only thought the sunlight had faded. The next moment, her thoughts stopped.

Someone was there.

“Olivia.”

Something was extended in front of her eyes. She looked up. In a long, calloused hand, a white cotton handkerchief was offered.

“….”

“Why do you wipe your tears with your hands?”

To meet her gaze, he knelt down, gently pressing the handkerchief into her hand.

“Isn’t it a pity for such beautiful hands?”

It was Vincent. It was true that when someone is too surprised, they forget what to say at that moment. When she faced a face she’d never expected, even her ragged breathing stopped.

Words spilled out instinctively.

“That day…”

“….”

“…You asked me if I needed help, didn’t you?”

Her voice was so cracked, even Olivia felt pain hearing it.

“Why did you say that?”

“Because you looked as if you were being strangled.”

He answered calmly.

“Just like now.”

Olivia’s reflection in the water below was the face of a woman, pale and tired as a ghost. If she lay in a coffin just like that, it wouldn’t look out of place. She hadn’t always been like this.

At that moment, she suddenly heard an auditory hallucination from somewhere.

—Elliott! Hurry up!

It was her own childhood voice. Her senses snapped awake. She quickly scanned her surroundings with her eyes. Far away, she saw a hazy vision like fog. It was herself and her younger brother from childhood.

—Sister! How far are you going?

—You’re just slow!

The cherished vision vanished as soon as she reached out toward it. Tears she’d suppressed for a moment streamed down her cheeks again. Before they reached her chin, she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

Without realizing it, she opened her mouth.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

When she let it out past her throat, a faint longing suddenly surfaced—a strong desire she hadn’t known was inside her. She’d forgotten. As a child, she was a free girl. She didn’t want to live as a bird dying slowly in a closed cage.

She wanted to escape. That was all she wanted.

“…No more.”

Her voice faded quietly. As her mind calmed, her hurried breathing also quieted. When she tried to sit up, she wavered from weakness, and a gentle hand supported her elbow.

“Please sit here.”

Vincent pulled a chair back and, following his guidance, Olivia sat facing him. She placed the back of her hand against her cheeks, still hot from intense emotions. She could feel her eyes were slightly swollen from crying so much. She managed to speak again only after taking a breath. She asked once more.

“Sir, you and I have met before, haven’t we?”

“….”

“The way you look at me… It’s not the gaze of someone seeing a stranger.”

Instead of answering, Vincent stood up. When the tall man rose, the wide Glass Garden seemed to fill up.

Wherever this man was, it felt like that. A familiar space would instantly become strange. Just like in the study. But, strangely, Olivia didn’t feel bad. It was just a feeling she’d never experienced before, so she didn’t know how to handle it—especially in such an awkward situation.

“Did you recognize me at first sight?”

He nodded instead of answering. Then he asked,

“When did you realize?”

“From the beginning.”

No matter how hard she tried, Olivia couldn’t remember who he was. Had she met him as a child?

“Summer in Gaether was beautiful.”

Nothing came to mind immediately. Vincent nodded at her attempt to steer the conversation gently, perhaps to avoid awkwardness.

“I remember.”

A few more conventional words were exchanged. Soon after, Vincent bowed lightly and was about to leave again. Olivia called out to him in a hurry, almost without thinking.

“Sir Vincent.”

He stopped at the entrance. Unable to meet his eyes, Olivia shifted her gaze to the hydrangeas.

“…About what just happened…”

She hesitated, unable to continue. Unexpectedly, he replied right away.

“What happened?”

“….”

Her head turned toward him automatically. His face was as calm as ever, moderately indifferent, moderately polite. It wasn’t the artificial face common in high society.

Perhaps he was like that with everyone—whether it was a noblewoman like Olivia, a maid like Annie, the coachman leading the horses, or a beggar boy on the street. The kindness with which he’d handed her the handkerchief felt like it had been a dream. Olivia slowly shook her head.

“…Nothing.”

“Then.”

That was the end.

She was left alone, as if it had always been that way. Suddenly, the flower scent grew thicker, making her dizzy. Then, a faint sound fell from the ceiling. Olivia tilted her head back. The sky had turned gloomy.

It looked like there was about to be a heavy rain.

* * *

She should have returned the handkerchief before Vincent left. Olivia only realized she was clutching it tightly like a lifeline when she returned to her bedroom.

She had no appetite tonight, so she skipped dinner. She didn’t want anyone to attend her, so she ordered that no one come in that night. For the first time in a long while, she entered the spacious room alone. Without hair ornaments or a fancy dress, she washed and changed into her nightgown by herself. In the quiet bedroom, all she could hear was the sound of rain. Through several closed curtains, the rain pounded and streamed down.

“Will it rain a lot…?”

She muttered to herself as she untied her hair. Turning her head, she saw the handkerchief she’d set on the desk. She sat down and unfolded it. Even now, it was a plain white handkerchief, so simple it seemed almost rough. The cotton felt soft, as if it was high quality, but that was all. There were no common vine patterns, nor even simple initials embroidered.

It didn’t look like a mass-produced item, and it seemed too expensive for commoners. Yet, it was too plain to be a noble’s handkerchief.