Chapter 3
Otille’s expression stiffened slightly.
“Huh? Uh…”
“A rat-like bastard. If I catch him, I’ll twist his neck with my own hands.”
Despite his murderous words, finding the spy was not Everett’s top priority.
What mattered most to him wasn’t the traitor, nor the wounded young duke who had fled—it was finding Rowena’s body, or any trace of her.
“Everett… I know you don’t like hearing this, but the Duke of Stafol is giving us one year. If we swear loyalty by then, he’ll accept us without complaint.”
As Otille carefully revealed her purpose for coming, Everett abruptly stood up.
“Stop it, Otille.”
“E-Everett…”
“I won’t blame you for wanting to survive. But don’t force that filthy loyalty onto me.”
“Filthy…?”
Everett turned away with a frustrated sigh.
Tears welled in Otille’s eyes. She looked like a painting, quietly crying—but Everett walked past her coldly.
“If my words were harsh, I’ll apologize. But I’d rather you not come here for a while.”
Leaving her behind, he exited the office.
***
Meanwhile
George had always been insecure about his protruding cheekbones and messy freckles.
Still, his family had decent connections, and thanks to his natural smooth-talking, he became the butler of a count’s household at a young age.
He had been living a fairly satisfying life.
Until a year ago—when he noticed a maid named Clarissa.
She was new.
And he fell for her at first sight.
No—he couldn’t help it.
Even among dozens of maids in identical uniforms, she seemed to shine.
She was that beautiful. Even nobles couldn’t match her beauty no matter how much they adorned themselves.
George persistently pursued her.
He believed that with enough effort, she would eventually give in.
After all, in this mansion, he was practically king.
The real masters—the Count and Lady Otille—were too busy with the war to manage household matters.
They’ll be even busier for a while.
The war had just ended in defeat.
Yet strangely, no servants had been dismissed, and the estate remained peaceful.
George even jokingly wondered if the spy who leaked military secrets might have come from this very house.
Either way, his comfortable life continued.
Or at least—it had.
After visiting Clarissa’s room recently, everything fell apart.
Until now, she had always rejected him quietly.
But that day, she had threatened him like a completely different person.
Crush what’s between my legs…?
The shock left him dazed.
And just as she had mocked—he couldn’t tell anyone.
It would only bring shame upon himself.
He wanted to take revenge—but her chilling warning held him back.
“If you come to my room again, I’ll poison your food and kill you without a trace.”
It didn’t sound like an empty threat.
Her eyes that day… her presence… it all felt real.
“George! George!”
Snapping out of his thoughts, he looked up to see Martha glaring at him.
Right… I was talking to Madam Martha.
Martha was Lady Otille’s maid—and one of the few servants ranked above him.
“Yes—yes!”
“Why are you spacing out?”
“Haha… it’s nothing.”
“These days, you need to stay sharp. Both Lady Otille and the Count are on edge. There must be no mistakes.”
George grumbled inwardly.
As if they care about the household anyway.
The Count was busy trying to recover from the war’s defeat, while Otille frequently visited the Winsrop estate.
“You’ll need to be extra careful. Since they’re busy, Lord Richard will be staying at the estate soon.”
George’s eyes widened.
“Lord Richard…?”
That wasn’t good news.
Richard was the Count’s younger brother—and Otille’s uncle.
He was sharp and strict, making all the servants tense whenever he visited.
Very different from the easily swayed Count.
“I’m worried. It’d be nice if he acted as kindly as his handsome face suggests.”
George nodded absentmindedly.
Richard was handsome…
But more importantly, George felt uneasy—like a student hearing a strict teacher was coming.
All the servants he had mistreated flashed through his mind.
Especially Clarissa.
If she reported him, he might lose his position.
…That can’t happen.
After a moment of thought, George spoke carefully.
“Madam Martha… actually, there’s a maid who’s been causing trouble.”
Martha frowned.
“What?”
“Her name is Clarissa. The head maid Bridget favors her, so she’s become arrogant.”
Bridget, the head maid, was someone Martha disliked.
She often protected the servants and even exposed financial irregularities in the past.
Martha immediately focused.
“Go on.”
George began lying smoothly.
“She’s been spreading rumors that I harass her, just because I made her do laundry in the cold.”
“A mere maid acting like that…!”
“And she neglects her work too. The laundry is a mess. Because of the rumors, I can’t even reprimand her properly.”
Martha’s expression darkened.
Seizing the moment, George lowered his head.
“If you permit it, I’ll have her thrown out immediately.”
Martha didn’t hesitate.
“Fine. If that arrogant head maid sides with her and reports something to Lord Richard, it’ll only cause trouble for us. Handle it.”
“Yes, understood.”
George hid his satisfaction.
Clarissa’s beauty had been entertaining—but a dog that might bite its owner couldn’t be kept.
Since she had suddenly gone mad, it was better to get rid of her.
Perfect.
He smiled quietly, anticipating the moment he would deliver the news.
***
One Week Later
It had been only a week since Rowena awakened in Clarissa’s body, but she had already grasped the household’s atmosphere.
As the diary suggested, Martha and George controlled the servants.
The others couldn’t oppose them.
Only the head maid, Bridget, occasionally spoke up—but even she seemed to struggle after clashing with Martha.
Clarissa wrote a lot about Bridget…
Bridget had been the only one to care for her.
Though even she couldn’t fully protect her from George.
But that didn’t matter to Rowena.
She wasn’t interested in servant politics.
Her only concern was Otille.
From everything she observed, no one knew Otille was the traitor.
Stafol was clearly protecting her.
That’s why this place is so peaceful… unlike Greymont.
Otille must be satisfied.
Rowena had hoped to see her soon—but even after a week, she hadn’t caught a glimpse.
Otille spent most of her days outside, and her room was in the west wing—far from the servants’ area.
So Rowena decided to go there herself.
Cleaning could be done anywhere.
Just as she was about to leave, another maid stopped her.
“Clarissa, where are you going?”
“The head maid told me to go to the west wing. I just remembered.”
The lie came naturally.
The maid hesitated, noticing something different about her lately, but warned her:
“You should be careful. I heard a guest is arriving there soon.”
“A guest?”
“Yes—the Marquis of Winsrop.”
Everett Winsrop…
At that familiar name, Rowena froze.
