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34.
Rebecca had witnessed every ‌‌stage of Margaret's salon—from its humble inception to its flourishing success.
She was a more passionate entrepreneur than anyone, a genius pastry chef, and ‌simultaneously an exemplary mother.
Regardless of any debt Rebecca owed her, Margaret was an indispensable talent for the business.
Rebecca fell into nostalgic reverie, regarding Margaret with eyes that had grown numb.
Margaret misinterpreted the look, her lips trembling with shame.
"You... pity me."
"That's a misunderstanding—"
"You ‌‌‌‌needn't lie. I've heard people drone on endlessly about how saintly and magnificent you are. But I have no need for such meager pity. I will chart my own course. I am not so wretched as to require your charity."
Margaret found the situation so repugnant that she shot to her feet. She extended a finger ‌‌‌toward the door.
"Then I suggest you leave, as there is nothing more to discuss."
Rebecca was momentarily at a loss before Margaret's fortress-like demeanor, then bowed her head.
"I ‌‌‌feel ashamed to have harbored such thoughts."
"What?"
Rebecca lifted her gaze. Her eyes were suffused with profound sorrow.
"Margaret, I lack the strength to pity anyone. My own life overwhelms me—it ‌‌is so lonely and unbearable that I cannot afford to look beyond myself."
.
"I am thoroughly selfish. I sought you out because I deemed you beneficial to my interests. There was no other motive. And my actions in saving the orphanage were no different."
Rebecca's first act of extending aid to another had been profoundly impulsive.
As the wife of the Earl of Devonshire, all Rebecca could do was sit quietly within the estate.
No one needed her, and no one assigned her any purpose.
She sat in that resplendent room and silently watched the countless dreams of her childhood crumble to dust.
One day, while traveling to have a dress fitted, she had given alms to a young beggar. ‌‌
It was mere chance—she happened to have money in her pocket, and he ‌‌had been begging ‌‌‌‌‌‌near the dressmaker's shop.
"Thank you! My lady, you are my savior!"
Those words gave Rebecca a ‌‌‌moment of ‌‌respite. Her ‌‌‌chest felt suddenly light and open.
And the peculiar exhilaration that followed filled her completely.
Someone needs me. Someone is grateful for my help. There is something I can do.
That was the beginning.
From that point forward, whenever melancholy threatened ‌‌to overtake her, Rebecca found herself compulsively extending aid to others, as though addicted.
The pleasure derived from a single word of gratitude was beyond measure.
She understood her own hypocrisy well. For that reason, she had ‌‌never once believed herself to be virtuous.
The kindness she bestowed upon them was merely an act to satisfy her own desires—a one-sided action for ‌‌‌‌herself alone.
Therefore, the word "pity" ill-suited her selfish conduct.
She was neither a saint nor a villainess.
She was simply a greedy human being.
"So please, take my hand. Margaret, I need you more than anyone. Let us do this together—let us be together."
Margaret stared at Rebecca's extended hand with evident bewilderment.
"Rebecca is an angel! She's not an ordinary person!"
The orphanage people's blind veneration of Rebecca had become utterly insufferable to her.
And with each instance, Margaret cultivated her resentment toward Rebecca with meticulous care.
There had been a time when she too was a wealthy noblewoman.
She recalled what she had thought whenever she bestowed charity upon the poor back then.
It was nothing more than the benevolence of tossing scraps to pitiful animals trapped in a cage—mere condescension, nothing less and nothing more.
She was certain that Rebecca, like any other nobleman, would be no different.
Yet to be treated as a saint was laughable.
Margaret was convinced that Rebecca relished such an image of ‌‌‌herself.
But ‌the Rebecca before her ‌‌‌eyes now revealed her bare face, contrary to Margaret's expectations.
As if indifferent to dignity as a noblewoman, she had cast everything aside and was beseeching Margaret.
It was confusing. The world she ‌‌‌‌had known was gradually crumbling.
Margaret silently pressed Rebecca's outstretched hand down onto the table.
"Please... give me just ‌‌‌a little ‌‌‌time to think."
Rebecca's eyes widened, then curved into crescents.
She was delighted that Margaret's steadfast heart had wavered even slightly.
In her previous life, Margaret had been like an idol to Rebecca.
Despite her family's ruin, Margaret had raised her child entirely through her own strength, built a business from nothing, and eventually reclaimed her title.
Working under Margaret, Rebecca had yearned to become like her.
How could ‌‌she continuously radiate such ‌‌‌vitality as Margaret did?
She pondered this endlessly.
Before Margaret—like a great ancient tree that would not bend even when a typhoon raged—Rebecca felt herself ‌‌‌to be nothing more than a weed being swept away.
If only Margaret would stand by her side, Rebecca felt she would ‌‌‌gain the most reassuring backing imaginable.
Rebecca stared blankly at her own ‌‌hand where Margaret's had brushed past, then nodded.
"Please send your answer through Kanna. I assure you, you will not regret taking my hand."
* * *
"I said it wasn't necessary..."
Rebecca held a paper bag stuffed with bread, her ‌‌expression ‌‌‌‌troubled.
Bern had insisted on forcing it upon her, saying he could not send a guest away empty-handed.
If she returned to the Count's Mansion with this, something bothersome was certain to happen.
The Count's Mansion was strict about outside food. Yet she could not simply discard it either.
Rebecca gazed blankly at the bread inside the bag.
Memories from her previous life suddenly surfaced, and Rebecca fell into a moment of wistfulness.
Bern remained the same warm-hearted bakery owner. ‌‌
In her previous life, whenever Rebecca visited as a customer, he would give her a few extra pieces of bread.
'It's been so long since I've tasted a sandwich. It was delicious.'
Suddenly, hunger crept upon her.
Now that she thought about it, she had barely eaten lunch. She had only tasted the sandwich while tense.
Rebecca pulled a cream bun from ‌‌‌the bag.
She hesitated ‌‌‌‌briefly at the thought of eating something ‌‌on the street, but she was no longer the refined noblewoman Rebecca.
The liberation that her simple attire granted was so delightfully sweet.
As ‌‌she bit into the bread without guilt, the sweet and soft cream melted upon her tongue.
The taste brought an involuntary smile to my lips.
Eating while ‌‌walking down the street was shameful, but I didn't care.
In my previous life, when time was precious, I had often resolved meals this way.
"Susan!"
I had barely taken ‌‌two bites of the cream bun when someone suddenly seized my wrist.
The bread tumbled to the ground because of it.
I stared blankly ‌‌‌‌as the man's foot trampled the bun's final moments.
Cream splattered outward in a grotesque arc.
I fixed him with a piercing glare, my eyes sharp as daggers, for daring to grab my arm.
The man was unremarkable in every conceivable way, yet he stood there ‌‌‌breathing heavily.
He flinched at my cold stare, then tightened his grip on my wrist.
My wrist throbbed with pain, and I furrowed my brow.
The man's eyes bulged as he seized my shoulders.
"Why won't you accept my confession! ‌‌‌You said you liked me. Of course, you never said it in words, but you always smiled at me."
Ah, with those words, I instantly grasped the situation.
Susan had warned me ‌‌‌that there might be a troublesome man when she went to the Market.
A man who had been ‌‌‌following her recently, she had said.
So this was a shallow infatuation. ‌‌‌He ‌‌‌‌couldn't even recognize her in disguise.
I brushed his hand away coldly.
"If you keep following me, I'll turn you over to the Security Force."
"Ha. Do you think I'd fear something like that? Did you forget my brother ‌‌‌is the captain of the Security Force? Stop playing hard to get and come into my ‌‌‌arms, Susan."
"Get ‌‌‌lost. I don't even want to speak with someone like you."
"What did you say?!"
The man shoved me into the alley. My bread bag tore apart pathetically, scattering across the ground.
'My bread....'
I lifted my face, now contorted with rage.
The man flinched for a moment, then clenched his fists with a snort.
"Y-you can't just glare at me like that! Clearly, words won't work."
How could people remain so unchanged?
I withdrew the long pin that had been holding my hair in place and held it lightly in my ‌hand. Then I aimed for the man's vital points.
In my previous life, while raising a child alone, this happened roughly once or twice a month.
Since I was naturally no match in raw strength, I had learned techniques to subdue opponents without exerting much force.
'Margaret had taught me this too....'
The man lunged at me.
The moment I drew the ‌sharp pin, the man let out a single scream and collapsed.
Someone had struck his face. ‌‌
"Are you alright?"
It was Julian. He had rendered the man unconscious with a single blow. ‌‌‌‌
Blood from the man's nose dripped onto Julian's left hand.
He hid his bloodied hand behind his back so it wouldn't stain me, then approached me, who stood frozen in place.
And upon seeing Rebecca's appearance, he furrowed his brow deeply.
"Not this absurdity again...."
Rebecca scanned Julian ‌from head to toe ‌‌in disbelief, struck by how immaculately he was dressed—utterly incongruous with this place.
"Julian? How on earth did you...."
"I happened to pass by and spotted you."
"You recognized me?"
Outside the alley, commotion erupted. Someone must have reported the incident.
Without ‌‌‌‌answering, Julian extended his arm to Rebecca.
"There are too many eyes watching. Come to my carriage."
"It's fine. I need to return quickly."
"Looking like that?"
Julian withdrew a hand mirror from his pocket and held it up to Rebecca's face. The smudged fingerprints on the glass suggested he carried it with him always.
Rebecca gazed reluctantly at her reflection in the mirror.
"Ah...."
She certainly could not return to the Count's Mansion in this state.
Her bonnet had slipped off, leaving her hair disheveled, and much of her freckle makeup had been rubbed away.
Without protest, Rebecca took hold of Julian's arm.
As she felt the weight settle against his forearm, a faint smile ‌‌played at the corners of Julian's mouth.
He then addressed Croa, who was prodding the collapsed man with her foot.
"Take care of that."
"Yes, yes. I'll handle it as you command...."
Croa heaved a sigh so deep it seemed the earth might swallow her ‌‌‌‌whole.
The runaway Countess has returned.
E-book publication.

January 12, 2022
Author.

Long Night Sky
Publisher.

Desert Fox
Published by.

Woongjin ThinkBig Co., Ltd.
Submission received.

naver.me/54VzzLSn
Blog.

blog.naver.com/wj_fennecfox
Twitter.

@wjt_fennecfox

‌‌
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