---

I stared ahead blankly from where I sat.

Um…

How did he even arrive at such a question?

Had rumors already begun to spread—

Oh.

It must have been because of the incident earlier this afternoon.

Still, I wouldn’t truly call that the young Duke helping me. Even if it counted as help, I would rather deny it outright. Who intervenes in such a manner? Had I not possessed a steady mind, the situation could have left lasting scars.

The memory alone unsettled me.

I let out a slow breath.

“Uh… Sir Andrew, I believe this may all be a misunderstanding. I’ve never spoken with the young Duke before. Back at the mansion, I was hardly ever assigned near him—not to deliver, not to clean, nothing of the sort.”

Sir Andrew nodded thoughtfully, fingers stroking through his beard as his gaze drifted upward toward the sky. I followed his gaze, relief easing into me. Of course, I would never admit that not only had I spoken to the Duke—I had denied knowing him outright, to his face.

“Hm… perhaps,” he said at length. “It could be coincidence. Still, it is rather curious that you were ordered to transfer duties so suddenly, immediately after today’s affair. Should we call that coincidence as well?”

My eyes widened in shock.

I straightened abruptly and exclaimed louder than intended, “What?!”

Sir Andrew made a brief expression, and I immediately realized myself. “S-sorry—but what? Why? Did I do something wrong?”

Panic crept in despite my effort to remain composed. I didn’t want to change duties again—not now, just when I had finally grown accustomed to this post, when I had found comfort, even friendship, for the first time in my life.

Why now? And so suddenly?

I looked at Sir Andrew expectantly, searching for answers.

He sighed, still seated at ease, eyes returning to the sky before turning back to me. “I don’t know myself. Madame Marsala brought the notice to me earlier this evening. She offered no explanation.”

My brows drew together.

Madame Marsala?

Impossible.

She came in person—for a mere transfer?

Since when had I become important enough for her to appear herself? Everything seemed to be moving too quickly in this third lifetime of mine.

I remained caught in confusion, and from the look of it, Sir Andrew shared the same uncertainty.

“Though I cannot imagine why someone like Marsala would trouble herself over an ordinary servant assigned to the stables,” he continued, briefly glancing at my small frame before returning to his beard, “I can only suspect it may involve the young Duke. Even so, I cannot yet see how.”

“Wait, sir,” I said quickly. “There must be another reason. The young Duke doesn’t even know me. This feels more like one of her own decisions. After all, I was raised and trained under her authority.”

I nodded to myself as I spoke. I didn’t want his thoughts straying too far from reality. There was no possible way the young Duke had anything to do with this.

From what I’d seen, he likely despised me by now—after I denied knowing him and failed to serve the cake he had wanted.

Yes.

He definitely hated me.

Perhaps Madame Marsala herself was behind it. Maybe she couldn’t bear to let me go—or perhaps I was simply unfortunate enough to never be allowed an easy life.

Truly, I didn’t know.

My reasoning seemed to land, because Sir Andrew nodded repeatedly, so much so that it began to feel unsettling.

Was anything in this estate still normal?

At last, Sir Andrew shook his head and smiled faintly. “There are many gaps in this matter, Clare. I would not trust that woman to possess even a fragment of concern for her subordinates. Her temperament was severe enough to drive away her own husband.”

He chuckled lightly.

My mouth fell open in disbelief. No wonder I had never heard of her husband or children. The man must have fled the moment he realized he had married something far worse than he bargained for.

The thought drew a quiet laugh from me.

“Anyway,” I said, regaining myself, “Sir Andrew… what is my new assignment?”

I hoped it wasn’t something dreadful—perhaps hauling timber from the far woodlands or dredging the riverbanks at dawn. Or worse—

The refuse marsh.

No.

No, surely not.

Madame Marsala couldn’t be that merciless.

I pleaded inwardly as I waited. Sir Andrew noticed my unease and chuckled, shaking his head before answering.

“There is no cause for worry. Your new duty is lighter—better suited to your disposition.”

Which would be…?

I raised a brow.

“Gardening.”

“What?”

Gardening?

Just that?

It sounded almost too simple.

For once, Madame Marsala seemed to possess a… thoughtful heart.

“I’m not finished,” Sir Andrew added.

Eh?

“What I mean is—gardening within the Head Lady of Westwond’s private grounds.”

My heart skipped.

“The Rosethorn Parterre.”

“What?!”

This truly had to be the end of the world.