Why The Maid Inherited The Duke's Legacy- Chapter 8
<8> I'll Take the Child With Me
The noisy dining hall fell silent in an instant. Ranelli made sure to sob loudly enough while staring straight at the kitchen hand. It was deliberate. She knew exactly how to react when people asked about her father. Back in her village, she had seen her frail grandmother argue countless times with nosy neighbors who couldn't resist prying.
"Huuuuh…! Hic…! Sniff…!"
She took a dramatic breath, then wailed even louder, her voice cracking with practiced sorrow.
"Daddy—hic—got sick and—sniff—passed away so early…! Mommy had to—hic—feed me and Grandma even when she was hungry…!"
The kitchen hand's face turned beet red, guilt written all over his gaping expression. The others who'd been gossiping suddenly clamped their mouths shut, pretending they'd done nothing wrong—shifting the blame entirely onto him. Sweating, the man fumbled for a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, muttering apologies.
Hartland watched the scene with a smirk, thoroughly entertained by the man's humiliation.
"That's enough. Stop crying and eat."
Obediently, Ranelli wiped her tears with her sleeve and went back to slathering jam on her bread. She took big, satisfied bites, filling her empty stomach while the kitchen hand, unable to bear the awkwardness, mumbled an excuse and fled. The remaining staff, suddenly feeling guilty for their earlier gossip, overcompensated with forced kindness.
"Is the food to your liking?"
"Yes! It's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten! Mommy cooks well too, but we don't have money, so we mostly eat oatmeal unless it's a special day!"
"Ah…"
The maid, at a loss for words, awkwardly changed the subject.
"Want more ham? You really like it, huh?"
"Um… if you give me a little more, can I wrap it up for Mommy? She's never had anything like this… She always works so hard and never eats properly because she wants to give me the best…"
No matter how poorly Ivnia was regarded, even the coldest hearts softened at the sight of such a devoted child. The maid sighed, then packed thick slices of ham, cheese, and bread into a napkin and handed it to Ranelli.
"Here. Take this."
"Thank you, ma'am! You'll be blessed!"
"What a well-spoken child."
Ranelli carefully tucked the wrapped food away before polishing off her own meal. The staff watched her eat with bittersweet expressions—some hearts aching, others simply charmed. Soon, the wondrous feast came to an end. Clutching her makeshift doll and the bundle of food, Ranelli grabbed Hartland's hand again.
"Let's go find Mommy now!"
"Quit nagging, brat."
Hartland grumbled but led her out of the dining hall. The problem was, he had no idea where to find Ivnia in this sprawling estate. He stopped a passing servant and gruffly asked for the head maid's whereabouts.
"Seen Selby? Where is she?"
"Last I saw, she was scolding the trainees near the main staircase."
Hartland took Ranelli through the back entrance toward the mansion's central wing.
"If we find Selby, she'll know where Ivnia is."
He spent a while scraping mud off his boots at the door before finally taking Ranelli's hand again—only to lock eyes with Arad, who stood waiting in the hallway.
Hartland bowed stiffly and tried to pass by, but Arad stopped him.
"Why are you dragging that child around, old man?"
Though he'd worked at Gellenzik for years, Hartland had never been comfortable around the family. He answered curtly.
"Kid was wandering alone."
Ranelli, sensing trouble, hid behind Hartland. She knew if the master saw her, Ivnia might get in trouble. But just then, her doll's poorly secured head plopped to the floor—again. She quickly scooped it up and jammed it back onto the stick.
Arad frowned.
"What's that? A weapon?"
Ranelli blinked up at Hartland, who gave a reluctant nod. Pleased that someone had taken interest in her creation, she proudly held it out.
"It's a doll I made! I don't have ink or a pen, so I couldn't draw a face yet. This is the head, and these are the arms and legs! I asked Hartland for a pen, but he doesn't have one. Do you have one, Your Grace?"
Hartland pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing too late he should've stopped her.
"Don't bother him with nonsense. He's busy."
"Ah! Sorry!"
Startled, Ranelli yanked the doll back—but in her haste, the bundled food slipped from her arms and hit the floor. The napkin unfurled, scattering bread and ham. Her face paled.
"No! This was for Mommy!"
She dropped the doll and frantically gathered the food, rewrapping what hadn't touched the ground. Arad's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Why are you repacking that?"
"Half of it didn't touch the floor! It's still good!"
"Good God."
"It's fine! You can just brush it off!"
Arad's temper flared.
"If you can't even afford bread, what the hell have you been eating?"
Confused by his anger, Ranelli answered honestly.
"Oatmeal every day. Mommy sometimes puts sugar in it! It's her best dish."
"......"
Arad turned sharply to Hartland.
"Has Ivnia not eaten either? Why the hell is she delivering this?"
Hartland shrugged.
"If the kid's been starving alone all this time, you think her mother's fared any better?"
"What?"
Hartland studied Arad's reaction, then Ranelli's face, before falling silent. Something clicked in his mind.
Arad, oblivious, declared:
"I'll take the child."
Normally, Hartland wouldn't argue with the master—but now, he hesitated.
"You're—ahem—busy. I'll just take her to see her mother and—"
"Don't you have work?"
Arad wasn't backing down. Hartland's instincts screamed that handing Ranelli over would be a mistake. Arad clearly didn't know—but Ivnia was hiding something monumental.
‘No wonder my wife always took Ivnia’s side…’
He remembered how, seven years ago, his wife had fiercely defended Ivnia during the scandal.
[Those wretched people. Why can’t they leave that poor girl alone? Tch, pitiful thing…]
[What are you muttering about?]
[It’s Ivnia. Starving herself again while working. Someone dumped all their chores on her.]
[Missing a meal’s no tragedy. What are you cooking?]
[Soup for that poor child. I slaughtered a hen.]
[You killed your prized laying hen? The one you bought for eggs? Hell, anyone would think you’re the one who got her pregnant! Killing a hen just because she skipped a meal?]
[Hush! Must you yell? Go fetch Ivnia quietly before anyone notices.]
Back then, he’d thought his wife had lost her mind. A laying hen was valuable—poor folk only slaughtered them for pregnant women, believing the meat ensured safe childbirth. Yet his wife had given every last bite to Ivnia. Hartland, hoping for a scrap, had loitered nearby—only to be scolded and shooed away.
‘My wife wasn’t crazy after all.’
If he was right, Ivnia had been carrying Arad’s child. Hartland had never believed the rumors about her and the late duke.
‘No one truly knows another’s heart—but even so, that timid girl was no schemer.’
No, Ivnia had been in love with Arad. Hartland had seen them meeting secretly in the gardens. He hadn’t approved, but it wasn’t his business. If Ranelli was born then, Arad was undoubtedly the father. The resemblance was undeniable. Children often seemed to favor one parent until compared to the other—proof of blended blood.
‘So that’s why she ran.’
Had the late duke known? Hartland had heard Selby ranting about the "absurd" inheritance. Had it been meant for Ranelli? But if so, why hadn’t the duke let Ivnia and Arad marry instead of driving her away? His eyes narrowed. Noble minds were inscrutable, but one thing was clear: Arad hadn’t wanted the child. When pregnant Ivnia was tormented by the staff, Arad hadn’t lifted a finger to protect her.
‘He used her, then abandoned her when she got with child.’
Hartland wasn’t a gentle man. He had a temper. His late wife had always warned him: 'Stay away from the highborn. You’ll pick a fight without caring for rank'. Today, her fears had come true.
***
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