3.
“Exit your room and walk straight ahead until you reach the stairs on your left. Go down those, then turn left. I will inform you of your duties after breakfast tomorrow. Please finish unpacking by the end of today.”
Harriet nodded. Though she was as curious as she was anxious, she feared that asking more questions would only result in being met with inexplicable scorn.
Sister Emma left immediately, offering no further explanation.
Harriet stood dazed for a long time, only sitting slowly on the edge of the bed once her hands grew numb from the weight of her luggage.
“It’s so hard…”
The bed, little more than a thick blanket spread over a wooden board, had no softness to speak of.
The furniture filling the room was crude and worn, and the only window was small and shuttered, likely offering very little natural light.
“In this place… for one year…”
One year. 365 days. 8,760 hours.
“Hah…!”
As she calculated the numbers, reality crashed into her, and tears burst forth along with a dry sob.
Because she didn’t know when Sister Emma might return, Harriet hurriedly pulled out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. However, as the cloth covered her face, loneliness and despair surged in, as if they had been waiting for just such a moment.
“Mother… Father…”
The faces she missed so achingly hovered before her. The people she had intentionally tried not to think of for fear of missing them even more.
She missed her parents so much—those who had passed away so emptily, leaving behind only twelve-year-old Harriet.
“*Sob*, Mother, what do I do? I’m so scared. Father, take me with you, please!”
The sorrow she had held back for so long broke through the dam of her heart.
After her parents’ deaths, Harriet’s life had only twisted, regardless of her own will. She had tried to appeal that this was unjust, but only echoes returned.
“Mother… *Hic*, *sob*…”
She was collapsed on the bed, weeping, when someone knocked on the door.
Harriet swallowed her breath, muffling her sobs.
“I have left your clothes and meal here.”
It was Sister Emma.
There was the sound of something being placed on the floor, and then footsteps retreated.
After holding her handkerchief over her mouth for a long while, Harriet slowly rose to open the door.
On the wooden tray placed on the floor were neatly folded brown monastic robes, a thin vegetable soup, a loaf of rye bread, some pickled olives, a small jar of honey, and a glass of water.
Harriet brought the tray into her room and sat at the small table. Outside the window, contrary to her mood, the sky was clear and bright.
‘Nothing will change just because I cry, so why do the tears keep coming?’
Every time she felt this way, the world seemed so cold.
She wanted to run away, but she was afraid to choose death herself, and while she wished for a better life, she had no idea how to go about it.
Whatever she did, people interpreted it in the worst possible way, and no one would listen to her side of the story.
‘I have no appetite, but I must eat. If I leave this untouched, they’ll just scold me for being ungrateful again…’
Not wanting to face such misunderstandings, Harriet listlessly tore off a piece of the rye bread. Unlike the white bread she was accustomed to, it split into two chunks with none of the usual chewiness.
‘It’s probably dry.’
Such bread usually had a sour, pungent taste. She slathered the bread with honey to deceive her tongue with sweetness.
‘Eat quickly and clear it away.’
Harriet put the bread into her mouth and chewed mechanically, merely to fill her stomach. The sweet scent of the honey faded quickly, but she felt no sour or strange aftertaste. In fact, if anything…
‘Better than I thought?’
The crispy crust had no trace of bitterness and was savory, and the coarse, dense crumb became more nutty and flavorful the more she chewed. The bread was a bit dry, but it went perfectly with the soup.
‘The soup is unexpectedly good, too. What is this made of?’
She poked around with her spoon, finding cabbage, a couple of types of beans, tomatoes, onions, carrots, and squash.
There wasn’t a speck of meat to be found, but it suited her palate far better than the heavy stews she had eaten at the mansion.
While eating, Harriet picked up a pickled olive and popped it into her mouth.
“Mmm!”
Perhaps because it was made with fresh ingredients, the pickled olive was tangy and salty, the true flavor of the olive shining through. It was good enough to elicit an exclamation.
She followed it with another piece of honeyed bread, and the harmony of salt and sweetness was divine.
“Wow, this is so delicious!”
Harriet found herself absorbed in the meal before she knew it.
Back at the House of Listerwell, she had never enjoyed a meal this much, no matter what she ate.
Having wiped the bottom of the soup bowl clean with the last scrap of bread, Harriet felt a bit embarrassed looking at the overly clean tray. She even chuckled to herself, finding her own reaction amusing.
‘To think I was sobbing my heart out just a moment ago, only to devour my meal because it tasted good.’
Laughing made her feel better. A glimmer of faint hope seemed to settle upon a future that had felt so bleak.
Hadn’t she just confirmed that one of the things she feared most was, unexpectedly, excellent?
If so, other things might also be better than she had feared.
‘Let’s look on the bright side. At least if I stay here, I won’t be Bella’s toy.’
Suddenly, she recalled herself vowing that she would marry even an old man if it meant escaping her uncle’s house.
In that light, this situation might not be so bad after all.
‘As long as I’m not tangled up with Bella, my life will improve. For a year, there won’t be any scandals involving my name, and perhaps, as my uncle said, a decent marriage proposal might come in.’
Though she remained uneasy because she had no idea what kind of “labor” would be required of her, surely they wouldn’t force a noblewoman to do something grueling.
‘Besides, the people here have nothing to do with high society. If I work hard and behave, won’t they treat me with kindness?’
Thinking this way, her feeling of hopelessness gradually calmed, and life here began to feel manageable.
‘Yes, let’s do our best!’
Harriet took a deep breath, stood up, and opened her luggage. She needed to unpack quickly and familiarize herself with the geography of the convent.
* * *
As June arrived, the sunlight began to grow harsh. It was a trifling matter for those who could spend their time idly sipping cool drinks in the shade, chatting away.
“By the way! Have you heard the rumor?”
Someone in the seat next to Cedric, who was watching a polo match under a canopy, struck up a conversation.
Cedric had little interest in the man, but he reflexively raised an eyebrow and adopted a look of intrigue. That alone was enough for the man to be thrilled and keep on blathering.
“This should be welcome news to you, Duke. You know that young lady who was so rude to you at the victory banquet? She’s been banished to a convent. You’ve heard of St. Clarissa’s Convent, right?”
At those words, Cedric’s expression stiffened slightly.
However, those around him, completely oblivious to Cedric’s change in demeanor, began to chatter excitedly.
“Viscount Listerwell must have finally made up his mind this time.”
“Well, the Viscount has had quite a headache because of that niece of his, hasn’t he?”
“Right. What was her name again? Bella?”
“Bella is the Viscount’s daughter. The niece’s name is Harriet. They’re both famous, but in different ways. Hah!”
“Bella Listerwell is the most popular among the young men. I’m sure she’ll marry well, too.”
With the topic turning to women, the quiet under the canopy became boisterous. Especially when Bella Listerwell, dubbed the “Golden Rose of Genoa,” came up, the eyes of the men sparkled with vitality.
“That young lady is truly beautiful. Above all else, those luscious lips…!”
“Just her lips? Her breasts and hips are dizzying. And her waist is this thin.”
“And even though she looks so seductive, they say her personality is unexpectedly pure and kind. Unlike that ugly cousin of hers who is obsessed with men, they say she doesn’t know a thing about those matters.”
“They say pretty women are kind and ugly women are wicked, after all. Oh, right! Tez, you’d know best. You were wronged by Harriet Listerwell, weren’t you?”
The man pointed out was Tez Roark, a handsome man with black hair and striking blue eyes, known as the rake of high society.
He shrugged, wearing a look of mild discomfort.
“It’s not an anecdote I care to discuss at any length.”
The others laughed uproariously and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Fair enough! To think that the great Tez Roark couldn’t tell the two apart and had his way!”
“Even if it was dark, how could you mistake Harriet Listerwell for Bella Listerwell?”
“Do you think he had the presence of mind to check her face? He must have been busy with other things.”
“Hahahaha!”
Tez merely offered a bitter smile and added nothing, but the men continued to chatter on, light-heartedly passing their own arbitrary judgments on Bella and Harriet.