Felicia was feeling perplexed about her host’s son. The governess had been dismissed, all three meals were eaten together, but she had not gotten any closer to Querido. Their conversations were short. Querido barely made eye contact. He never stayed around her longer than was necessary.

Some of this was thanks to her host refusing to cooperate when it came to conversations. Any time Felicia tried to say something nice or encouraging, it came out as belittling or demanding. This made Felicia talk less and less, for fear of causing greater psychological damage to Querido.

Felicia could not figure out why it was so hard for her host to be nice to her son. Servants got better treatment because all she did was bark out commands to them. But her son? Every sentence had an extra jab added to it.

During the morning scoldings in front of the mirror, Felicia repeatedly reminded the host that this son was her future. How she treated her son now dictated how that son would treat her when he could inherit the fief. If she was mean now, did she think he would treat her well later? Did she think because she birthed him and kept him alive, he’d feel obligated to her forever?

Though the answer was obviously no, the host stubbornly refused to give her any leeway.

‘This woman has a death wish,’ She raged to DARS at night while in bed. ‘If she keeps being like this, won’t her son hate her?’

[In the corrupted timeline, he did hate her.]

‘He’s got sense then. How did he treat the original?’ She couldn’t imagine anyone treating a mother like Calle well if they had a choice.

[He treated her with ambivalence until he was 20 years old.]

‘What happened when he turned 20?’

[Heirs can take over their title and family authority at 20.]

‘Right…. So what did he do? Throw her in a dungeon?’

[He killed her.]

They stared at each other silently for several minutes.

“Y-yikes, I wasn’t being literal about her having a death wish…’ She gulped. ‘When did he start… erm… getting such… murderous thoughts towards his mother?’

[On his 7th birthday.]

‘Frick! So young!’

[The host was a particularly nasty mother, from a particularly nasty family. I believe there's a saying, “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”]

‘...doesn’t that mean I have until his 7th birthday to change his mind, otherwise I’ll be murdered when he inherits?!’

[Do not panic. Getting rid of the governess has already altered his feelings towards the host.]

She mentally wiped sweat from her forehead, ‘...thank God…’

[However, if things remain as they are, he will likely banish the host when he inherits the fief instead of killing her.]

She squinted, saying sarcastically, ‘...such a generous little boy…’

After finding out her fake son was the type to murder his mom she decided to change her tactics. Originally she thought it was a good idea to take things slow. He wasn’t an ordinary kid, naive and incapable of comprehending the true viciousness of adults. Felicia thought that Querido was similar to Darius in that he had a sharp mind and astonishing ability to learn and focus, but unlike Darius, he understood human nature better and could figure out what people wanted from him.

This was how he survived an abusive governess and mother but still managed to become one of the top influencers in the kingdom as an adult. No matter how he was treated, he was smart enough to adapt quickly and overcome. Felicia admired these qualities but it also made reconciling awkward. She couldn’t depend on his ignorance and the short attention span of children to win him back.

He had been heavily abused for a year and abandoned by his mother his whole life. If the mother who didn’t care about him suddenly tried to get close, wouldn’t that be super suspicious? He might not appreciate the change or even reject her. Her plan was to get close to him slowly, naturally, lower his guard…

Then her stupid mouth ruined everything. It was hard to get close to someone when everything that came out of their mouth was tainted with venom. That slowed her plans even further, but she thought it would still be alright. They had plenty of time.

She didn’t expect she might get banished or locked away, much less murdered! Even if she avoided getting sliced and diced, banishment was no joking matter in a patriarchal society. Not to mention, she’d fail her mission! The gentle approach wouldn’t do anymore.

She called the Nanny to the sitting room and dismissed the maids so they could be alone. The person closest to the host’s son was the Nanny. Rather than take pot shots in the dark about what to do next, it was better to talk to a professional.

“Sit.” She commanded.

The Nanny had finally gotten used to sitting in front of her and was no longer awkward about it. In fact, the Nanny was now one of the highest paid servants in the mansion. This showed everyone in the mansion how valuable the Nanny was to their Marchioness. The fearful subservient look Flor usually sported around Calle was now replaced with respect and admiration.

“How do I make the Heir Childe like me?” Felicia asked straightforwardly.

Nanny Flor covered her mouth, shocked.

Because she was mute and illiterate, she communicated through body language and simple signs. In many ways, it made her easier to deal with because Felicia could literally tell what she was thinking just by looking at her. Perhaps due to Flor being mute and the fact that no one was around, the host didn’t interfere as much with Felicia’s speech.

“I know he doesn’t like me.” Felicia continued. “I dismissed the governess and have been inviting him to eat with me to try and… and improve our relationship.”

Nanny Flor tilted her head as if to say: So that’s why you’ve been doing all this.

“I will not coddle him with my speech,” The host mangled Felicia’s words, unwilling to admit her way of speaking to her son was wrong, even to the mute Nanny. “If I can not win him with words and he does not appreciate the governess being gone or dining with me, how do I get him to like me?”

This time the Nanny held her chin and thought. After a bit, she held her arms in a cradling motion.

“You want me to carry him?”

The Nanny looked at her like she was stupid and then hugged herself.

“You want me to hug him?”

Nanny Flor nodded.

“Will he…. Let me?”

Nanny Flor raised her eyebrows: Of course!

“But how do I… if I just hug him…. Surely he will dislike it?”

It wasn’t a secret that Querido found being around his mother stressful and likely actively wished she’d just go away.

Nanny Flor sighed, hugged herself again and then took her hands and placed them close together, but not touching.

Slightly baffled, Felicia guessed, “A loose hug?”

The Nanny shook her head and then spread her hands apart and brought them near again.

“A small hug?”

Nanny Flor nodded, smiling widely, and then widened her hands, hugged herself, and widened them further. She did this motion, continuing several times.

“Start with a small hug, then continue with bigger hugs?”

The Nanny grinned and clapped.

“That will work?”

The Nanny gave a firm nod and pat her chest confidently.

Felicia was quiet for a moment, “When should I hug him so he will not be… alarmed?”

The Nanny looked thoughtful. She then put her hands together and rested her head on them, making a sleeping motion.

“While he’s asleep??”

She shook her head and stood up. The Nanny stood next to a sofa and made a series of movements.

“Making a bed— ah! Putting him to sleep! I should hug him before bedtime!”

The Nanny nodded.

Felicia stared off in the distance for a moment and then looked at the Nanny.

“Then let us start today.”

That night she had a maid lead her to Querido’s room. It turned out he was located on the other side of the mansion on a different floor. When she saw how far away he was she realized that just going to eat meals with her every day must be quite a trek for the little guy. Should she move him?

The maid knocked on a bedroom door to let the Nanny know they’d arrived. The young woman opened the door and let them in. Felicia got a good look around and realized Calle had never come here and had no memories of the place.

She mentally added this fact to the growing list of things the host would get scolded for in the morning.

All the rooms in the mansion were decently sized, but it was clear the room Querido had been assigned was on the smaller side. It also had simpler furnishing. The guest rooms were more ornate by comparison. It was definitely better than what a commoner would get, based on what Felicia had seen in the servants quarters, but it was far below what was due to the son of a Marquess.

Felicia’s eyes finally fell on the little boy. He was wearing a long sleeve off-white nightgown that went to his knees, which had frills on the cuffs and bottom, and wooly gray socks. Because his hair wasn’t tied at the nap of the neck and hanging loosely, he looked exactly like a little girl.

Her face twitched at the sight of him and she had to cover her mouth with a fisted hand to stop herself from laughing.

From what she remembered babysitting, kids had their own pride. They could tell when they were laughed at and took offense to it. If she laughed at him right now, he’d definitely take it as her mocking him. And because her host was made of stupid, she’d have no way to explain she was laughing because she thought he was cute.

Querido eyes widened ever so slightly at her sudden appearance. He then showed emotion on his face for the first time: He turned his head to Nanny Flor and gave her a look of utter betrayal. His lips flattened and his eyebrows lowered, his cheeks puffed out. He looked like he wanted to throw a huge fit.

But he didn’t say a word, he didn’t even move.

Felicia felt this response was both heartbreaking, hilarious, and cute.

Lowering her fist, she forced her face into a neutral expression and stepped forward. When he saw her approach, the angry expression he’d shown disappeared and was returned to the distant, blank look he always kept around her. It was as if what he’d been taught by the governess had been turned into a mask he could hide behind. But as she neared him, she saw the boy visibly tremble and knew he was either scared or angry, or both, at her presence.

She knelt down, which was awkward with her big dress, and reached out and gave him a short hug. His whole body stiffened at her touch and when she released him, he was looking at her like she’d grown an extra head. She stroked his head once and then took a step back.

Felicia hesitated. It didn’t seem right to leave without saying anything. Should she risk it?

It was just saying goodnight…

How bad could the host screw that up, right?

Looking at Querido square in the eye, Calle threatened, “Boys who do not sleep are useless to me. I do not keep useless people.”

Felicia clamped her mouth shut and mentally flipped a few tables. Where was that “goodnight”? WHERE? This host, this utterly useless host—!!!!

Her face flushed, both embarrassed and angry. If she kept talking, the problem would be made worse. Staying there also wouldn’t help. It seemed retreating was the only option.

She promptly turned around and fled the room.

Behind her, a little boy stood motionless. He looked very… confused.

The next day Felicia called the Housekeeper and told her to move Querido into a room fit for the son of a Marquess. The Housekeeper, who’d originally been stiff and extremely polite, had loosened up noticeably after getting a raise. Even in a culture where status was valued higher than money, money still talked. It was pretty easy to win a person over by throwing a lot of it at them.

When she heard the orders she’d been given, she looked noticeably pleased and enthusiastically agreed to the order. Apparently she’d been bothered by where Querido had been living but hadn’t been in a position to do anything about it.

Felicia wondered faintly if that was Calle’s fault or the Steward’s fault, perhaps a mixture of both. Who the Marchioness favored, the servants favored. Who she didn’t favor, well…. Why should they bother with them?

‘I wonder how much hatred Querido had for his mother wasn’t also partially due to how people in the manor treated him.’ She thought to herself. A little curious, she sent DARS to spy on Querido and the Nanny during the move.

He came back to report, [Everyone was very respectful. The Housekeeper kept saying how lucky Querido was and that she’d prepared the perfect room for him. The Nanny was excited but Querido didn’t look very pleased.]

‘What? Why?’

[Even if it was small and simple, that room was his sanctuary. He felt safe there.]

‘So I took him from his safe place?’

[He probably thinks so.]

She pursed her lips. ‘Well, too bad. That room is too far away and too plain for his status.’

[I see you’ve adapted to this new timeline.]

Felicia glared at him, annoyed. ‘Didn’t you say I had to work with what I had and not what I wish I had? Even if I think treating people so differently based on status is stupid, if I don’t adhere to the standards people use now, they’ll think I don’t like him. He’ll think so too.” She sighed. “And this place is so big and empty, why should such a cutie get stuck in a damp corner like a forgotten toy? He deserves better than that at least.’

The second night’s “sleep well” hug was a much shorter walk. The new room was bigger, with better furniture and, if she guessed right, had more toys in it. She gave a satisfied nod at the sight of it. This was what a proper room for an heir looked like… at least from what Calle’s memories were telling her.

Querido was standing in front of his bed, face blank as usual. However, his little hands were tightly gripping the side of his nightgown. When she walked up to him, he did not look at her. When she leaned down and gave him a hug and stroked his head, he did not move a muscle. His behavior was actually worse than yesterday, if that was possible.

‘Why do I get the feeling this kid is angry at me?’ Felicia spoke to DARS.

[Because he is angry at you.]

She took a step back from him and cocked her head. There was no way her host would say anything nice, but she needed to get the point across anyhow. After thinking about it, she turned to one of the maids who’d followed her.

“This room is suitable for the future heir of Fresa. Tell the Housekeeper I am pleased with it.” Felicia had her head turned away from her son but side eyed him, wondering if he could understand the implied meaning. If he missed it, she wouldn’t blame him. He was only 6 after all...

To her relief, his death-grip on his nightgown loosened. It seemed he’d understood enough to stop being angry. Because she knew further talking would lead to a disaster, she nodded farewell to the Nanny and left.

Long after she left, Querido was lying in his new bed and looking at an unfamiliar ceiling in the dark, thinking. Though it was unbelievable, it seemed that getting moved to this room had not been a punishment or done on a whim like he’d thought.

She said the room was suitable for the heir of Fresa. Didn’t that mean his old room had not been suitable? Did that mean before, even though she called him “Heir Childe”, she had not thought him a real heir but now she did? She also said yesterday, boys who didn’t sleep were useless and she wouldn’t keep them around… but he had slept so… was he now useful to her? Is that why he was moved to a bigger room?

He felt this didn’t quite make any sense, but then nothing his mother was doing lately made sense to him. That being the case, perhaps sleeping well made him more useful? And by being useful, he was given better things?

Strange.

He’d slept well before and no one but the Nanny cared. Now, suddenly, his Mother cared too? Why?

While he was staring at his ceiling, Felicia was at her desk with her stack of papers. It was standard for the maids to leave her writing supplies before bed now. She opened a leather bound journal.

An interesting tradition among nobility was to keep a family journal. Having the money to buy a journal and education to use it was a status symbol by itself. Usually women kept them and upon their death they were passed to whichever child or grandchild liked them best. If no one wanted the journal, it was a sign they weren’t loved. This gave rise to the saying, “She’ll take her journal with her when she dies.” to describe a woman who was unloved by her family.

One would think the contents of these journals would be really interesting, but it turned out they were extremely bland. The person writing them knew the next generation would be reading and didn’t want to shame themselves, so they only wrote what was “socially acceptable”. A testament to this was how Calle lived a colorful life but her journal read like a weather report.

Felicia knew all this and decided to toss it out the window. Who cared about shame and honor and looking respectable to the younger generation? By the time anyone read this, she’d be dead! She wasn’t entirely sure the one son she had would even want to read this, but if he did read it… that could be useful in it’s own way.

Though of course she wasn’t hoping to die any time soon! This was just long-term planning on her part.

Dipping her quill into the ink, she wrote the date and then continued with, ‘My Dearest Rido, My attempts to reach you have failed once again. I must make amends for my past actions, but your mother has a rotten mouth. Nothing good comes out of it. Though I am trying to show my repentance through action, I am not sure it’s working. I hope someday you can forgive me…’

Every night, Felicia stopped by Querido’s room and gave him a good night hug.

The first week, he stood there woodenly, only casting her a strange look.

The second week, his body stopped tensing at her touch.

The third week, he timidly hugged her back.

The fourth week, he boldly walked towards her and initiated the hug.

Felicia was thrilled by these little changes. His expressions were slowly loosening, so it was easier for her to tell if he was happy, annoyed, angry, or sad. It seemed the Nanny had been right, a simple hug really could bring them closer together.

When she asked DARS how her projected future was looking, he said, [It is unlikely that Querido will do you any serious harm at this point. However, his affection is still low. It seems he is allowing himself to indulge in your motherly love because it is new to him. He is not expecting you to maintain this level of affection forever.]

‘Basically he doesn’t trust me. I can’t say I blame him. Even a 6 year old would be cautious after so much mistreatment. Still, it’s nice to think I’m not getting chopped into bits or thrown out.’ She slept particularly well that night.

Every now and then Felicia would try talking to Querido again. It was always a disaster. Therefore she decided to play the “doting but quiet” type of mother. The host could spew whatever foul thing she wanted, but in the end Felicia was still in charge of the body. If her mouth refused to cooperate, she could use her actions instead.

By now, it was clear to everyone that the Marchioness’ favor of her son wasn’t a whim. Not only did she eat every meal with him, she moved him to a nicer room, and started ordering him new clothes.

Speaking of the clothes…

The Fresa mansion had its own seamstress. She made and repaired the uniforms worn by the servants and also repaired or modified clothes worn by the masters of the house. When Felicia found this out, she decided this employee could be put to more useful work.

She had the seamstress come to her and forced her to sit down.

Since noble’s spoke first and the host didn’t respect them much, the words that came out of Calle’s mouth were always direct and to the point: “Are you capable of making evening gowns?”

The seamstress had only spoken to the Marchioness once, during the impromptu meeting Felicia had called to get employee information. For employees like the seamstress, getting the attention of the Marchioness had meant they’d committed some kind of grievous error. She was practically trembling with nerves now that she was in a one-on-one situation.

“Y-y-yes ma’am—I mean, Marchioness!” The seamstress looked panicked at her simple mistake and began to tremble, her eyes tearing. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me! I- I didn’t mean it!”

“Ma’am” was a crude way of saying Madam, which was used for addressing married or working adult women in commoner classes. As a noblewoman, the lowest term of respect that could be used for her was “Lady”. To call her a ma’am was similar to confusing the President with the Mayor, only instead of feeling embarrassed to death you might get beaten to a pulp for the mistake. It was a huge social faux pas for a servant to mix up something so basic.

“Stop sniveling.” Calle sighed heavily, “You are an uneducated commoner, a low servant in the mansion, I don’t expect good manners from you. Just do not repeat this mistake in the future.”

The seamstress's face turned white but she immediately stopped her shivering.

“Yes, Marchioness.”

“Now then, do you or do you not know how to make evening gowns?”

“I-I know a little bit.”

“A little bit? How can you know a little bit? It’s either you know or you don’t know, isn’t that right?”

The seamstress flinched, cowering again.

Felicia wanted to bang her head on a wall. Stupid host wasn’t letting her say things correctly and the status difference was making it worse.

Realizing she wouldn’t get anywhere this way, she commanded in exasperation, “You are dismissed.”

The seamstress looked up, startled and afraid.

“Marchioness?”

Felicia's face scrunched. How could a dismissal be confusing? She pointed a finger towards the door and tried again, using simpler words this time, “You. Go away.”

The seamstress somehow took this the wrong way, collapsing on the floor and grabbing Calle by the fring of her dress.

“I’m sorry Marchioness, please don’t dismiss me! I’ll do better, I promise I’ll do better!”

Seeing the seamstress collapse on the floor in a wailing puddle, Felicia was momentarily struck speechless. While she watched in silent astonishment at this unexpected behavior, the surrounding maids hastily came over and tried to drag the hysterical woman away.

“Please ma’a— Marchioness!” The seamstress was struggling against the maids frantically. “Please have mercy! I am widowed, I have children, without this job we will starve—!”

Felicia finally came back to her senses.

“SILENCE!” She roared and then glared at the maids, “Release her.”

The maids let go of the struggling seamstress in surprise. The seamstress wasn’t prepared to be let go of suddenly and fell with an awkward thump to the floor.

Rubbing her temples, Felicia spoke in a strained voice, “Woman, when did I say I was going to dismiss you from the mansion? I only wanted you to leave the room. Though, frankly, with this kind of unwarranted hysteria I should dismiss you—” The seamstress sobbed heavily, “—however, it will be a hassle to replace you. So I will not.”

The seamstress stopped crying and looked up at her.

Felicia leaned forward, eyebrow raised, “I am not so evil I will dismiss an uncultured commoner from her job because of one mistake.”

The maids looked at each other, doubt written all over their faces. They all knew this wasn’t true. The Marchioness would definitely dismiss a servant for a single mistake, especially when it touched on her status. What’s more, for making this specific kind of mistake, it would get a beating before a dismissal at the very least.

Felicia turned to the maids, “Use your handkerchief to clean the Madam’s face and then help her off the ground.”

The maids did as instructed, feeling like the world had turned upside on them. Their pay increased and now the Marchioness had turned merciful. They had thought a demon possessed their Marchioness, but might it be an angel instead? They couldn’t think why else she had suddenly become…. Nice.

When they were done, Felicia asked, “Have you calmed down now?”

The seamstress nodded.

“Just to be clear, I am not dismissing you from mansion employ, do you understand?”

The seamstress nodded with more enthusiasm.

“Now then, explain to me your early comment about only knowing a bit concerning the sewing of evening gowns.”

Since she wasn’t getting dismissed despite having made two serious errors in a row, the seamstress didn’t dare press her luck a third time. Still nervous, she explained, “W-When I was first hired I knew how to do it. But since then, the M-Marchioness has not called on my services, choosing to use s-store seamstresses instead. S-So all the gowns I know to m-make are out of fashion.”

“You are saying you have the skill but are not current on trends among the nobles?”

“Y-y-yes, Marchioness.”

Felicia thought deeply.

“Today, before dinner, go and look at all my dresses and gowns, oldest to newest. Study them closely. See what trends were popular in the past. Tomorrow, borrow a carriage and go to Taza… ah, one of you maids who usually comes with me shopping, go with her as well. Show her all the major shops I go to. Let her see the latest styles and trends. If possible, speak to the workers and see if she can learn something new or improve on an old skill.” She paused and then added, “You will do this once a month. What you learn will be put towards making my dresses in the future.”

The seamstress' face, which had been pale and exhausted from a sudden fright, suddenly brightened. “I-I will m-make Marchioness’s dresses?”

“Surely you are not so stupid I need repeat the obvious?” She raised an eyebrow.

The seamstress' eyes watered, but this time from joy.

Popularity was everything for tailors and seamstresses. The higher the status of the people who wore their outfits, the more prestige they gained. Usually getting hired by a noble was a big deal for a seamstress, as she would have her outfits worn consistently by at least one person of high status.

But for the seamstress of the Fresa mansion, she’d been reduced to only making servants' clothes and repairing for years. She had given up any hope of gaining a reputation among her peers and simply been thankful for having a way to provide for her family.

“I p-p-promise I won’t l-l-let you down! Thank you, thank you—”

“Marchioness,” A maid interrupted the seamstress’ grateful babbling, “that will be a day trip. Will it really be alright for one of us to leave you all day?”

“It will be fine. But as to the day trip… ask the Head Maid for meal money for your trip, including for the driver.”

The seamstress looked astonished, “You will pay for us to eat?”

“It is not as though you are going there for fun. This is for you to educate yourself for my benefit. It is only natural that those who work, eat.”

“Marchioness! Y-y-y-y-you are an angel!”

The corner of Calle’s mouth curled up, like a cat who’d caught the canary. “If you think so, make sure everyone knows about my magnificence.”

“Of course, of course…!”

When the seamstress was dismissed, she walked aimlessly for a while in the mansion. Finally she stopped and stood in a random hall dazedly for several minutes. A hall boy was walking passed with arms full of clean bed sheets when she suddenly grabbed him by the arm.

“Oy, wha’ are you doin’! If I get yelled at by tha’ Butler, I’m takin’ ya down wit’ me!” He immediately scolded as he watched his pile fall to the floor from the sudden tug.

“The Marchioness!”

As he was picking up the sheets he looked at her perplexed, “What about her?”

“S-s-she is… is… kind now?”

The hall boy rolled his eyes, “Oh tha’! Don’t ever’one knows that? We all gots a raise thanks ta that.”

“It wasn’t just a whim? A passing fancy??”

This time the hall boy didn’t scold but looked thoughtful. He understood why she thought that way because their Marchioness had a long history of being fickle and moody.

“I started workin’ here a’ 10 and now I’m 15. If I did wrong, I got punished al’ight, but if I did well no one cared a’ all. Ladrillo got all tha’ praise an’ never did any real work. But I still work’d to the bone, even if no one but me cared how well I did. When Marchioness gave out those raises, did tha’ ass Ladrillo get a raise? He didn’! Got his pay deducted instead, hehehe! And who got the biggest raise? Me!” He grinned smugly and then tilted his head, puzzled. “Not even th’ Butler noticed, bu’ the Marchioness saw I worked hard. How’d she know tha’? It’s strange a’right, but I thinks…”

He glanced around and then leaned forward and whispered secretly to the seamstress, “I thinks God heard all us good peoples prayers and work’d a miracles and turned our Marchioness nice.” He gave a knowing nod, “An’ if God did it, who can undo it, right? That’s what the Priests says. Mark my words, the Marchioness won’t be changin’ back.”

The seamstress frowned slightly but nodded, letting him go about his tasks. He walked with a slight bounce to his step.

As she watched the gangly youth leave, she realized that she knew nothing about him. She’d worked here for years but he was just another face, a person who she had to patch a uniform for or she occasionally gave a task to. Whether he did well or poorly, it never mattered. Just as long as he got the job done as asked.

But the Marchioness had known how well he worked and rewarded him for it.

The one person who had never shown the slightest care for them, had known them better than they knew themselves.

Strange… strange… so strange!

It was so strange that maybe the hall boy was right.

What other explanation was there but a miracle sent from God?

Every week, Felicia would go to Sunset Sitting Room and call in the senior servants to talk to them. This was the simplest of the sitting rooms in the mansion and situated closest to where the servants worked. It got its name by virtue of having a window that looked out to the back yard and had a splendid view of the sunset during the evenings.

At first the senior servants were extremely nervous, thinking they’d gotten in trouble, but after this happened several times they realized there was no maliciousness in her actions. She would ask them questions about their jobs, the people they worked for, whether the tools and equipment were in good shape, etc. It was all relatively safe topics for them to discuss.

These conversations puzzled them quite a bit until they realized that any time they complained about a particular thing, it would shortly get resolved. The hauling carriage that had been broken for over 6 months, suddenly got the funds required to fix it. The old threadbare sheets used for the servant’s beds were changed for new ones. Even the morning porridge given to live-in servants, which had always been thin, got thicker! Little improvements and repairs, things unrelated to the Marchioness quality of life, began to appear one right after the other.

All because she’d heard what they had to say and done something about it.

The senior servants, by talking so frequently with their Marchioness, realized something peculiar about their lady that they had missed in the past. Though her manner of speech remained the same—blunt, demanding, and belittling—the content had changed. And the change in content indicated a change in action. She would say a thing or person was stupid, but this was more like her stating something needed to be fixed rather than indicating she was offended.

If they stripped away the aristocratic bluster and gloating in her words, they could clearly see a thoughtful, clever, observant lady of the house underneath. Once they grasped that her tone and words rarely matched her intent, almost everyone who dealt with her regularly found her lovable rather than scary. It was so painfully obvious what she was trying to do, why couldn’t she just be honest when she spoke?

Was this the result of a Noble’s Pride?

Nobles were notorious for speaking out of both sides of their mouth. But usually that meant they were polite and refined in public while being devilish terrors in private. This was the first time anyone had heard— much less met— a noble who was mean on the surface but sweet underneath. If they hadn’t experienced it first hand, they wouldn’t have believed it.

After several weeks, Felicia found herself stuck with an unavoidable responsibility: attending a party. Calle was a social butterfly, frequently visiting “friends” throughout the week for tea parties and social calls. When Felicia took over, she had her maids send out cards to her usual acquaintances saying she had gotten ill and needed bedrest, and so could not attend to them.

Of course Calle’s “friends” were skeptical about her being sick. She was a notorious liar—even among nobles, who’s bread and butter was lying professionally—and so people’s gut reaction was to think she was up to something. As to what that “something” might be, they didn’t care too much. As the source of many of the most interesting and scandalous rumors in high society, Calle’s “friends” could only hope she was being wicked, just so they had something fun to talk about behind her back.

The fact that Felicia could figure this out so easily meant that her host knew it too. Calle knew she didn’t have a single real friend among her peers but didn’t seem overly bothered by it. It seemed that “friendship” in higher nobility was just an unspoken agreement between peers to use each other.

Seeing how easily her host accepted this fact made Felicia feel disheartened. Rather than saying her host whole-heartedly embraced this mindset it was more accurate to say it was just the reality she lived in. With higher nobles thinking this was normal, no wonder they were so corrupt. They couldn’t even make friends properly…

She’d avoided meeting all these annoying people pretending to be sick, but this party she couldn’t avoid. It was a party celebrating the elderly Duchess Maiz’s birthday. The Ducal House Maiz was highly influential in Calle’s peer group. Her husband was a second rank Grandee— that is, her nephew-in-law was the reigning King.

Grandees were related to the King by blood. The higher the ranking, the closer the relation and the more privileges that came with it. Being a second rank meant he could pop into the castle to talk to the King whenever he wanted, though he did need to announce his presence first. This was the equivalent of a modern-day person having the President’s personal cell phone number.

Everyone wanted to get close to Duke Maiz. And if not him, his wife, the Duchess. Getting invited to Duchess Maiz social gatherings meant a noblewoman was respected by her peers. Being invited to the Duchess’s birthday party was the same as being accepted by the best-of-best in the aristocracy. Being rejected by the Duchess meant shunning from even lesser nobles, a social death sentence.

That Calle managed to get invited to Duchess Maiz's birthday party was a really big deal. Calle had been brown-nosing this old Duchess for years to get into this party. Unless she was on her deathbed, she had to attend. If she didn’t, the old Duchess would never invite her again— not to her birthday party or any other party. That kind of social fallout wouldn’t affect just Felicia, but also Querido.

Calle had ordered a dress before Felicia had taken over. It arrived a week before the party. Felicia wrinkled her nose at the sight of it.

Widows in noble society had to wear all black for a year following their husbands deaths. After that they had to wear black as their primary color for 9 years… unless they got remarried. Men, however, were only required to wear black for a month and could then go back to their normal attire. The reasoning behind why men need only wear black for a month was because they worked and women didn’t.

Felicia didn’t think this kind of lopsided requirement was fair or reasonable, but putting that aside, Calle had pushed the limits of acceptable widow attire. This dress had black in it, but the other two colors were red and gold. There was so much of the secondary color that it barely counted as “secondary”. Felicia was all for rebelling against “the man” but the result was unfortunately a tacky looking dress. Vaguely it reminded her of certain iterations of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland.

There wasn’t any time to change it. It was a two day trip to the Maiz Duchy. They had to start preparing to leave tomorrow. She vowed in her heart to never wear something this stupid looking again. Calle always followed the trends, but Felicia was determined to be a trendsetter.

The night before she left, she spent longer than usual saying goodnight to Querido. She sat on the bed, picked him up and put him in her lap. She very gently stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead. Usually she said nothing because her mouth was like poison. Querido was used to it and didn’t seem to mind at this point.

Though she made sure someone had told him she was leaving in advance, it didn’t seem right to go without even a word. Knowing her host would mess it up but unwilling to stay silent, she decided to try to speak.

She tucked him in bed and said stiffly, “Tomorrow I will leave as planned. You were told, yes?”

Despite his surprise at hearing his mother speak, he nodded.

Felicia was a little surprised at the relatively soft words that came out of her mouth. Heartened by this, she decided to risk a few more words.

“While I am gone, I expect you to behave as befitting the Fresa Heir. If I return and I hear you have acted in a disappointing way, do not expect any mercy from me.”

Felicia turned away from Querido, too ashamed to see his response and silently cursing her host.

“Mother, are you worried about me being by myself?” A sweet childish voice asked, his smaller hand reaching out to touch her own.

She turned to look at him, stunned. The lifeless face she was used to seeing had been replaced with one of curiosity and, perhaps, a little humor.

He’d understood! Somehow he had gotten through the viciousness in her words and got the gist of what she’d been trying to say!

She was so happy she reached down and scooped him into her lap again, hugging him fiercely and kissing the top of his head enthusiastically. Without realizing it, her eyes prickled with tears of relief.

The little boy didn’t need his mother to say yes or no, he could tell by her reaction that his conclusion had been correct. Not only had he been right, she seemed relieved he’d understood her at all.

He reached out and patted her comfortingly on the back, saying seriously, “Don’t worry Mother, you have gone on trips before and I have been fine.”

She nodded to show she understood, sniffling slightly.

“I will make sure to stay safe and not behave dishonorably.”

Felicia nodded again, releasing the boy and putting him back in his covers. She pat his head enthusiacially a few times and then kissed him on the forehead. Not wanting to spoil the moment by opening her mouth, she waved a goodbye and left.

After she left, Querido looked towards his Nanny. She always stayed with him until he’d properly fallen asleep.

“Nanny?”

She looked over at him inquiringly.

“Did you know, you and Mother are very alike.”

The Nanny pointed at herself with wide eyes.

“You can’t talk, Mother can’t say anything nice. If I just ignore what you both can’t do and watch your actions instead, it becomes easy to understand what you are trying to say.”

The Nanny’s mouth opened in an O shape and then she tilted her head, eyebrows raised. After thinking about it, she gave a breathy silent laugh. Slapping her knee, she pointed at him and nodded several times.

Querido gave a light giggle at her reaction before pulling up his bedsheets and yawning. He reached out and touched the spot where his Mother had kissed his forehead so many times. As his eyes grew heavy with sleep, he hoped that his Mother would continue being nice like this to him forever...