Chapter 33
Children’s Social Gathering (3)
Touching someone else’s child without permission is a breach of etiquette, even if the child is the beloved daughter of a dear friend.
Quickly erasing any hint of regret, Hazel withdrew her hand. Only Aria noticed the brief hesitation.
Then came the sound of thudding footsteps.
Small, polished shoes mercilessly trampled the fresh spring grass.
“Hey!”
“…Allen?”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed as she spotted her son.
So much for leaving him in the playroom—how had he managed to escape again?
Her expression grew sharper. If Allen started complaining about hating social gatherings in front of the noblewomen, she was prepared to make him sit in the “thinking chair” for two hours, something he despised.
However, Allen didn’t throw himself on the ground or whine as he usually did.
“What’s your name?”
Instead, he walked straight up to Bonita and asked, gripping his small red bowtie tightly in one hand.
Who is this boy?
Bonita blinked.
She didn’t know what to make of his behavior, but judging by his clothes and the fact that he had just left the marchioness’s side, this boy was undoubtedly the young master of the household—a rich young master.
Bonita had no idea how to deal with kids like him. The only children she’d encountered were the offspring of merchants strutting arrogantly through the streets.
Would nobles act differently? How should she respond? Should she curtsy and grab her skirt like her mother did?
“Hey!”
As Bonita continued to mull over her response, Allen, growing impatient, called out again.
“I’m asking, what’s your name?”
“B-Bo-Bonita…”
“Bonita, huh?”
Hazel was about to intervene and scold Allen at that point.
“Hmm…”
But instead of saying something rude, Allen simply observed Bonita with narrowed eyes.
“And what’s your name?” Bonita asked timidly.
“My name? It’s not like you’re one of our maids, so why would you call me ‘young master’?”
Allen snorted and turned around.
“My name’s Allen Hyacinth.”
His words were surprisingly civil for his usual demeanor.
“Come on, follow me! I’ll take you to the playroom since your mom’s not here!”
The word “mom” caused the noblewomen’s expressions to stiffen momentarily.
Still, none of the adults present were petty enough to take issue with an eight-year-old’s innocent remark.
Bonita looked up at Aria.
“May I go?”
“Go ahead. This is a great chance to make a friend, isn’t it?”
“Will you stay here, Aria?”
“Of course, I’ll be right here.”
Reassured by Aria’s answer, Bonita quickly scurried after Allen, who was already a short distance away.
As the two children walked off, the noblewomen gasped and cooed.
“Adorable.”
“How sweet.”
“Miss Hilton, how old is Bonita again?”
Aria, suddenly the center of attention, answered promptly.
“She’s seven years old.”
“Seven…?”
Seven years ago coincided precisely with the time of the late Duchess’s childbirth.
She’s definitely seven.
Well, with how much she resembles her, that’s no surprise.
In those brief seconds, the noblewomen exchanged silent glances, their thoughts aligned.
Their gazes then converged on Aria once more.
The first to speak was Countess Lavinia.
“By the way, Miss Hilton.”
“Yes?”
“How did it come to be that Bonita was raised outside the duchy? Before you and Bonita arrived, we were all so curious about that.”
The other noblewomen nodded in agreement. Hazel’s finger tapped idly against the table.
Their blatant curiosity was almost rude, but Hazel knew such honesty was preferable to veiled intentions.
In social circles, there were only two reasons to be candid:
- To insult and humiliate someone directly.
- To express genuine goodwill.
This time, it was clearly the latter. Seeing Bonita must have changed their minds.
Besides, it wasn’t uncommon for maids to raise or educate the children of their masters. It was certainly less scandalous than becoming a mistress to the husband.
Moreover, this was a tea table near the children’s playroom—a far cry from the conniving adult social gatherings full of political scheming. The question seemed to fit the informal, friendly atmosphere.
…Or maybe I’m just making excuses.
Hazel smirked slightly to herself.
Truthfully, regardless of all those justifications, she was dying of curiosity, too.
Elodie’s child was definitely stillborn… wasn’t she?
Unlike the other noblewomen, Hazel had visited Elodie in person during that time.
Elodie had sworn the child was gone. That was why the Duke hadn’t even tried searching for her all these years.
And yet, here was a child alive and well—one who was undeniably Elodie’s daughter.
How could this be? The question gnawed at her.
Noticing the stares, Aria offered a nervous smile.
“About that…”
“About that?”
“His Grace has asked me to keep it confidential for now, so I’m afraid I can’t provide any details.”
At the mention of the Duke, the noblewomen sighed in disappointment.
Even the most esteemed ladies in the kingdom were a little intimidated by the ruler of the South.
Plus, once a refusal had been issued, pressing further would be not only impolite but also entirely unrefined. They cleared their throats and quickly steered the conversation elsewhere.
*****
Thud, thud, thud, thud.
Bonita trailed after the boy stomping ahead of her like an empty tin can.
Tin can… no, there’s a better word for that…
What was it again? Something starting with “ro-“?
While Bonita puzzled over the metaphorical term she wanted to use for Allen, the boy suddenly whipped around.
He turned his head this way and that, as if checking to see if they were being watched.
“W-what are you doing?”
“What do you think?” Allen replied curtly.
“I used taking you as an excuse to escape. There’s no way I’m going back to that stinky nursery full of babies.”
“What?”
“From now on, I’m sneaking out through a hole in the fence.”
“…What?”
Allen frowned at Bonita’s dazed expression.
“Why do you keep going ‘w-what’ like a dumb… I mean, like a baby?”
“I-I mean…”
Bonita flushed at the unexpected suggestion of mischief from the boy she had just met.
Though she had grown a bit more confident living in the ducal household, Bonita had never done anything remotely bad in her life.
“But Aria told me to go to the playroom. And the marchioness—”
“It’s fine,” Allen said, thumping his chest with his fist.
“This is what boys do. Sneak out behind their mom’s back. The ability to infiltrate and escape perfectly is proof of strength.”
“…I’m a girl, though.”
“What? Oh. Right.”
Momentarily stumped, Allen blinked. He stood still, as if his brain had briefly stalled, then announced,
“Girls probably do the same thing!”
“I don’t think so…”
“I’m telling you, they do!”
Despite having no other girls around to support his argument, Allen decided to stick to his claim.
“Follow me! My brother and I loosened a wooden board over there. If we go through, we’ll be outside the marquisate grounds!”
“Umm…”
Bonita rolled her eyes nervously, searching for an adult to help. But there was no one around.
Is sneaking out really the right thing to do?
No matter how she thought about it, it wasn’t.
As Bonita hesitated, Allen, who was already nudging the loose board aside, sighed loudly.
“What’s the matter? Are you not coming?”
“Um… no.”
“Fine, then forget it. I was trying to show you something fun.”
“Wait…!”
When Allen began crawling into the hole, Bonita grabbed his leg. Stuck halfway through, Allen yelped.
“Hey! What are you doing? If you grab me like this, my clothes will get caught and Mom will find out!”
“But…!”
“Let go! I need to get out before someone notices!”
Just as Bonita panicked, someone unexpected came to her rescue.
“What’s going to get noticed?”
“Ah!”
Allen flinched at the sudden voice. Not that Bonita could see much; all she could make out were his flailing legs and his chubby backside sticking out of the hole.
“What are you doing, brother?”
“Cassius…!”
“You said you were going to pick up the young lady.”
Cassius, seeing only Allen’s lower half, clicked his tongue like a grumpy old man.
“And here you are, being an idiot. What are you—”
In the middle of lecturing his older brother, Cassius’s gaze met Bonita’s. The boy paused.
“Uh…”
Cassius tilted his head, his face expressionless.
“Who’s this?”
“B-Bonita,” she stammered.
“Bonita? Never seen you before.”
Cassius casually looked her up and down.
Pink hair so sweet it looked like candy, ruby-red eyes like a bunny’s, and gentle, round features—a truly adorable “baby.”
She’s probably three years younger than me.
The seven-year-old Cassius quickly made his assessment, then reached out and patted Bonita’s head.
“Three years old? Or are you four?”
“…Huh?”
Bonita was stunned.
She was small and thin for her age, but being mistaken for a three-year-old was a first.
Is he making fun of me?
Was he trying to tease her?
…That would make sense. The mischievous boys she’d seen on the streets often called those they saw as weaker “babies.”
But there was no way she would let this kind of teasing slide.
Bolstered by her time at the duke’s estate, Bonita clenched her fists and shouted,
“I-I’m seven years old!”
