Butler Gerald.
At this moment, he was the most trusted person of my beloved character, Kayla Regwerd.
Before I came to work in this house, I had never even heard this name. Then again, that was not surprising: in the original novel, he was one of those characters usually not noticed at all — not a secondary character, but rather a shadow in the depths of the background. A servant among servants. A person the plot did not even bother to remember.
And yet, since I had arrived at the Regwerd estate, I had managed to learn a little more about him.
Butler Gerald was essentially the mainstay of this house. Not by title — but by actual deeds. He was the one responsible for all the estate’s affairs and prevented this house from falling into an even greater abyss while his mistress had locked herself away from everything and everyone. In essence, after Kayla, he held the second most important position here — unobtrusive, but extremely vital.
And since he was her right hand and the only truly close person to her in the house... I decided that making contact with him was absolutely necessary for me. If only because through him, perhaps, it would become easier for me to reach Kayla herself. After all, winning the trust of the one she trusted was already half the battle.
There was only one problem: catching the butler turned out to be much harder than I had expected. He was almost constantly busy with the estate’s affairs or his mistress’s needs.
However, I did manage to "accidentally" encounter him in the kitchen.
After my conversation with Asha in the living room, I decided not to delay. The next day, I got up early and deliberately came there before breakfast. After all, Butler Gerald personally brought Kayla her food every morning — Her Grace still did not come down to the dining room and took her meals in her room.
And, as expected, he was indeed there.
The butler stood at the long wooden table, intently arranging dishes onto a heavy silver tray. The very same tray with which he would then go up to Kayla. His movements were calm, precise, almost mechanical — not a single unnecessary gesture, not a hint of haste.
"Mr. Gerald, good morning," I greeted, trying to sound as calm and friendly as possible.
In response, the old man merely slowly raised his gaze to me and looked at me grimly over his glasses.
And, to be honest, ever since our first meeting, I had a persistent feeling that he... did not particularly like me.
"Miss Rider..." he said in a creaky voice, continuing to calmly arrange the food on the tray. "What are you doing here?"
"Actually, I wanted to ask you for something."
As soon as these words left my lips, the old man’s gaze became even grimmer — though it seemed it could not get any worse. He paused for a moment, then slowly straightened up and looked down at me. Despite his age, he carried himself with the bearing of a man who had lived his entire life by strict rules and never allowed himself a single superfluous emotion.
Finally, he said curtly:
"Speak."
I took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts, and stepped forward, deciding to voice what I had risen at dawn to say:
"Could you not take the food to Her Grace’s room today, and instead ask her to come down to the dining room?"
For a second, the butler seemed to freeze.
A barely noticeable shadow of surprise flickered across his usually impassive face — so brief that it could easily have been mistaken for a trick of the eye.
"What are you talking about?.." he slowly repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"I simply think it would be better if Her Grace took her meals in the dining room rather than in her room," I hastily explained.
The butler’s expression darkened. He turned away and continued carefully arranging the dishes on the tray, as if I were no longer there.
"Miss Rider," he said coldly, without looking up, "in this house, you are merely a hired employee. Do not try to exceed the limits of your duties. Your business is treatment. Everything else is none of your concern."
"But..." I faltered, feeling a mixture of hurt and helplessness rise inside me, "do you not think it would be better this way? Instead of eating alone in a stuffy room... the dining room is surely more natural."
The butler paused for a moment.
The spoon in his hand hovered above the tray.
And only after a pause did he slowly turn his head toward me.
"My mistress wishes to breakfast alone," he enunciated evenly. "And I respect her decision. You, Miss Rider, should not interfere with that either."
I clenched my fingers so tightly that my nails dug unpleasantly into my palms.
The plan was crumbling too quickly.
I had hoped that he — the one Kayla trusted most of all — would become my ally. But instead, before me stood a man so devoted to her will that he considered it his duty not to contradict her in anything — even if it was to her own detriment.
And yet...
"What about Lady Irene?" I asked, and an involuntary note of pleading crept into my voice. "She would surely very much like to have breakfast with her sister... They never see each other!"
The butler froze again for a moment. This time, the pause was noticeably longer, and I even saw his shoulders tense slightly.
"Lady Irene?" he repeated. "What is wrong with her?"
"What?.." I blinked in confusion, not expecting a counter-question.
"Is she not already old enough not to dwell on such things?"
For a second, I simply froze.
"Old enough"? This was about an eleven-year-old child... or had my sense of reality completely gone off track?
Nevertheless, I quickly collected myself and cautiously spoke again:
"Mr. Gerald, please do not misunderstand me. I understand that this is not really my business, and yet..."
"It is good that you understand," he interrupted dryly, not letting me finish.
I pressed my lips together. The hurt stung unpleasantly inside me, but I still was not about to back down.
"Even if it is not my business, I still worry about Lady Irene!" I blurted out. "She looks very lonely. Do you not see that? She simply... misses having her sister nearby. She would like to at least sometimes eat with her. Even just once a week..."
But my words seemed not to have reached their target.
The butler finished arranging the tray and paused for a moment. Then he slowly raised his gaze to me.
And at that moment, the air seemed to grow colder.
There was neither irritation nor doubt in his eyes — only a heavy, steadfast inflexibility.
"Miss Rider," he said measuredly, with clear emphasis, "I will repeat myself once more."
He took a step forward.
And suddenly, his figure seemed far more imposing than one would expect from an elderly person. His entire posture, his entire gaze — everything indicated that an argument was out of place here.
I instinctively stepped back slightly.
"Your duty in this house is to be Her Grace’s healer, and nothing more," he continued. "Do not try to exceed the limits of your role. And even more so, do not meddle in the personal affairs of the family. Unless, of course, you plan to stay here for a long time."
He fell silent.
"..."
"With that, I will leave you," the butler said dryly, picking up the heavy tray. "I must go."
He walked out of the kitchen with a firm, confident step, without even looking back. The door closed quietly but definitively behind him.
I watched him go and sighed heavily, feeling weariness mixed with disappointment slowly grow inside me.
To be honest, I had hoped to gain the support of this house’s butler. After all, we shared a common goal — the well-being of his mistress. But it seemed things were far more complicated than I had imagined...
Butler Gerald was clearly not inclined to help me. And, apparently, I could not count on him in this matter.
With these thoughts, I returned to my room, collapsed onto the bed face down, buried my face in the pillow, and punched the blanket several times with my fists — dully, powerlessly, just to release some pent-up frustration.
The fourth day.
Already the fourth day I had been in this house, doing nothing and having no way to help or even see Kayla! And this feeling of helplessness was beginning to truly weigh on me.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, trying to gather my thoughts. But no matter how I searched for another explanation, the conclusion was obvious.
Kayla, it seemed, was truly upset. About those words of mine.
But... I had not meant anything bad! I had only wanted what was best. I had thought Kayla would get angry, rise from her bed, and prove me wrong. But instead, she had simply closed herself off even more and now would not even let me near her.
It seemed I really had overdone it...
I exhaled quietly, curled up on the bed, and shifted my gaze to the mirror across the room.
In the reflection, the face of the novel’s main heroine looked back at me — the very face I still could not get used to. Light, almost platinum hair softly falling over her shoulders. Large green eyes, delicate features, a gentle oval face... An impeccably beautiful face that objectively could hardly be called anything other than "perfect."
Of course. After all, this was the main heroine of the novel, and the author had put all the most flattering epithets into her description.
And yet, sometimes it irritated me more than anything else.
Because it constantly reminded me of who I had become, and because of whom Kayla had now lost everything...
I turned over onto my side again, pulled the blanket up to my chin, and sighed quietly.
All right. This could not continue.
I needed to talk to Kayla in person — as soon as possible, to clear up this misunderstanding.
But I was not about to barge into her room without permission. That could only ruin everything.
So there was another option.
I narrowed my eyes, staring at the ceiling.
Tonight... during her walk... I would simply have to "accidentally" meet her there.