Chapter 12
One thing was certain: that “young lady” did not seem to be of the same strong, sturdy build as someone like Seymour.
However, Seymour showed no intention of entertaining any further idle talk.
As the bell marking midnight rang, he rose from his seat and picked up his coat.
“Where are you going, Your Grace?”
“The child will be asleep, so I should get back to the company. Isn’t that obvious?”
It was typical of Seymour to push his body to its limits, drink until he could barely function, and then repeat the cycle.
But now that there was a child, he could no longer drink—so he might as well work instead.
“Didn’t the Dowager Lady tell you to stay at the estate?”
“She said to stay at the estate today. The bell has rung, so that’s no longer valid.”
Since midnight had passed and the day had changed, there was no longer any need to follow the Dowager Lady of Haysworth’s instruction.
Axel was horrified by that astonishing logic.
“But—won’t the young lady look for you in the morning?”
“Why would she look for me? It’s not like she has no one to take care of her.”
Seymour frowned, clearly puzzled.
He suddenly recalled what had happened during the day.
‘Yes! I’m not expecting anything.’
‘I didn’t come here to get favor from the Duke, so don’t worry!’
The child had spoken so innocently that it had been difficult to understand at all.
For a moment, Seymour had found it troubling—but he quickly brushed it off.
“She has several attendants around her. Why would she come looking for someone she barely knows? That won’t happen.”
She had said she had no expectations anyway, so there was no need for him to care.
She was probably just tempted by the idea of receiving noble patronage.
Seymour, with his coat slung over his arm, frowned as he reached for the doorknob.
“Enough nonsense. Make sure you’re not late tomorrow mor—”
Knock, knock.
At that moment, a knock cut him off.
It was too soft to be a servant’s. More importantly, it came from rather low on the door.
Don’t tell me…
Seymour flung the door open.
A small shadow popped into view.
“Just as I thought, you were here, Your Grace!”
Unlike during the day, the child was wearing lace pajamas made of silk.
Seymour frowned instinctively, caught off guard.
“Why are you here? Don’t tell me you came here alone?”
“Yes! I’m very good at finding my way alone. I read in books that the office of a noble estate is always on the top floor.”
“That’s not the point…”
The Somerset ducal estate was a massive mansion. If a child went missing in a place like this, it might become nearly impossible to find her.
But it was too late at night to explain all that in detail.
Seymour frowned, unsure what to say, then moved straight to the point.
“…So why exactly did you come looking for me?”
“To keep my promise!”
“A promise?”
“Yes!”
Rowina nodded vigorously with a bright smile.
The reason she had wandered through the estate looking for Seymour at such a late hour—when both children and adults should normally be asleep—was simple.
“I came to give you your goodnight kiss!”
“……”
Axel Portman, Seymour’s most loyal and closest retainer, would later recall this night as follows:
The reason the child was terrifying was not because she was stubborn.
It was because adult common sense did not apply to her.
In the end, Seymour ended up experiencing the true “power” of the so-called goodnight kiss.
At first, he had intended to gently placate the child, receive a quick kiss, and send her back.
But the standards for the “goodnight kiss” were stricter than he had expected.
“No, no! Not here! A goodnight kiss is supposed to be done in bed. Hurry, let’s go to your bedroom, Your Grace.”
“But do you even know the way back to your room from mine?”
“Uh… I didn’t think that far.”
“……”
Seymour repeated to himself about five times that getting angry at this child was only a waste of his breath before finally arriving at his bedroom.
But his ordeal did not end there.
“Now, lie down!”
“……”
Seymour’s original plan was simple: lie on the bed, get whatever this “goodnight kiss” was over with, and call someone to take the child away.
But the child clearly had other ideas. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have insisted on putting him in bed herself.
As soon as Seymour lay down, Rowina’s eyes sparkled as she asked:
“How is it, Your Grace? Do you feel sleepy?”
“…No. Is that important?”
“Of course it is! A goodnight kiss is something you do right before falling asleep.”
Why?
“Don’t you even know that, Your Grace?”
“……”
Apparently not.
Seymour had never been one to act spoiled as a child, nor had he ever taken care of one. So Rowina’s “theory of the goodnight kiss” was utterly confusing to him.
But Rowina remained firm.
“It’s okay! It’s fine if you don’t know. I can teach you.”
“…So how long do I have to stay like this?”
“Huh? Until you fall asleep, of course. You came here to sleep, right?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one sleeping?”
“I already took a bath and slept earlier. I’m not sleepy at all!”
Seymour closed his eyes tightly.
Rowie.
Why on earth did you put a child to bed so early and create this situation?
But blaming Rowie was meaningless. What fault did she have?
She had simply put the child to bed because she was drowsy and nodding off.
Strictly speaking, the child should be scolded and sent back—but Seymour could not do it.
He understood responsibility and causality well.
In the end, the child was his responsibility. And preventing situations like this was also his duty.
Ultimately, this entire situation was the result of him leaving the child in the care of a maid and stepping away.
‘So I can’t blame the child.’
He would have liked nothing more than to go straight back to work and avoid returning to the estate, but Rowina was, after all, a child entrusted to him by Freya.
What if the child wandered around at night, got lost, or ended up trapped somewhere?
‘I’m going to lose my mind.’
From now on, it seemed he would have no choice but to stay at the estate at night just to make sure the child was asleep.
With that conclusion, Seymour sat up wearily. It was already clear that if things continued like this, he would be arguing with the child until sunrise.
“Alright, I understand what you’re saying. But I can’t sleep right now. So let’s start the goodnight kiss tomorrow.”
“You look tired, Your Grace. Why can’t you sleep? If you sleep well, you grow tall and become a great person.”
The child was surprisingly sharp and earnest—almost excessively so.
Seymour considered telling her that he was already more than tall enough, but instead decided to answer the real question.
“…I can’t sleep because I’m not sleepy.”
“Ah!”
Rowina nodded as if she finally understood, then rummaged around and pulled something out.
It was—
“I brought this! I’ll read you a book!”
A classic tale titled Why Did the Princess Eat the Poisoned Apple?
“Leila also says she can’t sleep sometimes. When I read to her, she falls asleep quickly. I’m the best reader among the girls.”
“Who is Leila?”
“She’s Townsend’s younger sister. She just turned five.”
“……”
Now he was being treated like a five-year-old.
As Seymour fell silent in disbelief, Rowina opened the book and began reading aloud clearly and carefully.
“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived a princess who loved apples very, very much…”
As she had claimed, Rowina’s reading skills were excellent.
Seymour did not know it, but in Townsend, public reading sessions were regularly held as part of adoption encouragement programs, so children were trained in reading aloud from a young age.
Before long, Rowina was so immersed in reading that her face could no longer be seen behind the book.
Seymour watched the child with exhausted eyes, then sighed and closed his eyes.
Lying down, he could feel not just sleepiness but exhaustion pressing down on his body.
‘Come to think of it, it’s been a long time since I lay down sober.’
Every time he closed his eyes without doing anything, memories of that day always resurfaced.
The day when Rose and his elder brother’s wife had died at the same time.
