Chapter 5
5
The Duke Turned Around
Kyle Etman standing in front of the gates of Gillis Girls’ Academy was as much a fixture as the stone walls or the streetlamps. He’s here again. That was the extent of everyone’s reaction—a casual glance, nothing more.
Kyle grinned as he peered beyond the school gates. He spotted a girl approaching from afar, wheeling her bicycle. Even from a distance, he recognized her by that gait alone—graceful yet spirited.
Well, it wasn’t just her walk, of course.
Her expressive face, her soft gestures. Everything about her screamed Leila to him. There was no other girl like Leila. It had been that way ever since that summer day when he approached the little girl sitting under the willow tree and struck up a conversation.
“Leila!”
He called her name energetically, and she came to a stop. Squinting at first, Leila quickened her pace toward him. Kyle loved that moment—when her steps sped up upon seeing him, when she approached lightly and flashed that bright smile.
“Why’d you come all the way here? It’d be easier if you just came to my house later.”
“What’s the difference? It’s on my way home anyway.”
Of course, it was a lie. To walk home with Leila, Kyle had ditched the entire tennis club. But even the seniors waiting with their rackets like weapons didn’t scare him anymore.
Tomorrow’s problems could wait for tomorrow. Whatever happens, happens.
The two walked side by side down the bustling street. They passed through the shopping district and bought ice cream to eat. They browsed a dusty old bookstore. Leila laughed often. Besides Uncle Bill, Kyle Etman was probably the only person in the world who knew how well Leila Llewellyn could laugh. And he liked that fact, too.
As they turned onto the road leading to the Arbis estate, the breeze grew cooler. When the conversation shifted to exams, Leila’s expression turned serious. Talking about geometry brought a hint of despair. Kyle watched those subtle changes in her face closely.
Not yet.
He swallowed the itchy words rising to the tip of his throat. He didn’t want to confess prematurely and make things awkward between them. Did they even need to become lovers? They could just get married right away.
Leila Etman. Sounds good. Really good.
“Why are you smiling?”
Leila frowned at him. She had been venting about her geometry scores, which refused to improve, and here was Kyle grinning like an idiot.
“Uh… well, uh! I heard the Herhardt Duke is coming back?”
Kyle abruptly changed the subject.
“It’s been forever. When’s he arriving?”
“No idea.”
“Everyone’s talking about the Herhardt Duke this and that, but you don’t seem interested at all.”
Leila’s grip tightened on the bicycle handlebars.
There was no real connection between Leila and the Herhardt Duke. They’d run into each other in the woods now and then, or she’d catch a glimpse when summoned to see Claudine. Even that made her uncomfortable, so Leila tried her best to avoid the duke. When unavoidable encounters happened, she bowed her head as deeply as possible.
She didn’t want to see him.
It had been that way ever since that evening in her childhood when she’d been running with a gold coin clutched in her hand—ever since the moment the Herhardt Duke had stopped her by stepping on the dropped coin.
Claudine had summoned her on a whim, ignored her, and tossed her some charity money. But it was the duke who had made her feel utterly insignificant. Perhaps it was because he had driven home just how worthless Leila Llewellyn was in that unfamiliar, glamorous world.
That incident had left a different kind of wound from the contempt and hardships she’d endured before. It was a memory she wanted to forget, but seeing the Herhardt Duke brought it rushing back. She hated him for it—the way he kept reminding her of that day, that memory, that hurt.
As Leila caught her breath, a black automobile passed by. It couldn’t be Lady Norma, who never rode in cars, so it was probably the young madam returning from a social gathering.
“With the duke back, Arbis is going to be hectic for a while.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, right. Leila, should I become an officer too?”
Now facing Leila, Kyle started walking backward.
“Like the Herhardt Duke—an officer with medals. Captain Etman, the sharpshooter who never misses, putting bullets right in the enemy’s heart.”
Pretending to shoot a gun, Kyle grinned like a mischievous boy.
“Hey, Mr. Etman. You can’t even kill a single chicken.”
Leila couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Stung in his pride, Kyle had no comeback.
It had been around this time last year. Trying to earn his keep at the cottage, he’d boasted that he’d do anything asked of him. Uncle Bill had told him to prepare the chicken for dinner. Kyle had charged in bravely but couldn’t even pluck a single feather. That was the day he’d earned the humiliating nickname of the Etman family’s freeloader.
“My good friend Kyle Etman. That’s why I like you.”
Leila gazed at his furrowed brow and smiled as she spoke.
“I hope those hands save people’s lives. Not ones that shoot guns.”
“Uh… well, of course. I’m going to be a doctor.”
Kyle grew bashful and fiddled with his cheek.
“Then maybe a military doctor? Do they give medals to military doctors?”
“If you save a lot of people, they probably do. It’s way better than killing a bunch.”
“You think?”
As they traded silly jokes, they reached the fork in the road. The Etman house was at the end of the path to the left.
“Oh! I forgot the geometry notes I was going to lend you at home.”
The thought suddenly hit him, and Kyle frowned.
“Then come by this evening. I’ll have the notes ready.”
“Hey. Are you waiting for me or the notes?”
“The notes.”
Leila answered shamelessly, then burst into mischievous laughter moments later. Kyle grinned back and hurried off toward home.
“Take your time! Dinner takes a while anyway!”
Leila shouted after his back.
“Mind your own business! It’s my heart!”
Kyle’s retort was even louder.
Shaking her head helplessly, Leila mounted her bicycle and pedaled toward Platanus Avenue, leading to the Arbis estate.
Matthias stopped the car at the point where the estate’s driveway began. The chauffeur and butler looked flustered.
The Herhardt Duke’s return had been sudden. Arriving a full week earlier than planned had left the Arbis servants scrambling all day to prepare. Even the welcoming party had been minimal. And now this unconventional move. Butler Hessen swallowed dryly in tension.
“Sir, you haven’t arrived yet…”
“I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
Matthias cut off the butler calmly. The chauffeur, hesitating and glancing around, hurriedly got out to open the rear door.
“No.”
Matthias shook his head briefly at Hessen, who was about to follow.
“I’ll see you at the estate.”
With a smile, he turned and walked away. Hessen, left in an awkward stance, obeyed and got back in the car. The chauffeur rushed to the driver’s seat. As they drove off, the road fell quiet again.
Matthias, holding his officer’s cap loosely in one hand, strolled leisurely under the tree shadows like he was on a walk. The click of his boot heels harmonized oddly with the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Matthias von Herhardt had been the perfect child, the perfect student, and now the perfect officer. Soon, he would marry the perfect woman and become the perfect Herhardt Duke, the perfect father. It was all so predictably perfect it bordered on boring.
His steps gradually slowed. Sunlight filtering through the leaves accented the reddish tint in his eyes. The light slid downward, glinting off the insignia and gold belt buckle on his impeccably worn pale blue uniform.
‘I should get engaged this summer.’
He had gladly agreed with his mother’s words. Marrying at the appropriate time and producing an heir was a natural duty.
‘I think Claudine is the lady most suited to be the next duchess.’
He had accepted his grandmother’s declaration without protest. Claudine von Brandt was an excellent match with impeccable lineage and credentials.
Matthias had never truly desired anything.
Before he could even want, everything had been provided. It was all beyond perfect, so longing was a concept from some distant world. Marriage was the same.
Matthias wanted a perfect marriage.
One that required no wasteful emotions, one that would solidify his world like a sturdy foundation. Claudine von Brandt was the most fitting partner for that, and it was enough. He had never felt interest in anything beyond that. Nor the need to.
Matthias paused in the middle of the road. Tilting his head up, shards of sunlight stabbed at his eyes. It was around then that he sensed an unexpected presence.
Turning his narrowed eyes, he saw a woman riding a bicycle toward him. As Matthias slowly clasped his hands behind his back, she passed by his left side. Her bright golden hair waved like ripples.
Leila Llewellyn?
The moment the name crossed his mind, the woman turned her head. Her green eyes widened upon seeing him.
As they stared at each other, the bicycle lost balance and toppled. Leila’s scream followed as she tumbled with it.
Even after falling, the bicycle wheel spun noisily from momentum.
Matthias approached the woman sprawled on the road slowly. Looking up from under his shadow was unmistakably Leila Llewellyn.
That little birdbrained girl.
“…I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
Leila apologized hastily, bowing her head deeply. She seemed to be waiting for him to just pass by.
Matthias changed his mind about leaving and gazed down at her leisurely. Her school uniform was filthy with dirt. Her stockings were torn, blood trickling from her knee.
As the spinning wheel finally stopped, silence returned.
Leila lifted her narrowed eyes to look at Matthias again. Her impudent expression was the same, yet it gave a strangely softer impression.
This girl is growing up, too.
The obvious fact that time had passed and the child had grown irritated him for some reason.
To Matthias, Leila Llewellyn had always been a little girl. One who desperately avoided and fled from him in an annoyingly persistent way—but that was all. Yet the Leila Llewellyn before him now didn’t match those memories at all.
The lines of her body visible beneath the thin summer uniform were no longer those of a scrawny child. Her fresh cheeks and lips, the soft scent carried on the wind—they were the same.
As he mulled over the odd discomfort that fact brought, Leila staggered to her feet. Stepping back, she adjusted her shoe and brushed the dust from her uniform. Even fully grown, Leila Llewellyn would barely reach his chin—she was so petite.
“Leila Llewellyn.”
Impulsively calling her name, he watched her flinch and shrink her shoulders. She still kept her head deeply bowed.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
Repeating herself, Leila crouched at his feet and began gathering her scattered belongings.
Bag. Books. Notebook.
Matthias’s gaze followed her small, dirt- and blood-streaked hands, stopping just as her fingertips reached a pen.
Slowly stepping forward, Matthias placed his foot on the pen. Only then did Leila look up at him, her eyes incredulous.
“Leila Llewellyn.”
He called her name again.
“I’m calling you.”
His tone was as deliberate as the act of crushing the pen.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Leila squeezed her eyes shut then opened them, responding. She tugged desperately at the pen to free it, but Matthias didn’t budge.
“Speak. I’m listening.”
Trembling yet remarkably bold, she continued. Her summer-forest-green eyes, meeting his directly, sparkled with anger mixed with bewilderment. He recalled the Herhardt Duke smiling down at her that day, stepping on the coin as if to taunt her. He had looked at her with that same expression, those same eyes.
Letting out a silent chuckle, Matthias passed by Leila calmly. He lightly donned his cap and strolled down the road as if nothing had happened.
Leila stared blankly at the Herhardt Duke’s retreating back.
If he wasn’t going to say anything, why did he do that?
Her hand clenched around the retrieved pen.
Would anyone in Arbis believe that the so-called perfect noble, the Herhardt Duke, had done such a thing?
Leila would bet every penny she’d saved for her glasses on it. They’d all think she was strange for saying such a thing.
Pressing her lips tight, Leila righted her bicycle. She carefully cleaned the crushed pen and put it in her bag.
Following the slowly walking Herhardt Duke, Leila wheeled her bicycle alongside. Her scraped skin stung. Knowing he wouldn’t look back, she still maintained a straight posture. She endured the throbbing in her leg, forcing strength into it to avoid limping.
If only those long legs of his would serve some purpose and walk faster.
Just as frustration nearly drew a sigh from her, the Herhardt Duke, who had been slowing his pace, turned around. The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze. The patterns of sunlight passing through them danced lazily across the summer road.
Startled, Leila stood frozen, forgetting even to avert her gaze. Matthias’s eyes traced her unbound long hair downward slowly. Her heaving chest, her white hands gripping the handlebars. Her astonishingly slender ankles and small feet.
And then back to her eyes.
He gazed quietly into those clear green eyes for a long moment.
Leila Llewellyn was still just an orphan freeloading in his domain. But at least one thing had changed completely.
Time had passed, and the child had grown.
Accepting that fact at last, he truly saw Leila.
No longer a little girl, but that woman—Leila Llewellyn.
