Chapter 4: 4
Several days passed, and Bertille remained shut up in her room.
She often spent her time sitting on the sofa, reading books.
She reassigned the maid who had originally attended her to another duty and instead made a newly arrived young girl her maid.
It was because she wanted to avoid interacting with the people who had been in this house for a long time as much as possible.
The new maid, though somewhat confused, was able to respect Bertille’s wish not to meet anyone and act accordingly.
Despite being a newcomer and likely having many anxieties, she worked diligently.
“Young lady, a letter has arrived from the second prince…”
The maid reported hesitantly while holding a tray with the letter on it.
When Bertille lifted her gaze from the book to confirm, the seal on the letter was indeed that of the second prince.
“Burn it.”
“Wha—!?”
The maid’s eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting her to try to burn a letter from royalty.
It was a natural reaction.
No matter if it was her master’s order, there was no way a mere maid could carry out something so audacious.
If anything went wrong, the responsibility would fall on her.
“Just leave it somewhere.”
“Y-Yes…”
The maid gently placed the letter on the table.
This was the second letter from the second prince since Bertille regained consciousness.
She had read the first one but did not reply, so he must have sent another.
Previously, it would have been unthinkable for him to send letters this frequently.
He was not the kind of person who would grow restless without a reply and send another letter out of impatience.
Not only had he been informed that she had awakened, but he had also learned that Bertille’s memories had returned.
That was likely why he was so desperate.
Just like the members of this marquis family, the second prince had also been drawn to Minori.
He was probably panicking at the thought that Bertille, who remembered his past treatment, would come to hate him.
As she stared coldly at the letter, there was a knock, followed by the sound of the door opening.
Thinking it was Tristan again, entering without permission, she looked over—but this time, it was her father.
Seeing him, the maid let out a small “Ah…” as if she had just realized that she had forgotten to lock the door.
Bertille sighed and stared at her father.
He looked more worn out than when she had last seen him, and it was likely not her imagination.
Dark brown hair and blue eyes.
Her three brothers had slightly lighter hair, but they all resembled this man.
In the past, she had felt lonely that she alone had not inherited either of those traits, but now she was rather glad she did not resemble them.
“It seems the head of this household and his family still think it is normal to enter a lady’s room without permission. …Ah, haha. I suppose I was never included among the ladies you should show proper etiquette to.”
“…You wouldn’t have given permission anyway.”
“I see no need for us to meet.”
Bertille turned her attention back to her book and flipped a page.
The maid looked flustered, and her father told her to step back, but since Bertille did not give permission, the maid remained where she was.
“It is only natural that you resent us. We have done such things to you. I truly am sorry—”
“How utterly self-serving.”
Bertille closed her book with a snap.
Then she continued in a clear, composed voice that somehow felt calm despite lacking warmth.
“No matter how deeply you regret it from the bottom of your heart, those seventeen years will not disappear. Your apology is nothing more than self-satisfaction. It is merely an act to ease your own conscience, not for my sake. Eventually, you will start blaming me, wondering why I won’t forgive you despite all your apologies. You believe your sins can be forgiven simply by apologizing. That is the kind of people you are.”
“That’s not—”
“You are the kind of people who saw a newborn baby, who had done nothing but be born into this world, as a murderer. I believe you are quite capable of that, don’t you?”
Tilting her head slightly and fixing him with a sharp gaze, her father fell silent.
(Yes, of course you cannot argue back.)
Because it was all undeniable truth.
“Your guilt, your regret, your feelings of apology—those are all nothing more than temporary. People who have repeatedly oppressed others without reason come to loudly complain about unfairness when they themselves are placed in a position to be justly judged. That is the mindset of an abuser.”
While Minori had lived as Bertille, quite a few servants had been expelled from the estate.
That was because it had reached her father and brothers that those servants had continued to belittle and insult Minori just as they had done to Bertille.
Most of the expelled servants had desperately insisted until the very end that they had done nothing wrong.
Treating Bertille as a criminal had been an accepted and natural act in the Raspede Marquis household for seventeen years.
It was only her father and some of the servants who had suddenly changed, and the dismissed servants likely genuinely believed they had done nothing deserving of punishment.
The ones who had created such a household were undoubtedly the head family, including the man standing before her.
“You should recognize that even wishing to be forgiven is a luxury and an act of arrogance.”
If everything could be forgiven with an apology, then punishment would not exist.
Trying to force someone to accept an apology was proof that one had not truly reflected.
Even believing that being punished meant one had been forgiven was extremely arrogant.
Whether to forgive or not should be left entirely to the victim’s will.
“We were only connected by blood. Not once did we ever spend time as a family, and that will not change in the future. Therefore, I will not forgive everything just to accommodate you.”
The few months they had spent acting like a family had been experienced by Minori, not Bertille.
It was never time that Bertille herself had lived.
“…Bertille.”
“Did you not hear me? If you intend to stay in this room any longer, then I will leave.”
He should have heard it from Tristan.
After furrowing his brows deeply, her father said, “I understand,” and left the room.
His retreating figure resembled her youngest brother, as expected of a parent and child.
“Young lady, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
She replied to the maid, who looked worried, her brows lowered, and gave her permission to leave.
Once she was alone, Bertille let out a quiet sigh of relief.