Chapter 6: Winter Bellflower Soup
Life at the old greenhouse estate was surprisingly plain.
In the mornings, I measured Lucy’s temperature.
I wiped condensation from the windows, cleaned out the fireplace ash, and placed thick rugs over the spots where the floor grew cold.
I brewed herbal tea, fed her breakfast, and recorded how much she ate.
I was doing the same things I had done back at the marquis house, and yet the suffocating feeling was completely different.
No one hurried me.
No one told me to prioritize caring for Lilia.
There was no need to adjust meal times according to Gilbert’s mood.
I could simply sit and watch Lucy sip her soup one spoonful at a time.
“Mommy, I think I like this.”
Lucy held her wooden spoon with both hands and peered into the white vegetable soup.
“Really?
I asked Martha to cut the carrots smaller than yesterday.”
“The carrots are tiny.”
“Are they easier to eat?”
“Mhm.”
Her grip on the spoon was still a little clumsy.
When I reached out to wipe what she had spilled, Lucy shook her head seriously.
“By myself.”
“I see.
Then I’ll leave the cloth here for you.”
Carefully taking the cloth, Lucy pressed it against the tiny droplets she had spilled.
It was such a small thing, and yet she looked incredibly proud of herself.
At the marquis house, there had never been room to let Lucy fail.
If she got cold, she immediately developed a fever.
Changing damp clothes.
Cleaning up spilled food.
I always stepped in before she could even try.
But I could not continue doing everything ahead of her forever.
This child would hold her own spoon.
She would walk on her own feet.
She would learn to say no with her own words.
“You did very well.”
When I praised her, Lucy’s cheeks turned red with delight.
“I can do more.”
“Yes.
There’s no need to rush.”
That day, Martha picked a few young leaves from the Winter Bellflowers.
The fragrance was mild, and when simmered, they carried a faint sweetness.
As medicinal herbs they were weak, but they were known as ingredients that did not chill the body easily.
“Long ago, your mother often used these, milady.”
Martha said that while stirring the pot.
“The young ladies of House Weiss tended to suffer from cold stomachs during winter.
Your mother believed in preparing food and bedding properly before relying on medicine.”
“That does sound like her.”
My mother had never possessed flashy magic.
But she was the sort of person who remembered which blankets each family member preferred, which servant suffered knee pain, and which child coughed during the night.
Perhaps I resembled her.
There had once been a part of me that felt embarrassed by that.
Women like my mother did not stand out in noble society.
People praised those draped in jewels, those who bestowed blessings, those who displayed magnificent magic.
No one noticed the woman quietly tending the ashes so the fire would not die.
And yet, because of that work, someone could survive the night.
Lucy could sleep peacefully.
That alone was enough.
In the afternoon, Arnold returned together with the accompanying physician.
The doctor listened to Lucy’s breathing, checked the color of her tongue, and reviewed her medicine records.
“Her weight is slightly low, but her breathing is stable.
She also appears to have an appetite.”
“She ate more than half her soup this morning.”
“That is very good.
Recovery requires not only medicine, but also food and sleep.”
He said such obvious things as though they were perfectly natural.
That alone made me feel a little saved.
After the examination ended, Lucy showed Arnold her pot of Winter Bellflowers.
“Lord Al, flower eggs.”
“These are flower seeds, aren’t they?”
“Spring’s coming.”
“Yes.
Spring will come.”
Arnold nodded seriously.
Seemingly satisfied, Lucy nearly hugged the flowerpot, and I hurriedly stopped her.
“The dirt will spill.”
“Ah!”
Lucy widened her eyes.
Arnold smiled slightly.
It was not enough to become a laugh, merely a tiny smile.
But seeing that expression made me realize he was not simply a soldier or an inspector.
He was just a person.
“Lady Noelia.”
He turned toward me.
“The marquis house will likely submit a request for visitation soon.”
“Gilbert himself?”
“Most likely.
Though it will probably be handled by the steward or relatives rather than him personally.”
“Can I refuse?”
“You may restrict visitation on the grounds of Lady Lucy’s health.
However, if you continue refusing entirely, it will provide the other side with ammunition.”
I nodded.
“Then the visit will be short, supervised by a physician, and held within the greenhouse estate.”
“That is reasonable.”
“If Lucy dislikes it, the meeting ends immediately.”
“That will also be recorded.”
While we spoke, Lucy tugged on my sleeve.
“Is Papa coming?”
I lowered myself to one knee and met my daughter’s eyes.
“He might.
Do you want to see him?”
Lucy did not answer right away.
She gripped the ear of her stuffed rabbit and thought carefully.
“Did Papa say he didn’t need Lucy’s room anymore?”
“No.
Your father said he wanted Lady Lilia to use Lucy’s room.”
“Lucy doesn’t like being cold.”
“That’s right.”
I wrapped my hand around hers.
“When something feels unpleasant, it’s okay to say you don’t like it.”
Lucy gave a tiny nod.
“I’ll say I don’t like it.”
For a three-year-old child, that was a very big decision.