Chapter 29 : Chapter 29
Chapter 29 : The Maid Wants to Give a Massage
The soaked jacket rested heavily in Cosette’s hands. The clean, reassuring scent that belonged uniquely to her master seemed to have been washed away by the water and soapberry fragrance.
For some reason, she suddenly remembered the nights they had once spent squeezed together in that tiny inn room.
Back then, she had been cold and frightened, curled up in the icy corner of the wall. Her master had slept only a few steps away on the bed. In the darkness, aside from fear, the only thing wrapping around her had been that faint clean scent.
In the cold and terror, it had been the only warmth she could cling to.
Now she had her own bed—clean and warm—with soft blankets and a safe little corner to sleep in.
But sometimes, in the middle of the night, she would still wake up suddenly, staring at the ceiling. And somewhere inside her chest there would be an empty feeling, as though something was missing, something that refused to be filled.
As if possessed by some strange impulse, she lifted the jacket slightly from the water and unconsciously brought it closer to her nose.
The damp vapor rushed up, carrying the light fragrance of soapberries.
And beneath that…
A faint yet incredibly familiar scent stubbornly slipped through the moisture and entered her nose.
Her master’s scent.
Her heart suddenly thumped heavily once without warning.
Then it felt as though an invisible hand had grabbed it, making it skip several beats.
A wave of heat surged straight up to her cheeks, and the tips of her ears burned instantly.
Even stranger, a faint tingling sensation—like a tiny electric current—crept slowly up her spine. Her legs, wrapped in white cotton stockings, instinctively pressed together. The unfamiliar feeling was unsettling and confusing, making her heart race in panic.
As if the wet cloth in her hands had suddenly burned her, she hurriedly shoved the jacket back into the basin.
Then she scrubbed it vigorously—almost like she was venting something—stirring up a large cloud of white foam that blurred the reflection of her wide, flustered eyes in the water.
“No… this isn’t right…” she murmured softly, lowering her face toward the bubbling water. Her voice was barely audible as she scolded herself, her ears so red they looked ready to drip blood.
This was her master’s clothing.
She was simply fulfilling her duty as a maid and washing it carefully.
That was all.
Click.
The sound of a key sliding into the lock came from outside the door.
Then the door opened.
Cosette’s body stiffened instantly.
Her heart jumped straight to her throat.
Almost by instinct, she quickly lifted the dark jacket from the basin and stuffed it under a pile of clean towels on the nearby rack. Then she turned around in a hurry, blocking the rack with her body and forcing her face into a normal expression.
But the lingering blush on her cheeks and her slightly hurried breathing betrayed a hint of panic.
Ryan pushed the door open.
What he saw was Cosette standing at the entrance of her small room, holding an empty wooden basin in her arms. Her cheeks were a little flushed, and her eyes flickered nervously as she looked at him.
“M-Master… you’re back.”
Her voice sounded softer than usual.
When Ryan showed no particular reaction, Cosette secretly let out a small sigh of relief.
It seemed her master had not noticed that brief moment of panic and embarrassment.
Carefully observing him, she quickly sensed the heaviness in his mood. The faint shyness she had felt earlier vanished immediately, replaced by concern.
She set down the basin and walked gently to his side.
“Master… what’s wrong? Did something unpleasant happen?”
“Mm.” Ryan answered simply.
His gaze lingered on her flushed face for half a second.
A little redder than usual?
Probably because the room was stuffy, or because she had been struggling with those crooked letters again.
His mind was still filled with Eleanor’s sunken gaze and that glaring 65% probability. He had no spare energy to investigate the tiny irregularities in his maid’s behavior.
He walked over to the small table by the window, picked up the kettle, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it in one go.
The cool liquid slid down his throat, but it did nothing to disperse the heaviness in his chest.
Ryan was always quiet and expressionless, but right now his back carried a faint sense of weight.
The way he drank water wasn’t casual like usual. The sound of the cup being set down was dull. His fingers tapped the table restlessly. His brows were slightly furrowed.
All of it silently revealed one thing:
He had worries. And he was not in a good mood.
That realization instantly washed away Cosette’s earlier flutter of emotions.
Her master was so capable—what kind of problem could make him look like this?
Had something gone wrong in the afternoon class?
Or… had someone made him unhappy again?
She hesitated.
Her small hands pinched the edges of her washed-pale apron.
Then she took a few small steps and quietly moved to Ryan’s side, standing slightly behind him. She raised her clear hazel eyes and asked softly, her voice filled with concern:
“Master… what’s wrong? Did something unpleasant happen?”
Ryan turned his head to look at her.
The little maid tilted her face upward, her eyes clear and focused on him. The blush had not completely faded from her cheeks, but the worry in her expression was far more obvious.
The irritation that had formed in his chest because of the unexpected situation seemed to be lightly touched by that simple, straightforward gaze, loosening just a little.
“It’s nothing,” he said, looking away. “Just a small matter.”
But this time he did not immediately turn and walk away.
Nor did he shut down her concern with cold words.
Looking out the window at the sunlight slanting westward, dyeing the clouds gold and crimson, he suddenly asked,
“How did your studying go today?”
Cosette blinked, her long eyelashes fluttering like tiny fans.
She realized that Ryan did not want to talk about it, so she obediently stopped asking.
Instead, she quickly began reporting her progress for the day. Her voice regained a little energy, though it was still hesitant and stumbling.
“I—I remembered seven words! ‘Bread,’ ‘Milk,’ ‘Window’… Ah, but for the word ‘window,’ I keep writing the strokes on the right side wrong…”
She lowered her head shyly, her fingers unconsciously tracing shapes in the air.
Ryan listened quietly.
His gaze rested on her small face, slightly tense from concentration.
Then he reached out and habitually placed his hand on the top of her dark brown hair, gently ruffling it.
The warm touch on her head instantly made Cosette’s cheeks flare bright red again—far deeper than before. Even her neck was tinted pink.
She lowered her head quickly, too embarrassed to look at him.
The spot he had touched seemed to carry tiny currents of electricity, making her heartbeat speed up again.
Trying to hide her sudden fluster—and because she truly was worried about her master’s heavy mood earlier—she suddenly remembered something. She lifted her head, her hazel eyes sparkling.
“Ah—right, Master! If… if you’re very tired… I—I can give you a massage! I… I learned how!”
Massage?
Ryan raised an eyebrow slightly.
Looking at the little maid in front of him—her cheeks flushed, her eyes unusually serious, almost like someone preparing to face death—he showed a rare hint of surprise.
“You know how to do that?” he asked.
This little girl could barely recognize letters. Where had she learned servant skills like that?
“Yes!” Cosette nodded vigorously, as if trying to make herself more convincing.
“I—I learned it from someone!”
Then, as if feeling that explanation sounded too empty, she hurriedly added,
“It… it was a very kind big sister who taught me.”