The Maid With a Child - Chapter 50

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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50. Noble Lady
“You have quite a few scars too.”
Adlen’s hands bore many scars as well.
When they’d held hands a few times before, she’d thought his hands surprisingly rough, but she hadn’t realized they were scarred.
“Oh… these are just wounds from work. They’re nothing.”
It was rather absurd reasoning.
“Are wounds from work not wounds, then?”
“But surely every Maid has scars like these.”
“If everyone has them, does that mean they don’t hurt? That scars won’t form?”
“That’s… not what I meant.”
She felt oddly chastised.
It was true that she’d grown numb to her own injuries. So busy with work, whenever she took a decent wound, she’d simply wrap it loosely and move on, or just endure it.
Yet they’d never gotten badly infected or scarred in any unsightly way.
“I make such a fuss over my own bruises that fade naturally on their own.”
Racart took the jar of medicine from Adlen’s hands and began applying it to her old scars.
“But those wounds are so old—they’ve already healed…”
“You applied medicine to my bruises, didn’t you? Who puts medicine on a bruise?”
“That’s… well, it’s…”
Again, words failed her.
Racart worked quietly, layering the medicine over Adlen’s long-forgotten scars.
Over her roughened hands, the medicine spread along with the warmth that pooled in his fingertips.
Adlen stared blankly at the warmth settling on the back of her hand.
Only now did she realize it was the first time. The first time anyone had tended to her wounds, applied medicine to her skin. She’d grown up without anyone to care for her—and only now, as an adult, did she understand what that meant.
There were more things she lacked than she’d ever imagined.
No parents, no family, no birthday, no one to tend her wounds.
She’d only understood what she lacked when someone finally gave to her.
Perhaps that was why.
Tears that hadn’t come even when she’d fallen hard and scraped her palms raw now welled up in her throat.
* * *
“Goodness, what happened these past few days? You’ve become so lovely!”
The seamstress who’d come to fit her for clothes gasped upon seeing Adlen after several days’ absence. It seemed like mere courtesy, but Adlen felt self-conscious enough to glance at the mirror once more.
After that day, the head steward brought Scar-Fading Medicine, apparently following some instruction from her master.
Though she suspected the medicine wasn’t meant for her own use, she applied it diligently everywhere out of respect for her master’s thoughtfulness. As she worked, she noticed small blemishes and minor pimple scars on her face. Wondering if the medicine would work on these as well, she applied it—and was delightfully surprised by the excellent cosmetic result.
“Now that you’ve become so beautiful, the Dress will suit you even better! Oh, I’m so thrilled!”
The seamstress fluttered her hands excitedly and immediately crowded close to Adlen.
Having grown experienced, Adlen now relaxed and surrendered herself to their ministrations without reservation.
Today, Maeltina had even arranged for new attendants to arrive. Once Adlen was in her Dress, stylists and makeup artists swarmed in, rotating through their tasks.
“Oh, please attach this as well with the Hair Ornament.”
Adlen held out the ornament Racart had given her as a birthday present. Until now, she’d kept it carefully stored away, but now the moment to wear it had come.
Upon bringing it out after so long, it gleamed with overwhelming, dazzling opulence.
“Did you just buy this? Wow, it looks incredibly expensive.”
Even someone who regularly handled such pieces in the course of their work expressed wonder.
“I… ended up obtaining it.”
“Obtaining it? Who gave it to you?”
“Well…”
“Wow… whoever it is must treasure you greatly. This is practically an heirloom-level piece. Just look at the delicate craftsmanship, the quality of the jewels. Who gave it to you?”
“That’s… haha…”
If she mentioned her master, strange rumors would likely spread through the Social Circle and beyond, so Adlen laughed and deflected.
The attendant, clearly experienced with such evasions, didn’t press further, but her hands became noticeably more reverent as she continued with Adlen’s hair.
“I think you should remove this, though?”
After completing the hairstyle, the attendant made one final sweep from head to toe and pointed to the necklace.
“Not the jeweled necklace, but the String Necklace underneath it. You wear that every day, don’t you?”
“Ah.”
Adlen placed her hand on her chest and looked down. The thin knotted String Necklace peeked through the gap between her clothes.
“If you absolutely must wear it, then there’s nothing for it… but it doesn’t suit this outfit at all. It clashes with the jeweled necklace.”
“Yes… I’ll remove it later.”
The attendant, realizing Adlen hadn’t forgotten to remove it but rather had intentionally hidden it away, offered an awkward smile and withdrew.
“Then, we’re complete. You can check yourself in the mirror to confirm everything, then you’re ready.”
While she’d sat motionless like a doll, all the preparations had finished. Yet somehow, her energy had already been cut in half.
With her preparations done, Adlen left the dressing room with the feeling of an escape.
“Is it finished?”
Racart had finished his preparations first.
He’d been seated on the living room sofa, glancing through some papers, and turned at the sound of her approach.
Adlen walked toward him, conscious of the unfamiliar sweep of her Dress, and offered an awkward smile at his gaze.
“Does it… look all right?”
“…Yes.”
Racart gave a slight nod and rose from his seat.
Even standing, he continued to study her for a long moment.
‘Is he checking to make sure my outfit is proper?’
Adlen turned slowly in place, as if awaiting his inspection.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“I see.”
Yet Racart’s gaze did not leave her. Or rather, it could not.
The same thing had happened when she first put on his mother’s Dress, and again when it had been tailored.
The difference between her in Maid’s clothes and in a Dress was so striking that it startled him anew each time.
In the Dress, Adlen was unmistakably not a Maid, but a carefully raised Noble Lady from some distinguished house. Without thinking, he found himself watching his words and manner around her.
If she were still a Maid, it would be different—he would have simply tossed out some casual assessment without hesitation. But the words caught in his throat, and he found himself faltering.
It was then that he noticed his gift adorning her hair.
“Ah, this. Yes, I did wear it. It seemed to match the Dress so well… Thank you again, sir.”
Racart had not known that Adlen was constantly fussing with the Hair Ornament.
He’d wondered if it might be tucked away somewhere forgotten, but seeing it fastened in her hair gave him a peculiar sense of satisfaction.
“…Yes.”
There was, however, one thing that troubled him.
“We should change how you address me from now on.”
“Now? You mean right now?”
The agreement to call him “Racart” had been made for occasions when other nobles were present.
There was no strict need to alter it immediately, but seeing her dressed like a refined young lady and continuing to call him “sir” felt somehow off.
“Yes. It’s better to practice now so it becomes natural on your tongue.”
“Of course. I understand.”
Adlen nodded without particular hesitation.
If this was also a rehearsal, then so be it.
“Racart.”
Adlen tried out his name in her mouth, as if practicing.
A name that had once flowed easily when she’d been rehearsing with a child now felt clumsy, slipping and sliding across her tongue in ways she couldn’t quite control.
“Racart.”
So this was why one must always practice beforehand.
“Good.”
Racart answered quietly.
And he, too, practiced.
“Adlen.”
Like her, his own tongue seemed to fumble with the name, rolling it uncertainly.
There had been no need to speak a Maid’s name—only orders needed giving.
So even knowing her name, he’d had no opportunity to say it aloud.
Adlen’s name, spoken now for perhaps the first time, was as soft and warm as she herself.
“…Yes.”
And her answer came in return.
It was the same quiet, modest reply as always, yet somehow it felt as though he were receiving something different than before.
“Then, let’s go.”
Racart extended his hand toward Adlen.
Adlen hesitated before taking the hand he offered.
Though not yet at the party, she reasoned this too was part of the rehearsal.
As they walked down the corridor and out of the room, Adlen’s mind held only his hand—’I hope my palm isn’t sweating. I hope my hand doesn’t slip. Is my grip too loose?’ Her fingers trembled with self-consciousness.
So absorbed in thoughts of his hand was she that she didn’t notice the child she cradled in her other arm growing heavy. It was only after boarding the carriage that she finally felt the ache spreading through that arm.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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