You Think I Won't Talk? Chapter 92

His words provoked Marianne to lift her gaze from the little stack of papers.

Observing him with a dull expression, her eyes seed to be surprised by the unexpected sentence Orland impulsively let out. And so, flickering her lovely eyelids to convey her confusion, she stared directly into his eyes.

Although seeing this reaction would usually send regret through his nerves, to then reach his head in a second, this ti, nothing happened.

The Duke kept combing her hair with his fingers, stroking her forehead and temple as they made their path into the thick strands of hair.

Orland warmly grinned at her. She seed to be pondering with those innocent eyes what had made her father say such a thing out of nowhere, and, answering her, he said in a soft voice conveying the calm in his heart.

"... It’s nothing, Dear... I am just happy to have you here..."

Thomas, who was still in the room, saw these wonderful interactions between the Master and his daughter. The way his Lord’s countenance seed to rejuvenate by the Little Lady’s presence, pleased his aged heart greatly. However, watching the Young Little Miss let herself be caressed by her Father... was the one thing that caused the strong elder to tear up.

Long ago, he had witnessed nurous tis, the cold rejection the Young Lady would give to the Duke.

At the ti, she had already stopped being the Little Lovely Miss that Thomas had seen grow ever since her birth. She was by then, an emotionless child, with a gaze empty of the previous life they contained, and the joyous voice she used to emit had entirely disappeared from her being... to the point even her paced breathing wasn’t audible to the ones in her presence.

Today, that sa child had flushed cheeks... and a glow in their eyes that the old Butler had thought he would not be able to see ever again... For his old body was sure to arrive at its last days shortly.

Her previous deanour made that belief a possibility. Yet, now that he is seeing for himself how far her soul’s revival had co to blossom...

’My Lord is right... The Little Miss is indeed... A very precious child...’ — The Butler agreed with his Lord’s previous statent, recalling a mory from long ago.

The ti when the child gave him the fruits she had collected to gift her Father when she was four... Made the elder slightly smile in fondness.

Back then, the ticulous Butler was suffering greatly. One of his sons had left his house, searching for an opportunity to travel the vast Empire. His son was a spontaneous man, curious and outgoing, not at all reserved as his admirable father. It was not long after his departure... That a dolorous letter was received.

His son had been brutally murdered in his travels... Only for the little change of coins, he had at hand.

Thomas knew sothing like that could happen, however, the pain wouldn’t fade because of it.

The days were endless, and he kept working, doing his duties as impeccably as he used to.

And then, on a fresh autumn day, he crossed paths with the cute Little Miss.

Watching how she ca back dirty with branches crowning her hair, he noticed that the tiny hands were carefully carrying blackberries and raspberries in them. Her petite hands were rough with mud and dirt, however, not minding her appearance, she still tried to silently slip into the Castle to secretly hand the harvested fruits to her Father.

"... Miss Marianne?"

"...!!!! Mishter Thomas!"

"... May I ask what brings you here, Little Lady?"

"Uhm..."

Staring at her hands, knowing she felt shy to answer, he added.

"... Those seem tasty..."

"M–Mishter... Do you like these??"

"..." — Hesitating to answer what he truly thought for a mont, he continued to speak... With all sincerity. — "I... Do not."

"...! W-Why??... Are thesh bad fruits?!"

"... They are not... This Mister simply feels sad seeing them, Little Miss..."

"... Did I... Hurt them..? Is that why Mishter is sad?"

’... What an inquisitive child...’ — Making a short pause, Thomas thought to himself before answering.

"My son used to gift these when he was younger... Now he’s not here anymore, so... I..."

’Sigh... What am I telling this child...’

"..."

"I am sorry Little Miss, do not pay attention to my blabbering..."

"... Was Mishter happy... when his son gave him thesh??... I want Papa to be happy... But Mishter ish sad....."

"I–! I was really happy, my Young Lady! The ones my son gave were always the most delicious I ever ate!!!" — Seeing the teary eyes of the child, flustered the Butler at the ti, and so, troubled to be the one making the tiny Lady sad, he said the truth as he tried to calm her down.

"!!! Then!... Here!"

"... Pardon?!"

"Mishter Thomas is sad because he misses his son. Mine might not be tasty... But... Your son worked hard to make Mishter happy..."

"... What...?"

"Mishter Thomas!!... I- I fell... a lot of tis... The bushes are itchy... And... And..... And thesh were diphficult to find..."

"... I see..."

She nodded vigorously confirming his statent. The teary eyes in a pouting face were lovely, but more so was what she tried to tell him.

"... I see... So my son also worked hard like the Little Miss?... To make happy?"

"Yesh!"

"Hmm... May I ask sothing to the Little Miss?"

"Yesh!! What ish it?!"

"... Did you have fun as you get these?"

"Yesh! Thinking of Papa made it lots of fun!!"

"... Haha... I see... I see... That’s... Good to know..."

"I will give these to Mishter Thomas, and these to Papa!! Mishter gets more because he was sad..... Please don’t tell Papa..."

"Alright... Thank you, My Lady."

’... It was such a small act of a child... Yet it still helped this old man..... The Little Lady has always been special...’

As the mories flashed, he poured the cups of tea. The thought that ca along with the rembrance made his eyes wrinkle in joy. And then, before he could inform that the tea was ready, his Lord spoke.

"Oh... So it cos from the mix of the word ’portable’ and ’canvas’..... and chin..... Is rely a diminutive...?"

Quickly adding the reason, Marianne wrote in the corner of the paper the Duke was holding.

[Because it sounds cute]

"... cute?" — Tilting his head, he pondered about it.

’... Is it??...’

Glancing at her eager gaze, his answer ca out imdiately.

"... Yes it does sound cute, sweetie."

"Your Grace, excuse my intrusion. The tea has been served, I have also brought vanilla biscuits for the Young Miss." — Taking advantage of the pause in their conversation, Thomas inford his Master, and as he introduced the snacks brought, he turned to the Little Miss, who appeared to his old eyes as tiny as she was in his mories, sending a warm gentle expression. — "Hopefully, the flavour will make our Little Miss happy."

’I also worked hard to get these for you, Miss Marianne... hohoho~’

The beaming stare and the exciting vibes coming out from her were enough to know.

Marianne, the real one, was happy, and the one accompanying her shared the joy and even enhanced it. The two souls inside the body of the loved Young Miss were dancing in delight.

Both liked snacks, and the warm ambience in the room only made both of them feel welcod and comfortable. Although they seed to know it was because of the good mood reigning the place, they ignored the extent of the reasons behind the nice atmosphere.

Nonetheless, the two older n accompanying them knew the motive very well.

Even though they were completely different people, as the Duke and the Butler watched the young girl beam with life despite her visage not displaying it, the sa impression crossed their minds.

’... What a cute child...’

*******

Marianne had gone back to her chambers after drinking her tea.

Orland suggested for her to go back and rest a bit before dinner.

They had agreed to resu the family dinners that morning, therefore, it was appropriate for her to refill her lost energy to be able to assist today’s dinner in a good state.

The Duke was in a great mood. How could he not, after such a marvellous day? Knowing he would share a nice al with his other two children later, only made his joy greater.

Orland’s chest could explode any minute now in anticipation. Dinner ti always lifted his spirits, however, on a day like this, it caused far more than lift his mood.

His only source of joy had always been his children. Plainly looking at them and confirming their existence, could make his day a wonderful one. Yet, what he truly desired was for them to always be happy, because if they weren’t, his own happiness would never be complete.

Elated by the thought of finally closing into his wish to see them happy together like they did when younger, Orland walked back to his desk and took a seat in front of the gorgeous drawing his daughter had made for him that afternoon. Touching again the ticulously but loosen dark strokes of ink on the large paper, he smiled fondly at the text in its corner.

— I love you, Father —

"Sigh... Haha... I cannot help but want her to call Dad again....."

Laughing at his silly wishes, he smiled at the words. Orland was greedy to be called this way by his daughter after seeing that — although she had physically grown — on the inside she was still as innocent and pure as a child. She could even be considered mischievous by how she enjoyed jesting with him in manners he could never imagine from her.

The girl was as unpredictable as the ingenious mind of a little kid. Regardless, she was still as gracious and delicate as a blooming flower.

Her whole being was a mystical thing. Incomprehensible but srizing with its beauty.

’To think I was blessed with a child like her... I truly have to dedicate myself to protecting her so the gods won’t feel ashad for honouring with raising such a lovely fairy...’

"... Thomas. Send word to the crafter. I want a portrait fra to especially be made for Marianne’s drawing."

"I will send word imdiately, my Lord."

"...Thanks." — Holding the drawing up to look at it with the sunset light entering from the window behind him, Orland kept smiling.

It was only when he lowered his gaze... that his smile quickly faded.

Noticing the forgotten Royal Letter under his gift, the Duke mumbled coldly with a now serious deanour.

"... I suppose... A great day cannot be in its entirety perfect..."