Lady Felice’s Secret Class - Chapter 53

The book Claude had been reading became irrelevant the moment he heard Felice’s voice. Though he still held it in his hands, even its weight was forgotten as a gentle smile spread across his lips.

From downstairs, the sound of a child’s bright laughter and Felice’s composed voice echoed up to him, filling his ears.

Maybe it was because the mansion’s soundproofing was never that great, or perhaps because the windows—long without curtains—were left wide open for the first time in ages. Or maybe, it was simply because his ears now seemed to follow only one person.

The lively thumping of a child’s feet, followed by Felice’s light steps, resonated upstairs. When Annie finally made it to the third floor, Claude rose from his seat as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

He’d decided he’d give Annie a wonderful sword and a book as a gift.

He heard Felice softly calling for Annie. With an involuntary smile, Claude opened the door to his study, just in time to see Felice entering the storage room nearby.

A few seconds later, the door burst open and the child came dashing out.

“Kyahaha—oh!”

Annie froze the instant she spotted Claude. He half expected Felice to follow right behind, but for some reason, all was quiet; not even a hint of movement from inside the room.

Puzzled, Claude crouched down to Annie’s level.

“Annie.”

Annie knew she wasn’t supposed to be on the third floor. But on cleaning days like this, when the mansion was bustling, her little feet often made their way up here.

Sometimes it was the butler, sometimes a maid, or even the gardener who would later apologize to Claude for letting it happen. Each time, Claude would reassure them that it was alright.

The truth was, Annie was clever—she rarely came up to the third floor except for these noisy cleaning days, just three or four times a year.

“You know you’re not supposed to come up to the third floor, but I’ll let it slide just for today.”

“Really?”

Annie’s frozen face instantly blossomed into a smile, as if she’d already anticipated his forgiveness.

“That’s right. But you do know the rules, don’t you?”

Putting on a rare stern expression, Claude looked at her. Annie’s smile quickly faded.

“S-sorry, my lord…”

“I’ll forgive you, but in exchange, playtime with Miss Felice is over for today.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the third floor is my territory. Everything here belongs to me, just like the dolls on your bed only listen to you. That’s what this floor is like.”

Annie’s shoulders slumped, her lips forming a pout. She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door before looking up at Claude.

“But I appointed her my knight…”

Seeing her pleading expression, Claude shook his head.

“Wasn’t Annie the brave hero who swore loyalty to me?”

“Oh… ha.”

Annie let out a deep sigh at that.

“You’re right. Heroes have to keep their promises. I guess there are days when they must offer their knight to earn forgiveness.”

“That’s right. Life isn’t always fair.”

Claude smiled, and Annie, after a brief pout, nodded and withdrew.

“Your Grace, then I’ll take my leave.”

“Go ahead.”

With a final, dignified bow, Annie headed down the stairs, and Claude turned and entered the room where Felice was.

* * *

The sword, laid horizontally, glinted in the sunlight. Felice, clutching the white cloth in her hand, hesitated before stepping closer to the sword. It was the same sword she’d often seen in her childhood.

Back when her grandfather’s golden sash fluttered in the wind and his sharp navy cap always perched on his head, the sword had always hung at his waist.

On bright days like this, her grandfather would polish the scabbard with a gentle smile on his lips. Sitting beside him, chatting about everything and nothing, Felice had let those happy days slip by without realizing just how precious they were.

The memories of that time lingered in her mind, never quite leaving her.

As she smoothed out the edge of the white cloth, tears began to fall, staining the fabric.

She used to chatter endlessly—about what she’d eaten that day, what she’d learned, how many times her grandfather’s name appeared in the newspaper.

Her father would sometimes laugh and tease her that it was actually fifteen, not thirteen, and that she needed to study her numbers better. Her grandfather’s large, rough hand would then rest reassuringly on her shoulder.

“You can count to thirteen now! You’ve grown so much. Last time, you could barely get to three. Now you’re thinking about fifteen—how time flies.”