Chapter 16. The Dedicated Butler
After Cassia excused herself on leaving just after greeting him because she was feeling unwell, the Count felt something strange in his chest.
The Count, he was expecting to see his daughter, Cassia, to have her face smiling brightly while looking at him - like she used to. Handing him a gift she had chosen joyfully like it was the favorite and best thing she would want to do.
But this time, it was different. She was different. The sweet daughter he had was there no more. There was no more warmth in her eyes when she looks at him. Rather, it was stone cold.
And he saw that very clearly. The way how Cassia's expression instantly changes as he walked towards her. She was in fact smiling at the Maids when they were praising her looks. The simple yet vibrant dress she was wearing greatly complimented her skin tone, as well as the light make up that was put on her face making her look young yet somehow mature in a way - but nonetheless, she looked pretty.
Seeing how his daughter was delighted and somehow flustered by the compliments and praises that she received from the Manor Staffs, the Count thought of giving her outfit a praise as well.
He wanted to somehow do something about their relationship, as father and daughter. He wanted to make it up to his daughter. All of those acts similar to abandonment, he wanted to change. Because he was so scared of the dream he had coming to reality.
But what reaction that he saw coming from her. He wasn't expecting that. He wasn't expecting the cold and indifferent attitude that his daughter just gave him a few minutes ago.
What's more important that he can't get out of his mind. Was that, she had greeted me so formally like she wasn't my daughter rather, it was like she wasn't related to me for her to address me by the title of the Count of the Clorance.
He felt the distance his daughter was upbringing with that attitude. It was like building a big wall between them. And thinking about that, something banged on his chest making him unconsciously clench his fist.
What was I even thinking? The Count utter in the back of his head. Wasn't this what I had wanted?
Truthfully, he remembers one incident. An incident that happened which he regretted the moment he got his head straight and emotions back in shape.
It happened a year ago on the Count's birthday. However, no celebrations were taking place on that day, as the Count was engrossed in his work, meticulously examining papers and going through the documents scattered across his office table.
Suddenly, a knock echoed from the door, interrupting his focused concentration. Assuming it was his loyal butler, Philip, who often scolded him for being too engrossed in work, the Count impatiently instructed the person outside to leave, citing his busy schedule.
"A-Ah... I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll leave now," a timid voice responded from the other side of the door.
The Count halted immediately, realizing the sincerity in the girl's voice. He paused his review of the paper he was reading and swiftly rose from his seat.
"No, it's okay. Come in," the Count warmly invited the girl, his tone softened by empathy and curiosity, as she timidly emerged from outside his office door.
The Count sat back properly from his seat. He tried acting as if he was reading the papers on his hand but in reality, he was using his peripheral view to see how the door slowly opened and a small figure of fragile looking little girl came into his view. It was none other than his one and only daughter, Cassia.
Cassia was looking down the moment she had entered the room. He was scared and nervous both as the same time. Scared that her father might yell at her again, and nervous of being rejected once again.
It was not like it's the first time that she was rejected. She already felt rejected by her father the moment she was born. She knows that her father wouldn't even take a glance at her. And deep inside the heart of a young little child, Cassia felt sad and broken because of that. But still, she's trying her best. Just so she could get that love and attention she yearns for.
Call it martyr but that was indeed Cassia at that young age of hers. She was just so desperate on wanting to be loved. To be given attention. To be someone important to a person. She just wanted to feel special. That someone loves her and give importance to her, that gives her the attention and affection she wants.
Because ever since she was born. Not even her father nor brother visited her in her room. None of them was there to see her grow up. She would only see his brother when they pass through each other in the hallways when he was still at home and hasn't entered the Academy yet. While the Count, her father, would only be seen when she is called.
Cassia thought on the other side of her head that, no one loves me, no one cares for me, even if I die right here and now they won't even shed a single drop of their tear.
"What brings you here?" The Count inquired, snapping Cassia back to reality.
She instantly recalled her purpose for visiting the Count's Office, despite already knowing that her father was occupied, thanks to her prior conversation with Butler Philip.
Taking a deep breath, Cassia closed her eyes and mentally prepared herself for the encounter.
"Happy Birthday, Father!" Cassia greeted, her eyes still shut tightly, as she presented a beautifully wrapped gift box before him.
The Count, taken aback by his daughter's sudden burst of excitement, couldn't help but be surprised by her cute reaction. He remained silent, extending his arms as a gesture of acceptance for the present Cassia had given him.
Cassia slowly opened her eyes, gazing at her father with pure joy and innocence. However, something in her presence triggered an unexpected reaction in the Count, fueling a sudden anger within him.
Caught off guard by Cassia's radiant smile and her captivating ruby red eyes, the Count's mind was instantly flooded with a different and darker image. His mother's face appeared in his thoughts, wearing a mocking smile that sent shivers down his spine. Memories of the former Countess resurfaced, replaying the haunting words she had repeatedly uttered, words that had inflicted deep trauma upon him and triggered uncontrollable emotions.
In a fit of rage, the Count forcefully slapped Cassia's hand that was holding the present. The impact was harsh and powerful, causing the gift box to fly from her grasp and leaving her small hands reddened and stinging in pain.
Cassia, hurt by the intensity of the Count's slap, remained silent. She yearned to cry, as any child her age normally would in such a distressing situation. But she fought back her tears, determined to hold them in, stifling her natural instinct to express her anguish.
While Cassia displayed impressive emotional control at her young age, the Count, on the other hand, was consumed by fury. His anger led him to utter words he immediately regretted as he saw tears welling up in his daughter's eyes.
"Father, what's wrong—"
"Stop calling me your Father! You're no daughter of mine!"
As soon as the Count comprehended the nonsensical nature of his outburst, he snapped back to reality. Witnessing the tears forming in Cassia's eyes, he desperately wanted to explain, to clarify that his words were unfounded, mere products of his emotional turmoil. However, no words escaped his lips. The internalized thoughts refused to find voice.
Cassia, with her head lowered, concealed her hands behind her back, attempting to hide the redness and pain they bore. She felt the sting of physical hurt, but the weight of her father's words hurt her even more. Yet, she steadfastly refused to let her tears flow. She contained her pain within.
Not everyone possesses the strength to maintain emotional control and withhold tears from falling, regardless of age. Even adults often struggle with such restraint. While some may succeed in suppressing their emotions, the majority find it a challenging feat.
Now, imagine a young little girl who already had mastered controlling her feelings. For what is her reason? Well it is none other than the Count. Because Cassia had thought that her father would be more angry or mad at her when she acts like a child - crying and whining. When in fact, she's a child.
Cassia had tried to embody maturity, hoping it would garner her father's attention and affection, longing for him to finally see her. However, despite her efforts, Cassia was still a twelve-year-old girl, vulnerable and fragile. As she retreated to her chambers, her emotions overwhelmed her, and the floodgates of tears opened.
Inside the sanctuary of her room, Cassia found solace in the privacy it afforded. Fortunately, there was no one present outside her chambers to bear witness to her uncontrollable sobs. It was within the confines of these walls that she could unleash her emotions freely, without fear of judgment or further disappointment.
Cassia rarely allowed anyone to enter her chambers, aside from Mira, her trusted companion. She preferred to have her meals in seclusion, taking breakfast, lunch, and dinner within the confines of her room. In the past two days, she had secluded herself completely, imprisoning her own heart and body within the confines of her chambers, shutting out the outside world.
The Count's attention was abruptly diverted when Philip entered the office and voiced his concern.
"My lord, what's wrong? I noticed you weren't responding when I knocked, so I entered urgently, fearing that something had happened," Philip said, approaching the disheveled Count, who appeared distressed at his desk. It had been a day since the regrettable incident with Cassia, yet the Count remained consumed by self-remorse. He berated himself for unleashing his pent-up emotions on his own daughter.
Why must her eyes always remind me of my mother?
Why am I unable to gaze directly into my daughter's eyes without being haunted by my painful past?
Why does it have to be this hard?
The Count has a lot of questions going on around of his head that was still left unanswered. He wanted solutions, but he can't think of any. Even if he takes those supplements given by the palace pharmacist to him for his mental trauma, seeing a ruby-red eyes really triggers him. It was like there was a switch inside of him that reacts whenever he sees such thing.
"My Lord, are you listening?" Philip's voice cut through the Count's internal turmoil, momentarily bringing him back to the present.
"Y-Yes? What were you saying?" the Count replied, his mind still preoccupied.
Exasperated, Philip released a deep sigh of frustration and handed him the document he had been holding. The Count, confused but willing to divert his attention, accepted it and began reading. It turned out to be a report on the progress of his eldest child at the Academy.
"How about Cassia's report?" he inquired, flipping the page to search for information about his younger daughter.
"She hasn't been leaving her room, my lord. She's been taking her meals within the chambers instead of joining us in the dining hall," Philip responded with concern.
Upon hearing this, the Count paused his reading and handed the document back to Philip. A glimmer of an idea formed in his mind.
"Go to Madam Kendleson and order five sets of dresses with Cassia's size. Those dresses that has jewelry designs on it and are elegant looking. Make sure that Cassia receives it by the day after tomorrow."
"But my lord, that is—" Philip began to object, only to be interrupted by the Count's stern response.
"I have made my decision, Philip. The day after tomorrow. If Madam Kendleson's boutique fails to meet the demands, withdraw our investments from their establishment," the Count declared firmly.
The Butler sighed heavily, bowing his head in acknowledgment. "Yes, my lord."
That was what the Count only knew to compensate his daughter. He doesn't really know how to talk and clear it out on her. He doesn't know what to say and how to even talk to her without getting furious and mad.
But then again, Steven was wrong.
Cassia was only wearing those dresses because it was the Count in the first place who gave one to her.
She treasures the dress so much that it became her favorite, because it was a gift given by his father.
So the Count decided buying her another one, and another, until her walk-in closet is already filled with expensive outfits.
"My lord," Philip called, jolting Steven back to the present. He realized he had been lost in his thoughts, sitting absentmindedly in his office chair.
"I apologize, Philip. Could you please repeat what you just said?" Steven requested, attempting to refocus his attention.
"You seem preoccupied, my lord. Is there something troubling you? Shall I fetch you a bottle of your favorite drink?" Philip offered, displaying his concern for the Count.
Steven shook his head. "No, thank you, Philip. It's alright. It's just that..." Steven trailed off, unsure of how to broach the topic of his daughter with his loyal Butler
"My lord, is this about the young lady?" Philip seemed to have a keen understanding of the Count's thoughts.
Steven took a moment before finally responding. "Philip, don't you find Cassia's behavior peculiar? She's been acting differently lately," the Count inquired, seeking his Butler's perspective.
Philip let out a deep sigh, recognizing the weight of the situation, before addressing the Count's concerns. "My Lord, the young lady is currently suffering from amnesia-
"WHAT?!"
"My Lord, please calm down."
The Count's loyal Butler, Philip, who was already serving the Count ever since he took the title of the Head of the Clorance Countdom, was already used to the sudden raising of voice of the Count whenever he is shock about something.
Philip who seems calm in the outside and even has his eyes closed as if he was the most relaxed person in the world. But truth be told, his eardrums are in serious pain right now.
"As I have said, the young lady Cassia has been experiencing amnesia—"
"How long has it been? Is that the reason why she didn't address me as father and greeted me too formally? Why don't I even know about—"
"My Lord. Again, I beg you to please calm down. And one question at a time. Even though you are my best friend and the Lord I serve, I'm seriously going to punch that face of yours. So why don't you just let me finish my explanation first. Hm?"
Philip, who had enough of the Count spoke up. Because of that, Steven went silent as he realized his Butler's point.
"Thank you." Philip said after sighing a relief that his Lord still has good comprehension.
"As I was saying, the young lady had an amnesia and it happened a week ago."
"Why didn't I—"
Steven stop midpoint on his sentence when Philip gave him his infamous scarry glare. The Count can't help but pout and shut his mouth because he doesn't want Philip to get angry.
I'm the Lord yet I'm scared of my Butler. Why is that?! Steven can't help but complain on the back of his head.
It was always like this. Him being scared of the way his Butler, Philip, glare at him. The reason? It's simply because there was a sentence given by Philip himself describing that glare.
'One more talk and you'll receive my resignation letter.'
Philip was indeed the most efficient Butler Steven could ever wish for. Philip was also Steven's childhood friend when growing up making the comfortable with each other. But there's still a limit to how their relationship is. Steven is the Lord and Philip is the servant of the Lord.
"My Lord, do you recall that time, about a week ago, when you suddenly decided to return to the Manor? You were deeply engrossed in writing reports for the mining business up north," Philip began, prompting the Count's memory.
"Yes, I do remember that. But what's the relevance?" the Count inquired, still trying to piece together the Butler's point.
"Then do you remember telling me to leave you alone, even when I informed you that it was a report from Clorance's Main Manor concerning the young lady?" Philip pressed, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and concern.
The Count fell silent, his memory recollecting the hasty dismissal he had given Philip. Although occupied with work, he now realized the gravity of his actions.
"Now you can start blaming yourself, you irresponsible father," Philip's words were sharp, holding Steven accountable for his actions. "Tch."
Steven's expression darkened as he locked eyes with Philip. The seriousness in his gaze was evident.
"Oh, don't give me that look, my lord. I am merely stating the facts. Even my wife has expressed her dissatisfaction with your lack of interest in matters concerning your own daughter," Philip retorted candidly, unafraid to speak his mind.
"Why must you be so blunt? And have you forgotten that I am your Lord, Philip?" Steven's frustration seeped into his voice.
"Yes, yes. You are my lord, and I am your butler, your faithful servant. I am well aware of that, my lord," Philip responded, acknowledging the Count's authority but not hesitating to challenge him when necessary.
"You really!" the Count exclaimed, his frustration boiling over.
"Oh, no. Keep glaring at me like that, My Lord, and you'll soon receive a letter—"
"Shut up!" The Count's outburst cut Philip off mid-sentence, a clear sign of his exasperation.
Philip couldn't help but chuckle at his Lord's reaction, but he quickly composed himself, remembering the additional information he needed to relay.
"By the way, My Lord," Philip interjected.
"What is it now?" the Count replied, his irritation evident.
"The Young Lady has left the Manor in a carriage, accompanied by just one maid. There are no guards present," Philip informed, his tone carrying a sense of urgency.
The Count's eyes widened in shock.
"What?!"
To be Continued....