Countess of Nottingham

Chapter 4

Lia’s age did not match her mindset. Outwardly, she appeared to be a pale-skinned sixteen-year-old girl who hadn't quite shed her childish air; deep down, however, she harbored the soul of a "middle-aged auntie"—someone well past twenty and happily bounding toward thirty. And middle-aged aunties shared one common trait: an utter inability to resist adorable young boys. In essence, Lia was undeniably a "creepy auntie."

Yet now, this "creepy auntie" found herself at a loss for how to conduct herself when faced with such adorable boys.

Indeed, Joyce and Julian were the very definition of "prime specimens" in the eyes of a creepy auntie. They had large, dewy eyes, fuzzy little heads, rosy cheeks, and hands that seemed unsure of where to rest, betraying a hint of shyness. When these boys—both under the age of ten—gazed at you with the innocent, dazed look of little rabbits, it was a lethal weapon against any creepy auntie's defenses.

But the moment she thought of their background, Lia’s heart broke. She could handle the situation calmly if it were merely her husband’s mistress. But illegitimate sons—and such handsome, cute little boys at that? It really made things... difficult to deal with.

"My Lady!" Guided by the butler, the two children bowed respectfully and properly, despite their nervousness.

The butler had already introduced the boys by name, but as they were meeting their Lady for the first time, a simple recitation of names was naturally not enough. Joyce—the dark-haired youth who appeared slightly older—stepped forward and bowed to Leah with the reverence one might show a king. "Joyce Braine, of the Braine family from the Aos Coast—I pay my respects to you!"

In contrast to Joyce’s composure, Julian—two years his junior—seemed far more nervous. Once Joyce stepped back, Julian also stepped forward to offer the same salute, though his speech was somewhat halting: "Ju—Julian Wood, from... from Sentinel Ridge on the northern border. I am at your... your service."

Oh, and their voices were so clear and melodious—it was simply... Leah clutched her chest, fighting back the urge to squeal like a doting older woman, when she suddenly realized a crucial issue. Wait a minute—why didn't either of them have the surname "Hill"?

"So, one of you is named Braine, and the other Wood?" Leah asked, puzzled, before gritting her teeth in frustration.

*Earl Nottingham—my dear husband—just how many women did you knock up? You scattered your seed all the way from the Aos Coast to the northern border; if you weren't sent to a w*******l site to star as the harem-collecting protagonist, it would be a waste of your talent as a stud!*

The butler furrowed his brows slightly and bowed to explain: "My Lady, they are your pages." He simply couldn't watch any longer; he was genuinely worried about the Countess's grasp of the situation.

"Pa—pages?" Leah searched her memory and finally understood what the butler meant.

Yes, as the lady of the fief, she was indeed entitled to have pages.

Strictly speaking, the educational practices of the Odin people bore a resemblance to those of the Manchus in the history of Leah's home world: mothers did not personally raise their children—especially the boys. This was likely done to prevent a mother's doting from turning the boys into spoiled, weak-willed individuals, and to better temper the resolve they would need to become the pillars of their families in the future. In Odin, when a boy from a knightly family turned seven, he would be sent to the household of another knight to be raised as a page to that knight's lady. There, he would learn the etiquette and manners essential to knighthood and—perhaps at the lady's discretion—receive some basic academic instruction. Of course, in an era rife with illiteracy where not even all nobles could read, formal education was often neglected. Yet, for a young nobleman, the stage of serving as a page was indispensable; at fourteen, he would transition to serving as a squire within the household, learning the martial skills and the code of chivalry that defined a knight.

Knights occupied the lowest rung of the privileged class—hardly nobles in the strictest sense—yet the title of knight was a prerequisite for inheriting a higher noble rank.

To the people of Odin, twenty-one was the age at which a nobleman truly came of age. Upon reaching twenty-one, provided certain conditions were met, a squire could be dubbed a knight by his liege lord, thereby gaining the right to inherit his title and exercise lordship. Until then—even if his father had passed away and he was the family's sole heir—he remained under the authority of a guardian so long as he was neither of age nor knighted. This guardian might be his liege lord or even the King himself.

Naturally, there were exceptions. If a family was so wealthy and powerful that the King wished to marry off a daughter, niece, or granddaughter to the heir—yet the young man was not yet twenty-one—he might be knighted early by royal decree. After all, marrying a man without a title would hardly be a prestigious match for a noblewoman.

In the few times she had ventured from her private chambers before her marriage, Leah had seen pages standing behind the Countess of Red Keep at her uncle's dinner table. Even someone as sheltered as she was well-versed in these common customs of noble life. Yet, she simply couldn't fathom why two young boys—one from the North and one from the East—had arrived together in Baroness Hill’s carriage.

"Because, prior to this, they had been living at Hill Castle," the steward explained.

According to the Nottingham family tradition, the children of direct vassals were sent to Nottingham Castle upon turning seven to serve as pages to the Lady of Nottingham. Leah analyzed this as a rather clever political maneuver; it sounded just like the ancient practice of feudal lords sending their sons and grandsons to the capital as hostages—an effective strategy for rulers to keep local powers in check.

However, her mother-in-law had long since passed away, and her husband had married only at the "ripe old age" of twenty-eight, leaving the pages sent to the Count’s estate to run wild like unmanaged pigeons. To ensure the strategy’s success, Nottingham had entrusted the boys' upbringing to Baroness Hill, a woman he deeply trusted. Naturally, once Leah became the mistress of Nottingham Castle, the boys were sent back.

Although the "illegitimate child" alarm had been called off—meaning she could freely dote on, or rather *train*—those two handsome young lads... er, *educate* them, yes, *educate* them—Leah dared not fully relax. Just because there wasn't a problem now didn't mean there wouldn't be one later. Besides, a baroness whom her husband trusted enough to raise his future attendants—and even his confidants—didn't sound like a simple woman, did she?

Secretly, Leah had already added Baroness Hill to her blacklist of potential mistresses.

As for the two little ones, they felt none of the angst, heartbreak, aggravation, or suspicion; the two pages were filled only with curiosity and excitement about the new environment awaiting them. Nottingburg—a place mentioned countless times by the men of the family—was the singular object of their fixation and longing once they understood their own status. It was the largest castle in all of Odin, second only to the royal palace; it was the seat of the lord to whom they would pledge their loyalty; and it was the place where they would spend the next dozen years or so of their lives.

Joyce was relatively more composed; at nine years old, he had already learned a great deal of aristocratic etiquette under the tutelage of Baroness Hill. Although the Baroness was a gentle and kind woman, Joyce did not allow himself to become lax. He was his parents' only son and the family's sole heir. He restrained his curiosity, listening respectfully as the steward explained the ins and outs of life at the castle.

Julian, on the other hand, was far more lively. Only seven years old and having arrived at Hill Castle just two months prior, he had not yet developed the guarded reserve that often comes from living under another’s roof for years. Moreover, the Countess before him was roughly the same age as his older female cousin—only prettier.

Julian lowered his head, his cheeks flushing pink. Joyce surreptitiously nudged him, reminding him not to forget his manners.

Oh, the interaction between the two boys absolutely charmed Leah. Channeling the excitement of a doting "creepy auntie," she personally arranged their meals and accommodations. After receiving their shy, satisfied reactions, she proceeded to organize their study curriculum.

Leah could handle the instruction on aristocratic etiquette herself; although she was a "transplant" from another world, the original memories and ingrained physical habits remained. As a member of the royal family, her own etiquette was an impeccable model of perfection. As for academic studies, while many noble families treated them as an unnecessary step—believing a knight’s literacy had absolutely no bearing on his landholdings or annual rental income, and viewing the martial spirit as far superior to the scholarly pursuits of the literate—Leah had no intention of raising a brood of illiterates. She treated this almost like a dress rehearsal for future motherhood; even though the "tadpole" capable of impregnating her was still safely tucked away in the Earl of Nottingham’s breeches, a little practice run couldn't hurt. She had the steward arrange for Brother Daniel from the local abbey to come and teach the children every other day, aiming to mold them into noble gentlemen who—upon reaching adulthood—would embody the chivalric spirit while also being cultured and refined.

Leah’s warmth and friendliness put the two children at ease; even Joyce stopped wearing that stiff, solemn expression, while Julian practically treated the place as his own family castle.

After dinner, the pair would embark on their adventures. The Countess had declared that there were no off-limits areas in the castle, so—with the exception of the cellar—every room, corridor, and hidden door became a target for their exploration.

Unlike Leah, whose quick sketches were merely a cursory glance, children are always fascinated by enclosed spaces and possess boundless imaginations; they would fling open every wardrobe door and chest lid, hoping to discover something mysterious or amusing inside. Yet, they were also keenly perceptive. Although the steward never stopped them, they instinctively understood that certain cold, heavy doors—leading to rooms rarely visited by others—were not meant to be pried into. Naturally, this included the Earl’s study.

Consequently, the kitchen located near the side entrance on the ground floor soon became their primary target for exploration. Amidst the housekeeper’s scolding, the cook’s grumbling, the maids’ complaints, and the guards’ hearty laughter, two children made a major discovery beneath a chopping block piled high with raw meat.

"A dog, My Lady." Julian cradled the little creature—so grimy its original color was barely discernible—and ran up to Leah as if presenting a prize. Joyce stood beside him, looking equally proud.

"Oh my, you really did find a treasure hidden in the kitchen!" Leah encouraged the children’s treasure-hunting escapades; she believed that curiosity and the urge to explore the unknown were essential to growing up, and she didn't want the two little rascals she was raising to turn into timid, cowardly men. However, "Darlings, I think you need to wash it first. Look at that long, black, matted fur—I can barely tell where its eyes are."

"Yes, My Lady!"

Tasked with the job, the two little imps immediately scampered off, happily carrying the little black dog to wash it.

Practical skills are essential, too! Leah clenched her fist, resolving to add a note to her parchment scroll of parenting wisdom. Yet, only half an hour later, she realized just how terribly mistaken she had been—and the following three days taught her that she had been far too optimistic.

As it turned out, gold will always shine. And a black dog... well, it will eventually wash white...

Indeed, the little black creature Julian had brought from the kitchen turned out to be a long-haired white dog once cleaned up. It had dark, sparkling eyes and an adorably dazed look that mirrored the two little explorers who had found it.

"Oh..." Leah took the clean little white dog into her arms and scratched it gently under the chin. The little fellow looked thoroughly pleased and immediately nuzzled against her chest, seeking affection. "Snoopy!"

"What?"

"Let's call him Snoopy!" Lia declared firmly. She viewed this as a way to channel her longing for home; with such a familiar name, perhaps the dog could even count as a fellow countryman of sorts. Lia held the dog close, feeling a sense of comfort.

But she soon discovered that a "fellow countryman" isn't so easily dismissed.

Snoopy was assigned to the room shared by Joyce and Julian, where they had made him a bed of dry straw and coarse burlap in the corner. Clearly, however, the little fellow wasn't satisfied with that; he preferred Lia’s bedroom, which held the gentle, feminine scent he loved. After he spent three consecutive nights lingering at her door until dawn—refusing to budge no matter what—Lia was forced to accept him as a roommate. Of course, this was only after she had washed him five times over to ensure he wasn't carrying any parasites.

From then on, the woman and the dog lived a life where these "fellow countrymen" shared their days and drifted off to sleep together.

Then, one evening, just as the maid Susie placed a freshly bathed Snoopy onto his own special blanket—watching him act cute and fawn over his mistress for attention—a cavalry troop of over twenty riders galloped through the gates of Nottingham Castle.

The Earl of Nottingham had returned.