Lady Class - Chapter 2

When Rackley was 14 years old, her mother, who suffered from depression, caught pneumonia and left the mansion for treatment. From that moment on, Rackley took over managing the household in place of her ailing mother.

For eight long years, starting at the age of 14.

During that time, she had never once left the Count’s estate.

Other noble young ladies would leave for their southern villas in the winter and return in the spring. Some would stay out for days after attending grand balls that lasted until dawn. But such things were never permitted for Rackley.

The impoverished Winner family barely had enough wealth to maintain their inherited estate. There was no spare money to order new dresses for her to wear at banquets.

Moreover, Count Winner was a strict and conservative man. He would never allow an unmarried young woman to stay out overnight.

It felt suffocating, but the obedient Rackley never defied her father’s words.

In truth, she had no time to enjoy the freedoms of other noble daughters. She was always busy—managing the household in place of her mother while also frequently visiting her to care for her.

This was Rackley Winner’s life.

But later, she would come to realize that even those years had been a form of happiness compared to what awaited her after her mother’s passing.

The time for farewell arrived.

Her mother, who had been holding on, gradually weakened until she finally drew her last breath.

After the funeral, Count Winner suggested that Rackley visit her aunt, Violet Pitcher, for a while. She had always thought her father had little interest in her, so she felt a small sense of warmth at his suggestion.

Aunt Violet was one of the few people Rackley could rely on emotionally.

While her mother had been bedridden, she and Violet had kept in touch through letters. Violet was also the only one who had sent her flowers to celebrate her first menstruation, easing her confusion.

Believing that her father wanted to console both his grieving daughter and her aunt, Rackley departed for Violet’s home.

Located in the countryside, two days’ travel from the capital, the house was a place where she found comfort listening to stories about her mother’s childhood.

But even rest felt uneasy.

She knew the Winner estate could not function without her. The anxiety became unbearable, and she returned home after only fifteen days.

Only to find that, in her absence, her place had disappeared.

The mansion was filled with unfamiliar servants, and the atmosphere had changed.

The truth was, Count Winner had never been skilled in business. It was only thanks to the dowry that Rackley’s wealthy maternal family had provided upon marriage that the estate had managed to stay afloat.

With no money, the household had long been run by just three live-in servants—a butler, a head maid, and a single housemaid. They had a carriage bearing the Winner family crest, but no dedicated coachman to drive it.

The mansion itself was the only legacy the Count had inherited, and to manage it with so few staff, only parts of it were in use.

Recently, however, the Count’s investments had begun yielding some returns. The once perpetually furrowed brows of Count Winner had finally relaxed. But no investment could have brought in enough wealth to transform the mansion so drastically.

Shocked by the changes, Rackley stepped inside, only for the new servants—recognizing her as the Count’s daughter due to her signature red hair—hurriedly rushing off to summon the butler.

As she stood bewildered in the entrance hall, Count Winner emerged with an unfamiliar woman and a young boy at his side.

With the new servants and the butler watching, Count Winner introduced them in the grand central hall of the mansion.

“Greet them, Rackley. This is Rowinda, your new mother. And this is your younger brother, Edward Winner. From now on, we are family. Treat them well.”

Brother. Family.

Rackley was at a loss for words as she looked at the boy.

The woman had black hair, but the boy possessed the Winner family’s signature trait—shiny, rich red hair. The red hair and green eyes he had inherited from the Count were undeniable proof of his bloodline.

Rowinda, wearing a shawl as if she had already made herself at home, gave a casual nod.

“I look forward to getting along. You can just call me Rowinda.”

“Rowinda, you are now the lady of this house. She should call you ‘Mother.’”

“There’s no rush. We have plenty of time for that. Edward, introduce yourself to your sister.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Edward Winner.”

He had the striking features of a young nobleman, handsome enough to be called a fine youth. He stood at eye level with Rackley.

A shock as if lightning had struck right before her eyes.

Her mind went blank.

Before she could process it logically, her instincts told her exactly what had happened.

Her hands clenched together tightly.

“…How old are you?”

She pressed down on her trembling heart and barely managed to speak. Fortunately, her distress did not show.

Rowinda glanced at Count Winner for direction, and it was the Count who answered.

“He’s 15. The heir of the Winner family.”

Fifteen. That meant he was born when Rackley was seven—the same year her mother’s depression worsened, forcing her to visit counselors frequently.

But what shocked her even more was the Count’s expression.

With great pride, he patted Edward’s shoulder firmly, heavily. It was the face of a father who was proud to have a strong son—one he had never shown to her.

“Rowinda will now manage the household. Your focus should be on preparing for marriage. No longer will you suffer the shame of attending social events with a gentleman of no title as your guardian. From now on, Rowinda will assist you in finding a suitable match, so be mindful not to become the subject of gossip.”

“Leave it to me,” Rowinda chimed in smoothly. “I’ll find a husband befitting the Winner family.”

The “gentleman of no title” the Count had so disdainfully referred to was Daniel Holton, Rackley’s cousin from her mother’s side. Since the Count had always been too busy, Rackley had sought Daniel’s help whenever she attended a ball—something her father deeply disapproved of.

But even that insult paled in comparison to the greater shock.

“…Marriage?”

Rackley had always believed she would inherit the Winner estate. She had been the only child.

It was rare for a woman to inherit a title, but there had been precedents. And her father had never once mentioned the existence of a younger brother.

Since she had no way of knowing about an illegitimate sibling, her assumption had been justified.

“Yes, it’s time for you to prepare for marriage.”

It felt as if the ground beneath her had crumbled.

Too much had happened all at once.

In a single moment, every role she had played was stripped away. The years she had spent working toward inheriting the family name had vanished like dust.

Though the Count had been the one to bring up marriage, it was Rowinda’s influence behind it. Rackley was no longer needed in the Winner household.

As she bit her lip and stood frozen, the butler stepped forward.

“My lord, the young lady must be weary from her travels. Perhaps it would be best to allow her some rest for today.”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that. I should have been more considerate. Rackley, go on up to your room and get some rest.”

“…Yes, then I’ll excuse myself.”

Rowinda’s voice was warm and affectionate, as if she were speaking to a beloved daughter.

As Rackley slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, Rowinda’s voice rang out behind her.

“Oh, show her to her new room. That one now belongs to Edward, the heir.”

Never before had the butler guided Rackley to her room. But today, Butler Jean walked ahead of her in silence.

As she passed by the room her late mother had once used, she noticed that the door was open.

‘Mother.’

Rackley came to a halt in front of the door, frozen by the unfamiliar scent.

Her mother had always preferred subdued, elegant patterns—calm and refined. But now, the room was decorated in garish colors, an overwhelming mix that made it look cheap and tasteless. The overpowering scent of roses filled the air, so strong it made her dizzy.

The gentle, graceful fragrance that had once lingered in this room was completely gone.

Her legs weakened, and she gripped the doorknob for support. She squeezed her eyes shut as the dizziness washed over her.

“Jean.”

The butler stopped walking. But he did not turn to look at her.

“The Count has been seeing Lady Rowinda Harkle for quite some time. The late Madam was aware of Edward’s existence as well.”

Heat rose to Rackley’s eyes. She bit her lip hard.

She must not cry.

She could not let them see her cry here.

“I apologize for not telling you sooner.”

Only now did everything make sense.

Lady Harkle.

Every month, a significant sum had been sent to a “Lady Harkle” under the guise of charity donations. When Rackley had suggested reducing these contributions due to their strained finances, Count Winner had flown into a rage.

At first, he had dismissed her curiosity outright, saying it was none of her concern. Later, he offered a weak excuse—that he was repaying a debt to that family.

So, she had let it go, assuming it was a private matter her father would never explain in detail.

Because they were family.

At the annual family gatherings at the beginning of the year, the Count’s relatives—always scheming to push their own children as heirs—would gossip and pick apart her every move.

Yet, Count Winner had always defended her, telling them to mind their own business.

‘It wasn’t because he believed in me.’

She had thought he trusted her.

But that was never the case.

After the Countess died, he had simply used Rackley as a shield until he could bring his true heir into the house.

By law, illegitimate children could not inherit titles or estates. However, if the primary wife passed away and the father married his mistress, the illegitimate child could be legitimized.

In other words, Count Winner had been waiting for his wife to die so that he could bring in his hidden son.

From the very beginning, he had never seen Rackley as his successor—or even as his child.

If he had considered her his daughter, if he had even the slightest affection for her, he wouldn’t have done this.

If he had cared at all, he would have thought about how much it would hurt her to see Lady Harkle and her son take her place.

“What about Ellie…? And Lady Joelle?”

She asked about the servants who had remained loyal to her through difficult times.

Jean sighed.

“Lady Harkle dismissed them. Said they lacked refinement.”

A deep shadow fell over her face.

“…But the estate doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“The investment in Lava Trading Company paid off handsomely. Oh, and Daniel Holton asked to be contacted once you returned.”

“I’ll deal with it later.”

Jean hesitated before adding,

“Also… I have been promoted to head butler.”

His cheeks flushed with excitement.

Rackley’s misfortune as the displaced lady of the house did not concern him.

What mattered to him was that the increased number of servants meant he could now hold a higher title.

That day, Rackley truly understood human nature.