Lady Class - Chapter 3

“Uh, miss… the carriage wheel is broken….”

A rough voice from outside pulled Rackley out of her thoughts.

The air here was warmer than in the capital, filling her lungs with the scent of the southern lands.

She was currently en route to a southern villa, far from the capital.

She simply couldn’t stay in the mansion any longer.

Unable to endure it, she had chosen to leave.

Stepping out of the carriage, she found the coachman looking troubled, staring at the wheel stuck deep in the mud. The impact had misaligned it, causing a fracture on the inside. A sharp piece of wood jutted out from between the spokes.

Even with her limited knowledge of carriages, Rackley could tell that moving it now would be dangerous.

For the damage to be this severe, the carriage must have shaken violently.

‘I must have been lost in thought… deeply.’

She hadn’t even noticed the impact.

“What do we do? We were so close. I checked everything properly before we left, so I don’t understand how this happened… I’m truly ashamed.”

“How long will it take to fix?”

“It won’t take long, miss. I’ve been doing this for years—this is nothing!”

The coachman, sweating under the sun, pulled out tools from his seat—hammer, nails, chisel, saw, and a few other simple instruments.

Rackley had seen coachmen repair rental carriages on the road before. Usually, it took two strong men to lift and stabilize the carriage while one replaced the wheel.

‘He won’t be able to fix it alone.’

She couldn’t offer any help, so she thought of pulling out a book and waiting under a nearby tree for shade.

But as she turned, she noticed the long road ahead.

It wasn’t paved with stones, but since this area was home to many noble villas, it was well-maintained and neatly leveled.

The coachman kept changing tools, peering under the carriage, visibly uncertain about how to proceed. His hesitation was evident, even from behind.

“You said we were close?”

The coachman nodded.

“Yes, miss. Just follow this road straight, and you’ll see a sign. Follow that, and you’ll reach the villa in no time.”

He turned back to the carriage.

First, he had to temporarily patch up the wheel, then somehow pull the carriage out of the mud, and after that, do a full repair. A grueling task for one man.

Rackley watched him struggle, hammering away without much success, then turned to the road again.

It was midday. There were still many hours before sunset. The heat wasn’t unbearable, making it a pleasant day for a walk. Compared to summer, today’s weather was quite mild.

Just then—crack! A loud snap echoed, followed by the coachman’s panicked scream.

“Oh no!”

The carriage lurched to one side. The coachman flailed, looking anxiously at Rackley.

“I-I can fix it, miss! Just a little more time, please!”

“You said the Solmon villa is close, right? I’ll go ahead and call for help.”

“What? No, miss, that won’t be necessary! I can handle it—just give me a little more time!”

“I’d like to walk for a bit. Sitting for so long has made my back stiff.”

She spoke gently, and the coachman, though hesitant, softened at her tone.

“Ah… but, you’re a noble lady…”

“You said there’s a sign, correct?”

“Yes, it’s the villa with the blue roof… Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I’ll send someone to help you once I arrive. Please send my luggage with them.”

“Oh, thank you, miss! I’m really sorry for the trouble.”

“It was an accident.”

It was a relief that the coachman didn’t insist further.

Rackley retrieved her hat and a water bottle from the carriage before beginning her walk along the road.

She had thought that keeping her body in motion would keep her mind from wandering. But it didn’t take long for her to regret her decision.

Apparently, when the coachman said the villa was “close,” he had meant by carriage. Despite walking for quite some time, she still hadn’t reached the signpost. If she hadn’t brought the water, she might have collapsed from thirst.

Rackley was relatively strong despite her slender frame. The vast Winner estate had required her to move around constantly, and with so few servants, she often had to handle difficult tasks herself. But her endurance was only impressive compared to other noble ladies who barely moved at all.

“Ah, finally!”

She had never been so happy to see a signpost in her life.

At last, the long road branched off into a three-way intersection. A sign indicated directions for several noble families, including the Solmon estate.

She let out a deep sigh of relief, her chest rising and falling with exhaustion, sweat trickling down her back.

Her strict father had always insisted that his unmarried daughter remain modest. Even when wearing the fashionable low-cut dresses of high society, she had been required to cover up with a scarf. She loosened it now, draping it around her neck—it was the only thing that made the heat bearable.

Following the signpost, she turned onto the side road and continued walking.

Soon, another fork appeared. But this time, there was no sign to guide her.

Through the trees on one side, she caught a glimpse of a blue roof.

“The Solmon villa has a blue roof, right?”

Unaware that a signpost lay hidden behind the overgrown grass, Rackley assumed she was on the right path and headed toward the blue-roofed mansion.

Soon, the villa came into full view.

“I made it.”

It was much smaller and more secluded than she had expected—unlike the grand, ostentatious estates the Solmon family typically preferred. It had a delicate charm, like a place where a noble might secretly keep a lover.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she knocked on the door.

A thin, elderly butler answered.

“I am Rackley Winner. I will be staying here for a few days.”

The butler rudely scanned her from head to toe.

After walking such a long distance, her sweat-dampened hair clung to her face, and her scarf hung loosely over her shoulders, revealing the heaving rise and fall of her chest as she caught her breath. Though the fabric of her dress was of fine quality, it was worn from use. Worse, the hem had been dirtied from dragging through the dust.

By any standard, she was far from presentable.

Flustered, Rackley flushed with embarrassment and brushed at her skirt in vain.

Yet, despite her greeting, the butler did not welcome her. He simply stood in awkward silence.

“Didn’t you receive notice of my arrival?”

‘Irina said she would let them know ahead of time.’

She was about to mention her friend Irina Solmon’s name when, at last, the butler stepped aside.

“Welcome. Please, come in.”

“Thank you.”

The villa’s interior was just as feminine as its exterior—small but lavishly decorated. Shades of pink adorned the space, creating a strangely intimate, almost intoxicating atmosphere.

“The servants and I stay in the annex. We are not present at night. If you need anything, please ring the bell.”

“Ah, I see.”

She had suspected as much from the exterior, but now there was no doubt.

This was a lover’s villa.

Even Rackley, who rarely participated in social circles, was well aware that many nobles kept mistresses. She just never imagined she would one day step into such a place herself.

“On the way here, my carriage wheel got stuck in the mud and broke. Could you send someone to retrieve my belongings?”

“The servant is out buying supplies in town and won’t return until the evening. It may not be possible to bring your things today. Will that be alright?”

“That can’t be helped. It’s fine.”

“You may use this room.”

The butler led her through a sunroom—decorated like a tea lounge—toward a room in the back of the villa.

As soon as the door opened, an overwhelming scent flooded out.

Though the fragrance was different, it instantly reminded her of the new lady of the Winner estate.

When Rowinda had taken over her mother’s room, the elegant scent that had once filled it was replaced with something overpowering, something vulgar. Ever since, strong perfumes had become an unpleasant reminder of that day.

But she was a guest here, a temporary guest. She had no right to complain or request another room.

Suppressing any hint of displeasure, Rackley turned her back to the western-facing window where the evening light filtered in and addressed the butler.

“Since I will be staying here for a few days, how should I address you?”

“Ah, you may call me Brandt.”

Though it was only natural to show respect to a household manager, the elderly butler seemed momentarily surprised by Rackley’s polite demeanor before regaining his composure.

“The room has been stocked with items suitable for a lady’s use, but if you need anything else, please call for assistance. There is a maid available as well.”

“Thank you.”

“Please rest until dinner is ready.”

As soon as Brandt left the room, silence settled in—as if she had been alone from the very start.

The room, bathed in hues of deep crimson, was a stark contrast to her usual tastes. The decor was extravagant and overtly feminine, nothing like her own preferences. Everything about this villa felt alien, making her discomfort even more pronounced.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

But what else could she have done? This was the only form of defiance she could muster.

She couldn’t protest to her father, Count Winner. They had never been close enough for her to speak freely about her feelings.

‘He may be my blood, but to him, I was no different from the servants he commanded.’

That truth became painfully clear whenever she saw how the Count treated Edward.

Whenever he looked at Edward, he wore the expression of a real father—one he had never once shown her. Every time she witnessed it, it reinforced how meaningless she was to him.

When she had been busy managing the estate, she had craved moments of solitude. But now that Rowinda had taken everything from her, she felt like a child abandoned in a marketplace—lost, with nothing to do.

Rowinda only summoned her when she needed something, always sending Jean instead of calling for Rackley directly.

The household servants, now loyal to Rowinda, either treated Rackley awkwardly or with quiet pity.

There was no place for her in that mansion.

Still, she had tried to adjust, forcing herself to endure. But then, Count Winner had shattered what little resolve she had left with a single cruel command.

“I have decided to host a gathering and invite our relatives. Now that Rowinda is the Countess, she must be introduced properly.”

And then, with unmistakable pride, he had looked at Edward.

“Edward, too, must be presented as the future head of the Winner family.”

He had said this at the dinner table—with Rowinda and Edward both present. There had been no consideration for Rackley at all.

After hearing those words, she felt so suffocated that she could no longer eat.

That night, she had fallen ill from the sheer weight of it all.

No servant had come to check on her.

And if that hadn’t been enough, the Count had given her one final order.

“You will oversee the preparations for the welcome banquet for your new mother.”

It was beyond cruel.

But what she hated most wasn’t her father’s heartlessness. It was herself—because she hadn’t refused.