The Maid's Contract Marriage (1 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 4
Was it Riena or Rieta?
The head butler, flabbergasted, stared at the familiar maid—who had worked in the mansion since she was quite young—now standing dressed in the young lady’s gown.
“What…?”
“How many times must I repeat myself! Can’t you understand in one go?”
Mrs. Hurst snapped in a low but sharp tone.
“She married in the young lady’s place five years ago! Sir Arthur is looking for her! Can’t you grasp the situation?”
It wasn’t that the head butler hadn’t understood.
He simply couldn’t find the right words to express his proper sentiments about this mess.
“Hah….”
He sighed repeatedly, pressing his forehead with his hand.
“Hah.”
Running his fingers through his hair, the head butler turned halfway around before suddenly shaking his fist madly and muttering under his breath.
“I heard you, I said I heard you! What I mean is…! How could you—how could you possibly wait until things reached this point to tell me about such a huge matter!”
His jaw trembled as he shook his fist in the air, caught between anger and panic.
‘So that was what he meant! The words “you’re not my wife”! Oh no… If His Grace decides to make an issue of this…!’
Deceiving the imperial family. Insulting the imperial house. Fraudulent marriage. False vows…
His head spun as he mentally listed the charges, and the head butler squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
‘This madhouse is finally going to get us all killed!’
Quickly composing himself, the head butler adjusted his glasses and asked the head maid,
“Who else knows about this matter?”
Mrs. Hurst replied,
“You, me, Miss Christina, and the Marquis and Marchioness.”
And possibly Sir Arthur as well.
A few more questions followed to clarify the facts.
Did this girl herself take the marriage vows before the priest? Did she herself consummate the marriage?
Did Sir Arthur show even the slightest hint that day that he suspected something? Be honest.
Most answers came from Mrs. Hurst; a few hesitant replies were given by Reina.
The head butler, who had been silently staring at Reina, trembled and shook his fist again.
“No, but even so—why dress her in that gown right now…? What do you expect to do with her!”
Reina hastily closed her mouth and lowered her head in dismay.
Knock. Knock.
At the sound of knocking, the head maid, the head butler, and Reina all turned toward the door at once.
The head butler, fearing the door might open at any second, positioned himself in front of Reina as if to hide her and called out,
“What is it?”
A servant’s voice came from outside.
“Head Butler? Lord Rembrandt is inquiring about the family portrait session you discussed today.”
The head butler took a short breath and pressed his fingers to his forehead.
…Lord Rembrandt!
In the midst of this unexpected chaos, he had completely forgotten.
The servant continued,
“The Marquis said he wanted the first sketch done on the evening of Sir Arthur’s return. In fact, His Lordship has already been waiting for three hours… Shall I tell him to call it a day?”
The head butler hastily checked his pocket watch, shoved it back into his pocket, and clenched his fist.
‘Why schedule something so uncertain!’
Rembrandt Eaton von Klein.
That was the name of the distinguished guest who had been staying at the Marquis’s mansion for the past week.
He was the emperor’s maternal cousin and the crown prince’s maternal second cousin, and heir to the noble House of Klein—a lineage said to have resided in the imperial palace even longer than the current imperial family itself.
Though normally someone of his standing wouldn’t take on tasks usually reserved for court painters, he was nevertheless a promising artist and had been specially dispatched to Viscount Julius’s domain to paint the Marquis’s portrait.
At the emperor’s personal request, made as a gesture of imperial favor, he had come in person to stay at the mansion for this very purpose—painting a portrait of “Elector Marquis Julius.”
The imperial court publicly framed this commission as “a small gift for the Marquis, whose decades of service to the Empire have only recently been duly recognized—thus finally elevating him to Elector.”
Yet no other Elector had ever been honored with a personal portrait painted by the heir of House Klein—let alone the emperor’s own maternal cousin—making this an extraordinary privilege and a clear mark of special favor.
By sending Lord Rembrandt, the imperial court signaled to surrounding nobles just how greatly the Marquis’s status had risen.
The Marquis, eager to boast, had deliberately scheduled other engagements to coincide and frequently lamented to fellow nobles,
“Oh, I’d love to, but I have a prior engagement with the esteemed painter… I’m not someone who can freely reschedule appointments, so it’s terribly difficult…”
Thus flaunting Lord Rembrandt’s presence as an imperial gift.
Lord Rembrandt, who effectively served as an envoy expressing imperial goodwill, allowed the Marquis to proudly boast using his name.
Moreover, painting a portrait naturally involved complimentary small talk meant to flatter the subject.
Lord Rembrandt possessed suitable social grace.
“Not everyone has the discernment to recognize a pearl hidden in mud.”
“What noble would ever dare take the emperor’s son as a son-in-law?”
“A historic reunion is surely about to unfold.”
“I, too, look forward to taking home a memory worth boasting about.”
Flattered by Lord Rembrandt’s courteous remarks, the Marquis eagerly replied,
“Hahaha! Oh, come now—it’s hardly a historic occasion. It’ll just be an ordinary family meeting.”
“But if you truly consider it such a historically significant moment that others might be curious about… perhaps it wouldn’t be impolite to ask you for one more painting…?”
…Thus, the Marquis had reserved Lord Rembrandt’s schedule precisely to immortalize today’s event—the reunion between Arthur, Christina, and the Marquis and Marchioness—in a single portrait.
And Lord Rembrandt had been waiting alone at the appointed place for three long hours.
The head butler nearly bit his tongue off in despair.
“Where are Madam and His Lordship?”
“They’re hosting a street feast for the crowd gathered in the square. Journalists have started swarming in, and given the suddenness of the schedule, both are completely overwhelmed…”
The head butler nearly shouted in frustration.
‘Journalists are the least of our worries right now!’
Lord Rembrandt was, in effect, an imperial envoy—
someone whose role was to closely relay the Marquis household’s situation back to the imperial court.
How would he report what had happened: the Marquis household thrown into chaos by Sir Arthur’s angry outburst of “She’s not my wife,” coupled with the Marquis family and Sir Arthur failing to show up for three hours?
The head butler stammered in reply,
“Please tell him we’re terribly disoriented today and apologize—no, wait! I’ll go myself.”
Just before rushing out, he paused, turned, and stared at Reina for a few seconds before saying,
“…For now, you stay put in that dress.”
Reina watched the head butler’s retreating figure in dazed bewilderment.
[This is the timeline separator]“…Hah.”
Lord Rembrandt, who had followed the servant, now chuckled in disbelief as he peeked through the door using a small fragment of mirror, observing the maid and the young woman left inside.
The young lady stood in a gown, her face as though the world had collapsed.
Her wavy, wheat-blond hair framed deep-set, beautiful eyes.
Dressed and styled as she was, she astonishingly resembled ‘Christina.’
But she couldn’t fool an artist’s discerning eye.
The subtle difference in impression. The distinct eye color.
Most of all, she was someone Rembrandt already knew.
·
·
·
“Um… Once you’ve finished reading that gazette… will you be throwing it away?”
Several days earlier, a maid had been eyeing him sidelong for a long while as he read an imperial gazette on a garden bench.
When he finally moved to leave, unsettled by her inexplicable gaze,
she hesitantly approached and asked,
“…Could I… have it from you when you’re done?”
Seeing his stunned silence, her face flushed crimson as she added,
“S-Should I pay for it? Of course… I don’t have much, but…”
Then, she slowly pulled out the hand she’d been hiding behind her apron.
Unclenching her tightly closed fist, she offered three coins.
“…”
The coins, evidently clutched long before she approached him, were damp with sweat.
·
·
·
Rembrandt crossed his arms, bowed his head deeply, and let out a quiet laugh.
‘She’s not my wife.’
And now this young lady, abruptly dragged in and dressed up.
The pieces formed a faint but clear picture.
Julius. You’ve really gone and done it this time.
[This is the timeline separator]“What do you intend to do?”
To Tristan’s question, Arthur popped a grape from his plate into his mouth before answering,
“Hmm? I’ll see what Marquis Julius does.”
Tristan replied coldly,
“Aren’t you answer enough already? Didn’t you just witness them finally producing the ‘real Christina’—without even an apology? Acting as if nothing happened.”
Arthur glanced sideways at him.
His friend wasn’t usually this blunt.
Tristan seemed even angrier than Arthur himself—the very party involved.
Understandably so: though Arthur’s own sense of grievance had faded over time, Tristan had only learned the full truth mere days ago, just before arriving at Julius’s domain.
Arthur had calmly told him, “Just so you know, this happened,” but it was only natural that loyal Tristan’s eyes blazed with fury.
After all, as conscripts from Julius’s domain, they had endured five brutal years.
War was always harsh, but their particular bitterness stemmed from Julius abandoning them on the battlefield and failing to supply adequate provisions.
They’d held their tongues out of respect for Arthur, who was both Julius’s son-in-law and heir.
But a fraudulent marriage?
Tristan was ready to explode with rage.
For five years, Arthur had fed and sustained the soldiers in Julius’s stead.
Though the troops now held Arthur in the highest regard, it had taken years for that respect to grow—years during which Arthur bore constant complaints and resentment from soldiers who saw him as Julius’s representative regarding supply shortages.
It was a miracle the army held together at all—desertions, insubordination, even mutinies had nearly erupted multiple times.
Yet through it all, Arthur always stood at the front of the fiercest battles, while everyone assumed, “He’ll receive wealth and honor when he returns,” or “He’s married to Christina Julius, the belle of high society,” thus taking his sense of duty for granted.
And now—fraudulent marriage?
The more he thought about it, the more Tristan’s frustration boiled over.
That meant Arthur had never truly owed this army anything—yet knowingly, he’d taken Julius’s place, endured their curses, held the most dangerous posts, and kept them alive.
Arthur smiled.
“Well, looks like they’re serious about giving me their real daughter this time. You could see it as a gesture of reconciliation.”
Tristan bristled.
“How is that reconciliation? Honestly, Lady Christina is far too good for you! She was then, and even more so now.”
“…Thanks?”
Half-amused, half-annoyed, Arthur gave an ambiguous reply, clearly not wholeheartedly agreeing. Tristan grew even more agitated.
“They’re treating you like a fool! Do they really think you didn’t know they substituted a fake five years ago?”
Still smiling, Arthur gently calmed Tristan.
“That’s why I told him she wasn’t my wife. Wasn’t his expression something to see?”
It certainly was.
But Tristan remained dissatisfied, grumbling,
“Even so…! Ugh. Are you really satisfied with just that?”
Finding his loyal subordinate’s earnestness endearing, Arthur rolled a piece of fruit with his fingertips.
“Still upset? Should I scold them more?”
Tristan’s voice rose, choked with emotion,
“Is my feelings the issue here?”
Arthur laughed lightly.
When the male lead is punished by carrying the female lead’s child and having periods like a woman
“I’ve given birth to two children for you, yet you still think about him.
Was I nothing but his substitute to you from beginning to end?”
Synopsis:
Meng Huan, a scumbag who has dated countless girlfriends, transmigrates to a female-dominated country.
Day 1: Whether it’s female dominance or not doesn’t matter. The beauties here are passionate and amorous. Isn’t it easier to date them than in modern times?
Day 2: After a night, Meng Huan discovers the differences in the female-dominated world. Men here actually have chastity locks and menstrual cycles. This hinders his ability to perform, damn it!
Day 3: What’s wrong with sleeping around? I don’t want you to marry me. I’m meant to be a playboy. I don’t care about male virtues… What? You want to drown me in a pig cage? Marry, I’ll marry!
Day N: Meng Huan inexplicably vomits and receives the shocking news of his life… He’s pregnant.
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Chapter Comments (37)
Inline Comments (172)
I wanted the time we spent together to remain good memories.
Not possible brother… you two can’t be on equal standing. Reina has a bigger threat looming over her and she can’t even be her self around you
"Say it again, but longer."
This is the second time he has said this lol 😆 , blunt isn’t he
After long hesitation…
Ohh that’s a whole other can of worms waiting to be opened
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Omgosh I forgot how much I dislike the misunderstanding trope
Oh my gosh my heart aches for reina… everyone is just tossing her around
Oh gosh reina 🥺… even in this day and age taking contraceptives mess you up … I can’t even imagine how it was back then. ( yes I’m aware it’s fiction but sympathy is free)