Warmth in the Cold Night

Oscar's condition did not improve; instead, he worsened after nightfall, his body burning with fever, his speech slurred. 

I half-supported him, letting him rest in my arms, as I picked up the now-cold food and brought it to his mouth. 

"My lord, please eat something," I urged.

"I don't want to eat. I feel like vomiting," he replied.

"Then at least drink some water."

"I don't want it. Take it away."

"Just a sip," I insisted, using a spoon to force some into his mouth. Then I brought the food closer again. "At least eat a little. Even if you throw it up, it's better than nothing."

"Take it away! Don't you understand?" he snapped.

I had no choice but to set the food and water down, gently helping him lie flat.

After a long pause, he looked into my eyes and said, "I'm going to die here."

"You're overthinking it. You'll be fine, trust me."

"If I die, this family will inherit everything. How ironic, I came here to discuss inheritance, but now it's reversed. They must be delighted," he remarked bitterly.

I hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Oscar continued, "Where are my servants? Are they ill, or just refusing to come?"

"One of them is sick," I replied.

"Really? Hmph!" He looked like a cynical protestor, his face twisting slightly. Then he stared at me and asked, "Even they won't come. Why are you here? Aren't you afraid of dying?"

"We're not going to die," I said.

He laughed sarcastically. "Where does that confidence come from? Ridiculous, you're just a lowly servant... *cough cough*..." He coughed for a long time, his face turning red.

"Rest well. You'll get better soon."

He clutched the sheets, shivering violently, his face and lips as pale as paper. "I have no strength left. I'm so cold. Death is calling me. I'll soon see my father."

I touched his forehead; it was still burning. No wonder he felt cold. He looked at me, exhausted and hopeless. I almost wanted to laugh, unable to believe that this feeble man was the resolute and decisive Baron Bruce. It seems that even the strongest of men feel fear in the face of death.

I sighed, sitting by the bed. Then I took off my shoes and slipped under the covers beside him.

"What are you doing?" he frowned, looking offended.

I shook my head, signaling him not to speak, and wrapped my arms around his body.

"Still cold? Sleep. I'll stay with you."

Perhaps sensing my warmth, he hesitated for only a moment before relaxing into my embrace.

Soon, he fell asleep.

Watching his peaceful face, I exhaled deeply.

I regretted everything I had done to him. If only I could make it up to him...

Unlike the last time I had been ordered by the butler to care for him, this time I came of my own will. Last time, I was paralyzed by the fear of contracting smallpox, barely caring for him as I just wanted to get away. But now, even though this was our first real interaction, we talked a lot.

It seemed to be snowing again outside. The howling wind rattled the window frames.

In the quiet of the night, I couldn't sleep. Memories from my past life flooded my mind. I could only hold the man in my arms tighter, trying to forget everything.

...

I worked hard every day, always hoping for the chance to sleep until I woke naturally.

That day finally came. Morning sunlight shone on my eyelids, and I felt a soft breath brushing my ear. Opening my eyes, I found myself staring into deep brown eyes. We were still in the same position as the night before, my arms tightly wrapped around him.

It was strange for two men to sleep so closely together like this. The baron's face flushed with embarrassment. "Can you get off my bed now?" he said.

Flustered, I quickly got up and tidied my clothes.

"I feel much better. I'm even a bit hungry. This probably isn't smallpox. Smallpox would be much worse than this. Go inform the viscount that my fever has subsided and ask him to call a doctor," he ordered coldly.

"Yes, my lord. I'll go immediately." I bowed and turned to leave.

"Wait," he called out.

I turned back. "Do you have another order?"

"Your wig is crooked."

I quickly reached up, realizing the wig had slipped onto my ear. I could only imagine how disheveled I must have looked earlier.

"Please wait for a moment, my lord."

I hurried into the hall and headed to the butler's office.

The butler looked at me in surprise, as though afraid to approach. "You—how did you come out? What happened? Is the baron unwell?"

"Actually, my lord is feeling much better. It doesn't seem to be smallpox. He asked for a doctor."

"Are you sure it's not smallpox? How do you know he's better?"

"This morning, his fever broke. It looks more like a rash."

"A rash? Nonsense! The baron is 26 years old. He can't be getting a rash like a child."

"But he really did recover from the fever," I insisted.

The butler hesitated before saying, "Fine, I'll inform the viscount and have someone call a doctor. You... you were very brave, my child. You should be commended. I'll make sure the viscount hears about this."

The doctor was summoned, and after examining the baron, he said, "It's not smallpox, just a rash with mild contagion. The high fever made the rash look more severe, like smallpox. Avoid drafts, and he'll be fully recovered in a few days."

The baron's personal servant, ashamed of having refused to care for him, resigned and left.

The butler assigned me to serve the baron temporarily, until his other servants arrived.

Everyone in the estate came to visit the baron, especially Lady Catherine, the third daughter, who came every day, unconcerned about catching anything.

The baron returned to his silent and stern self, giving orders with his usual calm authority. I could hardly believe this was the same frail man from a few days ago. There was little conversation between us. He simply instructed me to fetch a book, prepare his meals, brighten the room, or stoke the fire.

...

Annie excitedly said to me, "Congratulations, Owen. You've become the baron's personal servant!"

Simon added coolly, "Don't get carried away. It's just temporary. Didn't you hear the new servant is arriving soon?"

"You're just jealous of Owen," Annie teased.

"Jealous? Don't be ridiculous. I just want to warn him not to let it go to his head," Simon retorted.

"But Owen will be promoted to senior servant, won't he?" Annie asked hopefully.

I nodded. "It's not certain yet, but the butler praised me, so it's likely."

"That's wonderful," Annie exclaimed.

In my past life, after caring for the baron—who was mistakenly thought to have smallpox—I was promoted to senior servant. I expected the same this time.

Just then, the bell on the wall rang.

"Oh, the baron is calling you," Annie said. "You were with him all day and barely left for a moment before he needs you again."

"The baron gets cold easily. He needs the fire stoked regularly," I explained, picking up a tray and heading for the guest room.

The tray held a glass bottle of rum. I knocked lightly on the door and entered the room. After setting the tray on the coffee table, I poured a small glass and brought it to the baron. "My lord, here's the rum you asked for, but the doctor advised against drinking."

I felt his gaze on me for a long moment, but he didn't touch the rum. Instead, he said, "You were gone too long. I've finished my book. Go get me a new one. Why hasn't today's paper arrived?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. Because of the snow, the paper may be delayed. What book would you like? I'll fetch it now."

"What books could this old house possibly have?" he said hoarsely. "Find me two travel journals."

I hurried downstairs to the library and grabbed two random travel books.

The baron flipped through a few pages, frowning, then tossed the books aside, clearly unsatisfied with my selection.