Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 19: Chapter 19

"Thank you for your kindness, Lady Charlotte."
Lena hesitated for only a second before quickly accepting the headscarf. It was, after all, just a scarf—not gold or silver—nothing that would raise eyebrows.
Everyone knew that Charlotte had been cast into the Red Pavilion with nothing to her name. Whatever wealth she'd once had was long gone. Lena offered a small, apologetic smile, understanding that the two of them couldn't afford to meet often. With that, she turned and quietly took her leave.
The food container had a hidden compartment—subtle, cleverly constructed, and nearly impossible to detect unless you knew the trick to opening it.
It was something they had devised back in the Red Pavilion—born of necessity and secrecy.
As expected, the false bottom held exactly what she needed: the medicinal herbs she'd requested. Alongside them were a few cashes and two banknotes.
Charlotte's vision blurred as emotion welled up.
She understood immediately. Maisie must have seen how Oliver had treated her at the coffee house and anticipated the financial hardship she would face upon returning to the Hastings family. So she had sent money along with the medicine—quietly, without asking for thanks.
This kindness, Charlotte would remember for the rest of her life.
If she truly wanted to nurse Rosalie back to health and eventually leave the Hastings family behind, she'd need more than just medicine—she'd need money.
She'd also need to win over a few servants. People to act as her eyes and ears. She couldn't afford to keep wandering around this house deaf and blind—no matter how hard it might be.
Just as she finished stowing the items away, footsteps echoed from outside.
Gracie entered, holding a bundle in her arms. She had grown increasingly insolent in recent days, no longer bothering to hide her contempt for Charlotte.
When Charlotte had first returned, Gracie had still been cautious—unsure if the Hastings family might still show affection toward Charlotte.
But now? That fear was gone.
She dumped the clothes and accessories onto the table without a shred of respect. Spotting the food in Charlotte's hands, she leaned in for a closer look. When she saw it was just plain cereal and simple dishes, the sneer on her face became impossible to miss.
"Even us lowly maids wouldn't touch food like that. But you seem happy enough to choke it down.
"Trying to shed a few pounds, are we? Playing the frail and delicate act—like Lady Brielle? Hoping to win Lord Oliver's or Lady Valeria's sympathy? Please. Don't kid yourself. You're no match for someone like her."
She cast a jealous glance at the table, her eyes locking on the jeweled hairpins and fine accessories. The greed practically dripped from her face.
"What a waste. All those fine clothes and trinkets, sent by Lady Valeria and Lady Brielle, completely wasted on you."
Charlotte said nothing. She glanced at the pile of clothing—lavish fabric, the kind meant to impress at public events. No doubt this was intended for her to wear to the upcoming party.
The Hastings family wouldn't want rumors spreading that they were mistreating her—not in front of Aurenshire's elite.
But as she unfolded one of the gowns, she immediately noticed the problem—it was far too big. It hadn't been tailored for her current figure, but for who she had been three years ago.
After years of suffering, how could she still carry the same softness and shape?
She could already imagine the scene: walking into the party draped in a dress that hung off her thin frame, weighed down by flashy jewelry—drawing nothing but pitying looks and mocking smiles.
A beggar in silks. A joke in fine clothes.
The person who sent them wasn't ignorant. They just didn't think she was worth the effort.
Charlotte let out a faint, almost amused smile. She folded the gown and set it aside with no particular care. Gracie made no move to help, so Charlotte quietly laid out the plain dishes and began to eat, unbothered.
Seeing that her snide remarks had gotten no reaction, Gracie stamped her foot in frustration and stormed out of the room.
She had finally understood—if she stayed in Rainmere Hall much longer, her life was only going to get worse from here.
She had to find a way to get away from this cursed Charlotte… and fast.
The more anxious Gracie became, the calmer Charlotte grew. She was simply waiting—waiting for Gracie to slip up. That would be the perfect time to get rid of her once and for all.
But for now, the most urgent priority was restoring Rosalie's health.
With the herbs Maisie had sent, Charlotte began carefully preparing a new prescription, tailored to Rosalie's pulse reading from before.
Each day, when she went to pay her respects, she would bring the medicine herself—already brewed—and feed it to Rosalie personally. In the process, she quietly removed the conflicting ingredients from Ronan's original prescription.
At first, Rosalie only drank the decoction out of love for Charlotte, unable to refuse Charlotte's sincerity.
But as the days passed, her body gradually began to feel stronger. The fog in her mind started to lift. She felt noticeably more energetic. That was when she started to believe Charlotte's earlier explanation—that the formula came from a health regimen once used in the palace. The thought left her deeply moved.
Charlotte, after enduring so much pain, had still managed to learn something useful—and hadn't forgotten her.
Previously, Rosalie's visible preference for Charlotte over Brielle had caused no small amount of discomfort. The rest of the family, uncomfortable with the growing distance, had gradually stopped visiting her. But today, of all days, Charlotte happened to be feeding her the medicine when both Valeria and Oliver arrived.
The reason was simple: Valeria was quite pleased with how things were progressing. Her plan—to use Charlotte to initiate the broken engagement—had gone off without a hitch. The marriage between Brielle and the Marquis' estate's heir was practically sealed. She had come to discuss the engagement gift with Rosalie.
And with Brielle about to marry, Oliver's continued bachelorhood was becoming a topic of gossip. As the elder brother, it was only proper that his marriage be arranged soon as well.
Charlotte lowered her eyes slightly and glanced toward Valeria, who was seated further down and, for once, wearing a warm, almost flattering smile as she addressed Rosalie. Charlotte understood the reason instantly.
As Christopher's official wife and a titled noblewoman in her own right, Rosalie still held significant influence in Aurenshire—even though her family had fallen from grace. If Oliver wanted a good match, he'd need her support. And Brielle's marriage, too, couldn't move forward without her blessing.
For the sake of her children, Valeria was more than willing to swallow her pride.
"Mother," she said gently, "Oliver is your grandson—your heir. He'll carry on the Hastings family name. I believe it's only right that you choose his bride personally."
Rosalie accepted the bowl of medicine—cooled and prepared by Charlotte—but didn't even look at Valeria. She gave a low snort of displeasure. "I'm old. You all have your own plans. What's the point of pretending to seek my opinion now?"
Valeria's face stiffened with embarrassment. Before she could say anything, Oliver stepped forward, clearly upset at seeing Rosalie brushed aside. He opened his mouth, but Valeria quickly gave him a warning look, urging him to stay silent. Trying to steer the conversation away, she turned to Charlotte.
"Charlotte is such a thoughtful, respectful girl. I'm sure her future husband will be very lucky. Don't worry, dear—your marriage is something I'll personally see to."
"I wouldn't dare presume," Charlotte replied calmly.
The warmth in her eyes when she'd been tending to Rosalie vanished the moment she turned to Valeria. Her tone was cold, distant—just as it had always been.
"What kind of attitude is that?" Oliver snapped. "Charlotte, that's enough!"
Ignoring Valeria's silent attempts to rein him in, he slammed his hand against the table and stood, his brow furrowed in anger—as if Charlotte had just said something outrageous.
"I don't understand what I've done to offend you, Lord Oliver," Charlotte said quietly. "If I've said or done something improper, feel free to say it directly."