I've Tried Going Back to Life After Dying - Chapter 19

Even after school ended, Hildegard couldn’t forget Atrey’s words.

She found herself desperately wanting to see Lauren.

During class, while nodding along to the teacher’s lecture, her mind was filled with thoughts of Lauren.

If Lauren was living each day with such care, Hildegard wanted to watch over him with equal devotion.

“I wonder what he did today,” she murmured aloud.

Though the words were too loud for a soliloquy, her classmates were already accustomed to this behavior, so no one commented.

Atrey had called Lauren intelligent, and that was certainly true.

Lauren was brilliant.

Had he been blessed with a healthy body, he would undoubtedly have become an exceptional lord, dedicating himself to his territory and people. But Hildegard often thought he might have made an excellent scholar instead.

His frail constitution had forced him to compensate while his body remained limited, his mind had flourished, mastering advanced academic subjects far beyond Hildegard’s comprehension.

Their father had hired renowned scholars from the royal court to educate Lauren, imparting knowledge to a boy who could pass away at any moment.

The knowledge Lauren accumulated would never see the light unless someone documented it or he taught others. If Lauren were to die, the extent of his learning would perish with him.

If there was any possibility for Lauren in this life, Hildegard wondered if she couldn’t free him to choose a different path.

Perhaps she could become the heir in his stead, releasing him to pursue his true desires. That seemed like one possible solution.

While they couldn’t change the lifespan granted by God, they could change how one lived.

Lost in these thoughts, Hildegard noticed a figure in the garden as she passed through the gate on her way to the mansion’s entrance.

“Mother?” she murmured.

Despite the approaching dusk, her mother was tending to the flowers in the garden.

“Let me off here,” she instructed.

A light knock on the glass partition alerted the coachman, who promptly stopped the carriage.

Though still some distance from the entrance, Hildegard disembarked there.

“Could you tell Louise I’m in the garden?” she asked before walking toward the flower beds.

Her mother was picking blossoms, likely to decorate the dinner table. The duchess loved gardening – surprisingly common among noblewomen and often worked alongside the gardeners.

Seeing her mother’s silhouette against the twilight garden was one of Hildegard’s earliest memories, a scene witnessed countless times since childhood.

“That’s why,” Hildegard realized suddenly.

She had seen this scene before in her previous life, though not in her family’s garden.

Clifford had maintained a mistress in a suburban villa. Strangely, he hadn’t hidden this from Hildegard. Perhaps he thought she wouldn’t mind, or that as the disgraced Austin bride, she had no right to complain.

One day after a tea party, Hildegard recalled the mistress’s residence in this district. She knew the address – the butler had reported it, and Clifford had been transparent about it.

The modest villa, slightly large for commoners but impeccably maintained, was immediately visible. The freshly painted gate and walls made it look like something from a fairy tale.

Leaving her carriage by the unmanned gate, Hildegard entered on foot. The garden appeared immediately, revealing a young woman tending flowers.

So absorbed was she that she didn’t notice the intruder until Hildegard’s footsteps on the gravel alerted her.

“You had dirt on your cheek,” Hildegard remembered.

Helen, her face smudged, had been diligently gardening. Terrible at embroidery but exceptional with plants, she’d apparently learned gardening from her mother during financially difficult times in her viscount family.

The golden-haired mistress, four years Hildegard’s junior, had stared wide-eyed with hazel eyes gleaming in the sunlight.

Shocked by the unexpected visit from the legal wife, the naive-looking Helen had hastily straightened her posture before exclaiming, “N-n-nice to meet you, my lady!” in an unrefined shout that no properly educated noblewoman would make.

Seeing Helen surrounded by flowers had stirred an almost tearful nostalgia in Hildegard now recognizing it was because the image overlapped with her mother gardening before her.

Thus, began their strange relationship.

When rare flowers bloomed, they were delivered through Clifford. Hildegard would send sweets or hand-embroidered items when he visited Helen. Reciprocating gifts was simply Hildegard’s way, regardless of who sent them.

She had other friends, and this wasn’t about accepting the mistress. Though sharing a husband brought no comfort, this peculiar relationship had persisted until Clifford’s funeral.

“Mother!” Hildegard called out.

“Oh, Hildegard, you’re home. Is it that time already?” Her mother, flushed from gardening, had dirt smeared on her right cheek.

For some reason, the sight reminded Hildegard of that peculiar friend she’d never see again, bringing her to the verge of tears