After hearing Frederick Goldsmith’s words, Nia Mitchell pouted. She had already called for Maxwell Peary several tis.
"Uncle is still sleeping."
He’s a lazybones today, HAHA! It seems everyone has days where they like to sleep in.
"Sleeping?"
Frederick Goldsmith frowned. That couldn’t be possible; Young Master Peary wasn’t the type to oversleep.
"He isn’t sick, is he? Young Mistress, did you ask Master Peary if he was feeling unwell? Does he have a fever or anything?"
Nia Mitchell was taken aback by Frederick Goldsmith’s questions.
No, she hadn’t thought of that.
"I’ll go upstairs and check."
Nia Mitchell was on her feet in an instant, throwing down her chopsticks and darting upstairs.
「In the Main Bedroom.」
Maxwell Peary was no longer in bed; he was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth.
"Uncle?"
Nia Mitchell stood dazed at the bathroom door. She called out to him once but didn’t say anything else.
"What’s wrong?"
Maxwell Peary turned to look at her, noticing her red-rimd eyes.
"Don’t run around. Look at you, your clothes are all ssy."
He saw she was slightly out of breath and knew she must have run upstairs. Why is she always rushing about so impulsively, never calm?
"Uncle, you... you..."
She wanted to ask him if he was feeling unwell, but the words just wouldn’t co out.
"What really is the matter?"
After rinsing his mouth, Maxwell Peary ca out of the bathroom. He saw her standing there, dazed, and felt sowhat at a loss as to how to comfort her.
"What exactly is going on? Hmm?"
He asked again patiently. He reached out to stroke her hair but, realizing his hand was still wet, awkwardly lowered it.
"I’m fine."
Nia Mitchell shook her head; she was indeed fine.
"Alright." Seeing that she didn’t wish to speak further, Maxwell Peary didn’t press her. "Let’s go. Uncle will take you downstairs for breakfast."
With that, Maxwell Peary reached out, scooped Nia Mitchell into his arms, and carried her downstairs.
"Ah! Put down! I can walk by myself."
Nia Mitchell was mortified. She wished she could bury her face in his chest and never erge.
It was too embarrassing! She had perfectly good hands and feet, yet... yet...
The point was, she had gone upstairs to call him for breakfast, not for him to carry her!
"What’s the big deal?"
Maxwell Peary was unconcerned. She was his wife, in his own ho; couldn’t he carry her if he wanted to? What kind of ridiculous logic was that?
Therefore, ignoring the protests of a certain Rabina, he walked directly toward the Dining Hall with her in his arms.
Frederick Goldsmith was still in the Dining Hall. Witnessing Maxwell Peary carrying Nia Mitchell back in his arms, he was dumbfounded.
This... was this his Young Master?
Oh my goodness, do all n change so much after getting married?
He felt goosebumps rise all over him. He quickly finished arranging things and then excused himself.
Nia Mitchell, her face beet red, was placed in a chair by Maxwell Peary.
"Uncle, it’s all your fault! Don’t just randomly pick up like that in the future."
It was just too embarrassing! There were so many servants in the house, and even the butler was there. How... how could he... Good grief!
"Why not?"
Maxwell Peary smirked, sitting down. He reached out with his chopsticks, picked up a stead soup dumpling, and placed it in Nia Mitchell’s bowl.
Nia Mitchell pouted, then picked up her chopsticks, snatched the dumpling, and ate it.
"What other reason could there be? So many people were watching! Aren’t you even a little embarrassed?"
He might not feel embarrassed, but she was thin-skinned! It was terrifying! In this world, the scariest thing was other people’s stares.
"Why do you care what other people think? If anyone dares to stare in the future, they can get out," Maxwell Peary stated domineeringly.
PFFT—
Indeed, *that* was the real Young Master Peary.
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