The servants moved quietly and precisely. They folded linens, aligned cutlery, and adjusted the blinds to angles that Hartwell liked. The silence felt like a promise made in front of the family portrait, every action was carefully done. the routine should have provided comfort. Instead, it felt heavy.
The breakfast room lay out in front of me like a stage set to make me feel small. A table that could fit twenty now had three people. Mrs. Dalloway, looking stern. Cousin Julian, busy taking notes on "image improvement" and me, the gossip of the season.
And then, of course, there was Sebastian.
Sebastian moved along the sideboard with an elegance. He didn't just pour tea, he made it look like an art. My eyes narrowed. Really, Sebastian? Even pouring tea?
"Miss Hartwell," he said smoothly, "Earl Grey. One sugar, no milk. Unless the scandal has changed your tastes."
I gripped my cup to steady myself. "Scandal changes many things, Mr. Kincaid. But not my tea."
Julian, completely unaware of the tension nearby, pressed on with his clipboard. "Breakfast seating matters. Miss Hartwell, sitting at the head of the table increases—"
"The head of what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "The table or my embarrassment?"
Sebastian's lips curved into an annoying smirk, and I could feel his confidence. Oh, he's enjoying this too much.
"Both," he replied lightly, adjusting a plate of toast with such care that it made me grit my teeth. "Balance is essential. Tradition, and... entertainment."
I took my seat, my mind racing. His every glance, his small movements reminded me this was not just breakfast. This felt like a battle. Crayons were easy. School elections were manageable. But having him here, polished and in control, shook everything I thought I had mastered.
"Metrics are about story beats," Julian said, his eyes shining with belief in the power of graphs. "We need a three-day plan, controlled sighting, staged contrition, and a focus on human interest. On Sunday, we do a staged church exit. On Tuesday, we have an innocuous charity lunch. On Thursday, we'll arrange a photo opportunity with a child beneficiary. Each moment should be small but easy to share, and each snapshot should show growth, not scandal." He waved his pen as if sketching out a plan. "For wardrobe, keep it moderate and sincere. No flashy outfits." He looked at me, confident that I needed to deliver on his strategy. I felt the pressure building, polite but firm.
Julian fumbled with his notes as a chair fell behind him. Sebastian's hand moved quickly, fixing the chair before Julian could complain. "Precision," he whispered. A reminder of his skill.
A waiter tripped at the far end of the table, causing a carafe to tilt. For a moment, it seemed like everything would spill. Sebastian reacted quickly he slid his wrist, whipped a scarf into the spill's path, and expertly shifted a plate. The carafe only touched the napkin and settled down. He set it upright as if it had all been a planned act. "Precision," he whispered again, and his tone suggested he had practiced this. The room relaxed. Julian scribbled quickly. Mrs. Dalloway looked slightly pleased. I felt a mix of gratitude and annoyance. He had saved the moment and showed off his skills, and everyone liked it.
I put my fork down, my jaw tight, and promised myself I would not flinch. I would not lose. I would find out why he was back in my life, and I would handle it with grace.
I glanced around the room, taking in details I had barely noticed before. The silverware gleamed, the polished wood reflected the faintest movement, and the sunlight through the tall windows. Hartwell House hasn't changed, but somehow everything feels different.
Sebastian's eyes met mine briefly across the table, and in that instant, I felt the weight of a thousand unspoken challenges. He's not just a butler, I realized. He's an observer, a strategist... a reminder of all the battles I lost and the ones I still have to fight.
I sipped my tea, tasting the faint bitterness of caution in every drop. This morning, this meal, this room it was a simple beginning, yet it already promised complications I wasn't ready for.
"He thinks he's clever," I muttered under my breath, barely moving my lips. "But I can be clever, too. I'll find out why he's really here, and then—"
"Planning my downfall out loud again, Miss Hartwell?"
Sebastian's voice cut cleanly through the clink of silverware.
I froze. My cup paused halfway to its saucer.
Mrs. Dalloway arched her eyebrow. Cousin Julian looked up from his clipboard, wide eyed.
"I wasn't—" I began.
"You were," Sebastian said, the corners of his mouth curving into that half-smile. "Though I admit, the running commentary is excellent breakfast entertainment."
Heat climbed up my neck. Wonderful. Not only had I been talking to myself, but I was performing it infront of everyone.
Julian blinked and scribbled a note. "Public talking points mystery, intrigue... yes, this could trend."
"Thank you, cousin," I said dryly. "Exactly the headline I need."
Sebastian poured another cup of tea showy as always then set the pot down with a quiet flourish. "If you require a rehearsal partner for these monologues, I'm available. Very reasonable rates."
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied, trying to sound calm while wishing the marble floor would swallow me whole.
The room settled back into its civilized quiet, but my pulse was anything but calm.
I slowly emptied my cup, enjoying the warmth. While Julian had his storyboard, I had my own method. observe, test, collect. I watched Sebastian's routines, tested him with small lies, and gathered evidence notes, programs, anything that showed a less than good past. If the Sunday event involved planning, I'd add my own twists. He might think he was in control, but I knew how to adapt. I placed the cup back on the saucer and positioned my fingers, ready to start.