The rain finally broke, leaving the estate drenched but gleaming under a gray morning sky. The household stirred with renewed energy, and Mrs. Greene's voice was sharper than ever as she prepared for the evening's formal dinner.
"Every corner must shine," she barked at the servants. "Every plate must be spotless. Lord Adelson expects perfection."
Maria bent over the long dining table, polishing the silverware until her reflection shone back at her. Her hands moved quickly, but her mind lingered on the encounter in the study. Alexander's voice replayed in her thoughts—low, strained, yet warm when he admitted her concern was refreshing.
She told herself it meant nothing. But her heart would not obey.
By evening, the grand dining room shimmered with candlelight. Long tapestries framed the walls, and a fire crackled in the hearth. Guests had arrived—wealthy neighbors, business associates, and even a few distant relatives of the Adelson line. The air smelled of roasted meat and spiced wine, heavy with the trappings of wealth.
Maria and the other maids moved like shadows, silent and precise, ensuring no glass went empty and no plate remained unattended. Yet Maria felt the weight of every glance, the sting of whispered gossip that seemed to hover behind fans and wine-stained lips.
Alexander sat at the head of the table, composed but distant, his expression carved in stone. He listened politely, spoke when required, but the spark of true engagement was missing. His eyes, however, betrayed him. More than once, Maria caught them straying—too quickly, too discreetly—toward her.
Each time, her stomach fluttered, though she forced herself to keep her face neutral.
Halfway through the meal, a relative of Alexander's—a broad man with a booming laugh—leaned across the table.
"Alexander," he said, his voice carrying easily, "rumor has it your household has grown… lively."
A ripple of laughter followed, though Maria could not grasp the meaning. She froze beside the wine decanter, her hands tightening.
Alexander's jaw tightened. "Rumors are often the refuge of idle men, Richard. Perhaps you should find better company."
Richard smirked, undeterred. "Better company? I daresay your staff provides you with all you need."
The implication struck Maria like a slap. Heat flared in her cheeks, though she kept her gaze on the floor. Around the table, the laughter grew bolder, less polite.
Alexander's voice cut through it, sharp as steel. "That will be enough."
The room quieted. Richard shifted uncomfortably under his cousin's cold stare, muttering into his glass.
Maria moved quickly to refill a guest's wine, her hands trembling slightly. She dared not look at Alexander, though she felt the storm of his anger radiating like heat
When the final course was cleared and the guests retreated to the drawing room for brandy, Maria lingered in the shadows, helping to gather the used dishes. She thought she had escaped unnoticed, but a voice stopped her near the doorway.
"Maria."
She turned, nearly dropping the plates in her hands. Alexander stood behind her, tall and unyielding, though his voice was quiet.
"Yes, sir?" she whispered.
His gaze softened, though his tone carried weight. "Pay no mind to the things said at that table. They are vultures who feed on weakness."
Maria lowered her eyes. "It was not my place to hear."
"And yet you did," he said. His hand twitched at his side, as though he meant to reach for her, but he held himself back. "Do not let their poison touch you. Do you understand?"
Her throat tightened. She nodded. "Yes, sir."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the hum of voices from the drawing room muffled by the thick walls. Then, slowly, Alexander's expression shifted—softer, more human.
"You are stronger than you know, Maria," he said.
Before she could answer, Mrs. Greene appeared at the far end of the hall, her sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of them standing too close.
"Maria," the housekeeper barked, "the dishes are not going to carry themselves. Move along."
Maria dipped her head quickly, scurrying away with her burden. She dared not look back, though she felt Alexander's gaze linger until she vanished through the servants' door.
---
That night, Maria lay awake in her small room beneath the rafters, staring into the darkness. The house was quiet, but her mind was not.
She could still hear Richard's mocking words, still feel the sting of being spoken of as though she were an object, a scandal waiting to happen. And yet… Alexander had defended her, fiercely and without hesitation.
What did that mean?
Maria turned onto her side, pressing her hand to her chest. She wanted to believe his words—that she was stronger than she knew. But in truth, she felt fragile, as though one wrong step would shatter the thin glass of her world.
Still, a new certainty grew in her heart.
Whatever secrets Alexander carried, whatever shadows haunted the mansion, she was now part of it—woven into a story she could neither escape nor fully understand.
And she sensed, with equal dread and wonder, that this was only the beginning.