The first truly clear day after weeks of rain brought the estate to life. Servants flung open windows, rugs were aired, and the scent of wet earth rose from the gardens. Maria, tasked with carrying fresh linens to the drying lines, welcomed the brief escape into the open air.
The garden was sprawling, its hedges neatly trimmed, fountains trickling softly, and rosebushes heavy with rain-kissed blooms. For a moment, she allowed herself to pause, breathing deeply. Here, away from the echoing halls, the weight on her chest lifted.
But peace in the Adelson household never lasted long.
As she pinned a sheet to the line, she heard footsteps crunching the gravel behind her. Turning, she saw Mrs. Greene striding toward her, her black skirts brushing against the damp grass like a crow sweeping down on its prey.
"Maria," the housekeeper said sharply. "A word."
Maria bowed her head. "Yes, Mrs. Greene."
Mrs. Greene's eyes, cold and calculating, roamed over her with suspicion. "You've been here only weeks, and already whispers circle like flies. Tell me, child, do you know what ruins a household faster than anything?"
Maria shook her head.
"Scandal," Mrs. Greene hissed. "The master is vulnerable to it, and this estate cannot afford another stain. So, when I see him looking at you, and you standing in his presence too long, I take notice."
Maria's breath caught. "Mrs. Greene, I have done nothing improper."
The housekeeper's mouth curled in a grim smile. "That may be so. But impropriety is in the eye of the beholder. The guests last night saw enough to start talk. Do you understand the danger you place yourself in?"
Maria's hands tightened around the linen pin. "I only do my work."
"See that you remember it," Mrs. Greene said coldly. "The master has many burdens. He doesn't need a servant girl adding to them. If you are wise, Maria, you'll keep your head down and your heart locked away."
Her words struck like blows, leaving Maria breathless. Mrs. Greene turned and swept back toward the house, her warning hanging in the air like smoke.
That evening, Maria worked in the library, dusting the shelves. The room smelled of leather and paper, comforting yet solemn. She moved slowly, her thoughts clouded with Mrs. Greene's warning.
She was still lost in thought when she heard a familiar voice.
"Maria."
She turned, startled, to see Alexander standing near the doorway, his eyes fixed on her.
"Sir," she whispered, bowing her head quickly.
"You avoid me," he said, stepping closer.
Her heart thudded painfully. "No, sir. I only…" She faltered. "I only wish to do my duties properly."
His gaze lingered on her, intense and searching. "Did Mrs. Greene speak to you?"
Maria hesitated, then nodded.
His jaw tightened, a flash of anger crossing his face. "She forgets her place."
"No," Maria said quickly, alarmed. "She only wishes to protect the household."
Alexander's eyes softened, but the storm within them remained. "And what of you? Do you believe her warnings?"
Maria's lips parted, but no words came. How could she tell him the truth? That she both feared and longed for what she felt in his presence? That she dreamed of him even as she prayed to banish such thoughts?
She shook her head slowly. "I… I don't know what to believe."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then Alexander stepped closer, his voice lowering.
"Believe this, Maria: I am not a man easily swayed by gossip. I will not allow them to decide how I see you."
Her breath trembled. She clutched the duster in her hands as though it might anchor her to the ground.
"Sir," she whispered, "it is dangerous for you to speak so."
"Perhaps," he said softly. "But danger has never stopped me before."
Their eyes locked, and for a moment the air between them crackled, alive with words unspoken. Then footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Maria stepped back quickly, her heart leaping, and Alexander straightened, his mask of composure returning.
"Go on with your work," he said quietly. "We'll speak again soon."
And then he was gone, leaving Maria trembling amidst the rows of books, torn between fear and longing.
That night, Maria knelt by her narrow bed, whispering prayers into the silence.
"Lord, give me strength," she murmured. "Give me wisdom. Do not let me fall."
But even as she prayed, the memory of Alexander's voice lingered, echoing in her chest like a secret she could not surrender.
And somewhere deep inside, she feared she had already fallen.
Meanwhile, in his chambers, Alexander stared into the darkness. Mrs. Greene's meddling, Richard's mockery, the whispers of the servants—none of it troubled him as much as the thought of Maria shrinking from him in fear.
He knew he should stay away. He knew she was innocent, unprepared for the dangers surrounding him. But the truth pressed against him like a tide he could not hold back.
He wanted her.
Not as a passing fancy, not as a distraction. He wanted her light, her honesty, the way she looked at him as though he were a man and not a haunted shadow.
And he knew, with a certainty that made his chest ache, that no warning could change what had already begun.