The days that followed carried a strange tension through the mansion. Though the skies had cleared, Maria felt as though she still lived beneath storm clouds. Every glance, every whispered word between servants seemed heavy with suspicion. She worked harder than ever, keeping her head low, but no effort could shake the feeling that she was walking a tightrope across a chasm.
Still, whenever she glimpsed Alexander in the halls—his tall frame, his piercing gaze—her heart betrayed her. The warnings of Clara and Mrs. Greene echoed in her mind, yet her chest ached with something she could not name.
---
One afternoon, Maria was sent to air out the guest wing, a part of the house rarely used except for grand occasions. Dust clung thickly to the furniture, and heavy curtains dulled the light. As she worked, she found herself near one of the tall windows, staring out at the sprawling gardens below.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Maria gasped, spinning around. Alexander stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"Forgive me, sir," she stammered, bowing her head. "I didn't expect—"
"You never expect me," he said softly, stepping inside. "Yet here I am."
Her breath caught as he moved closer, the dust motes swirling around him in the slanted light.
"You avoid me," he continued, his voice low. "But I see it in your eyes, Maria. You feel what I feel."
Maria's heart pounded painfully. "Sir, please—"
He reached for her hand, his touch gentle but firm, and she froze. Heat spread through her chest, her thoughts scattering.
"Tell me I am wrong," he whispered.
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Every warning, every prayer she had whispered in the night warred against the truth rising inside her. At last, her voice trembled out, barely audible.
"You are not wrong."
The admission left her trembling, as though she had stepped into fire. Alexander's eyes darkened, his grip tightening slightly, as if to anchor them both.
"Maria," he breathed, her name a vow.
But before another word could pass, footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Alexander released her instantly, his jaw tightening as the sound drew near. Clara's voice floated through the hall, humming a tune as she carried linens past the guest wing.
Maria pulled her hand back quickly, clutching it to her chest. Her face burned, her heart racing with fear.
Alexander's gaze lingered, filled with something fierce and unspoken. "Another time," he said quietly, before striding from the room.
Maria collapsed against the windowsill, her knees weak. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the ghost of his touch still burning there.
That night, the storm returned. Rain battered the roof, lightning lit the halls, and thunder rolled like cannon fire. Maria tossed in her narrow bed, unable to sleep, her mind consumed by what had passed between them.
When a sudden knock startled her door, she bolted upright, her heart hammering.
"Maria," a voice whispered. Clara's voice.
She hesitated, then rose and opened the door. Clara stood there, a candle flickering in her hand, her eyes sharp with triumph.
"I knew it," Clara said in a hushed tone. "I knew he favored you. Do you think no one notices? Do you think you can keep such things hidden in this house?"
Maria's stomach twisted. "Clara, it isn't what you think—"
"Oh, it's exactly what I think," Clara sneered. "You've caught the master's eye. But don't fool yourself, Maria. To him, you are nothing but a passing amusement. And when he's done, when Mrs. Greene casts you out, what will you have left?"
Tears pricked Maria's eyes, but she forced her voice steady. "I never asked for this."
Clara leaned closer, her voice cold. "You didn't need to. Men like him take what they want. And girls like you are too foolish to resist."
With that, she blew out her candle and slipped into the darkness, leaving Maria trembling in the doorway.
Down in his study, Alexander stood at the window, watching the storm rage. He could not stop himself from thinking of Maria—her trembling voice, her eyes when she admitted the truth.
For years, he had locked himself behind walls of duty and grief. But she had slipped past them, uninvited, unstoppable. And now he could not imagine going back.
Yet Clara's words, though unspoken to him, were not far from the truth. The household was alive with whispers, and Alexander knew that if he stepped too far, if he allowed his heart to betray his role, Maria would suffer the worst of it.
Still, as thunder split the sky, Alexander swore to himself that he would not let her fall prey to their cruelty.
If he had to protect her in secret, so be it.
But protect her, he would.