“Really,” Lia said dryly. “And who are you to determine how a great lady should behave?”
“No one. But my mother, being a great lady herself, has some authority in these matters and by her description,youare more of a great lady than Princess Tavia will ever be.”
Lia stared at him. “Is the heat getting to you, my lord?”
“All I am trying to say,” Tyrell sighed. “Is that perhaps you should value your life for its own sake, instead of for how you can use it to serve the princess.”
Lia was completely lost at this point and growing increasingly annoyed. Tyrell seemed to forget that while she was Princess Tavia’s maid, she was also in a sense,her friend. Certainly, it wouldn’t be proper to say something like that out loud, but well, Lia had grown up right alongside the princess. She knew her better than anyone andusuallyliked her. As far as Lia was concerned, Tyrell’s nonsensical ramblings were doing nothing but wasting their time.
“If you no longer care for her, go home my lord,” Lia scowled. “But I am going inside with or without you.”
15. The Heist
“Tomorrow you will be of marriageable age,” Tyrell’s mother had said on the eve of his sixteenth birthday.
His elder brother, who was sitting across the study at the time, whistled and grinned. Their mother shot him a lethal glare that removed said grin instantaneously.
“Find yourself a great lady, Tyr,” she had continued. “A woman of noble heart whom you would gladly serve, and who would gladly serve you, all the days of your life.”
Tyrell’s cheeks turned scarlet as he instantly thought of one woman in particular. His brother, reading him like a book, called out, “Prrriiinnnccesss Ttaavviia!”
“Perhaps,” their mother answered, rolling her eyes. “But regardless of who you pick, remember this: A great lady puts her subjects first. She serves them with grace and confidence and, when necessary, boldly defends them. She is dignified, without vanity and kind without weakness.”
At the time, Tyrell nodded along. Since he had already selected his bride, he didn’t need a lecture from his mother about who that woman should be.
“A woman with a title who lacks these qualities is not truly a great lady,” his mother concluded. “Do you understand, Tyr?”
Since it was almost supper time, and he was getting hungry, he replied with an enthusiastic nod.
Now, several years later, as he slipped through the garden surrounding Salamar manor, the memory of that conversation returned to him along with a troubling question:
What if a woman had all of the qualities his mother mentioned but lacked the title? Was she still a great lady?
He glanced sideways at Lia, who was walking stooped to stay concealed by the hedge as she scanned the building for a possible entrance.
“She’s very pretty,”Lord Salamar had said and since the moment he mentioned it, Tyrell hadn’t been able to get it out of his head. Those words had hit him in the stomach like a battering ram and made him come to a shocking realization—he didn’t love Princess Tavia. He loved the relentlessly loyal woman who served her. The woman who was not only very pretty, but clever and brave and selfless also.
The woman who had proved herself far more a great lady than the mistress who had been so cruel to her.
This posed a huge problem because, assuming they made it out of this situation alive, Tyrell would need to find a way to convince his parents to let him marry a commoner. Well, actually, first he would have to convince Lia to defy said social norms which based on their last conversation was probably going to be impossible.
“There,” Lia whispered, pointing to a door that was propped open.
“No,” Tyrell shook his head. “They wouldn’t leave a door propped open like that, unless people were actively going in and out.”
“Exactly,” Lia answered. “We’re people, aren’t we?”
“Not people who belong here,” Tyrell hissed.
“My grandmother used to say,” Lia stated. “Act like you belong, and nobody will believe you don’t.”
“No! No! No, no, no no no,”Tyrell mumbled over and over again. But it was too late. Lia had straightened herself up and was strolling toward the open door like she was the lady of the house.
Stooping briefly, she collected a bouquet of daffodils. When Tyrell made it beside her, she took his arm with her free hand. Her touch sent a tingling sensation running up his arm, which could have been love, or maybe terror because they were now passing directly into a busy kitchen. A dozen servants were running this way and that, chopping vegetables, collecting dishes, tossing wood into the stove.
Tyrell’s heart stopped when he noticed the old maid who had shown Lia out of the lounge earlier that day, staring at the two of them.
“Oh, good, Martha!” Lia smiled. “Where should I put these?” She held the daffodil bouquet aloft.
