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"I hope you're not coming down with something," she says, before glancing down the line of servants eating their dinners, keeping her voice low under their talk. We sit at the head of the table, even though I'm new to the household, my position makes me more senior than the maids, the groomsmen from the stable, the footmen and others. "A cold will rip right through the household and absolutely upend everything."
I shake my head.
"No Mrs. Harris, it was hot out at the riding ring, that's all, and Lady Madeline wanted more stories than I had energy for." Thelast bit is a lie. Madeline barely made it through one reading ofThe Paperbag Princessbefore her eyes were shut and she was half-way to snoring.
But I can't exactly tell Mrs. Harris the truth. My stomach is sour and my whole body feels like one big shake. I might've thought Benedict was attractive, my body certainly did, but right now— I feel caught. Like a fox kit with its paw in a trap. Do I chew myself loose? Do I stay and wait for slaughter?
My eyes have been burning half the day as I blink back tears. And now dinner is almost over, the servants eat late, and I've got to go to my room and wait.
There are no parties tonight, no entertaining, and so people are already talking about retiring for the evening to read books or watch movies in their rooms. It's a good life, serving. A life of it gives you a solid pension, excellent medical care, and most things taken care of. You give up your free time to provide a life of leisure for others, but it's better than working Out There. The world is unforgiving to most people, with few protections.
Jobs among the high-born are coveted, and that's reflected in the quality of people attracted to and retained by this job.
It's why Mrs. Harris spots my hectic eyes and the color in my cheeks a mile off. She's got a sharp vision that misses nothing.
"I hope you're settling in well," Avery says, scooping up a last bit of lemon-cremeon a spoon, sighing over it with the sorrow of a man mourning his dead bride.
"She's doing excellently," Mrs. Harris says, which surprises me. My eyes lift from my plate to meet hers and she gives me a kind smile. "The duke already speaks highly of you. Lady Madeline has never been happier."
My mouth goes dry. They have no idea what I've done today. Or what I'm going to do tonight. If they knew— I'd be out of here with my things thrown out the gate behind me. And I'd probably be riding in a paddy wagon on top of it all.
My face burns like a house fire, and I hope they think it's embarrassment at being praised. Making my excuses that I need to get Madeline's clothes ready for the next day, I get up, and hurry out of the room.
The halls are cool and dark, as I climb the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. I need to be small, invisible, but everywhere I go, turning down the halls to reach my room, I feel like Benedict's watching me.
I feel his hands on me. I hate how they make me feel, how my whole body responds to his touch and his kiss like—
I can't even relax when I'm in my room finally, the door shutting behind me and closing the rest of the house out. I lean into the thick solid wood, my belly trembling, and I wonder what would happen if I just don't go.
Am I stupid? He'll report me. Or he'll come find me myself, here, in this room. I glance around the walls. He wouldn't, not here, would he? With his niece right next door?
I rush to the bathroom and wash my face, scrubbing my hands and under my nails, feeling like I need to get rid of some dirt there that I can't even see.
After, I curl up on my bed staring at the wall. Time drifts. My phone chimes, one AM already. My throat is closing up and I reach for it, turning off my alarm. Everyone should be asleep already, given how early we all rise. I'm at the door and questioning myself. I could stay in here, safe and locked away.
What would he do?
Bang down the door? Wake the whole household to get to me?
God I can't even think about it.
I slide outside into the hall, ghosting over the carpets, drifting slowly toward his bedroom door. I've never been inside his rooms, but I know where it is. That grand door waits, a demon on the other side. Statues, large shadowy gryphons, loom on either side of the door, their claws extended, welcoming or threatening, I'm not sure.
I'm twenty feet from it, and I can't make myself go any closer. Staring it down, I know he's in there, biding his time, knowing the kind of hold he has over me, over my whole life. Is he applauding himself, for his cruelty and manipulation?
My eyelashes feel cold in the gently air conditioned hallway and I wipe away the wet tears making them that way. It's not fair. He'd been the one crossing the line, not me. The feel of my wet finger-tips, damp from my own tears, snaps something in me.
No. I'm not giving in. I'm going to march in there and tell him exactly what I think of him. If he expects me to bow my head and beg, to let him do whatever he wants to me—
I surge forward, fire lighting up my spine, determination sparking in my heart.
Howdarehe?
I lift my hand to knock loud and hard on his door, not caring who knows I'm here.
A shadow to my left moves and I startle out of my skin, mouth opening to shriek. A hand claps over it, and Benedict pulls meinto his chest.
"Silence," he orders, voice harsh, before pushing me away, eyes boring into mine in the semi-darkness of the hall. I go still, fire dampened as fast as it roared to life in me. "Be still and silent."
