Previously
Rosalyn spreads rumors among the maids that Aracella does not love Damian and will soon leave, undermining their loyalty. She attempts to provoke Aracella by intentionally spilling tea on her, but Aracella remains calm and turns the situation into a display of her own grace, frustrating Rosalyn.
The couple met at the mansion’s entrance after a prolonged absence.
When was the last time they had even laid eyes on each other?
It had been a week, and by now their memories of each other’s faces were so hazy that this reunion felt like a reintroduction.
Today, Damian wore a red cloak draped over his shoulders, which lent him an imposing presence that appeared even larger than his actual build.
‘Ah, right. Weren’t we supposed to look like a happily married couple, passionately in love?’
Aracella caught sight of his sharp features and suddenly remembered their arrangement.
Both of them had been so utterly consumed with their own affairs that they had completely forgotten to play the part of doting newlyweds.
Apart from Marquis Hugo’s family, who worried endlessly about their daughter, Damian’s side paid him little mind. With no one around to scrutinize how hollow their marriage truly was, things had naturally drifted into this distant routine.
Remembering her parents’ recent nagging about starting a family, Aracella chose not to brush Damian aside and instead walked toward him.
The gazes of the servants, gathered in the hall to welcome them, shifted in unison; seeing the lord and lady side by side was a rare spectacle.
Their eyes betrayed unmistakable curiosity.
Sensing the weight of the onlookers’ attention, Damian also realized the need to put on an affectionate display.
As they drew closer, the contrasting colors of their attire stood out in sharp relief.
Damian nodded as if listening intently to Aracella’s words, while casually resting a hand on her shoulder in a gentle, almost protective embrace.
His counsel was sincere, not born of a desire to argue.
Looking at Aracella’s pale skin and slender frame, he could not help but feel a flicker of concern.
After all, he had heard tales of countless mages collapsing from exhaustion or malnutrition…
Abruptly, Damian added in a dry tone,
He murmured the words under his breath, ensuring no one else could hear.
To Aracella’s ears, his entire speech sounded like nothing less than a deliberate provocation from start to finish.
‘He’s definitely trying to get under my skin.’
Aracella offered an outwardly modest smile, though she answered through gritted teeth.
The servants strained to catch the couple’s hushed exchange, but none of the words carried clearly.
All they saw was the faint smile playing on Aracella’s lips as she gently pushed past Damian and turned on her heel.
Sensing that lingering any longer would only fan her irritation, Aracella made a swift retreat toward the stairs.
Yet on the very second step, her footing slipped, throwing her off balance.
Before a startled Audrey could rush forward, Damian moved with blinding speed and caught Aracella around the waist.
Her waist was so slender that his single arm encircled it completely.
Robbed of her balance, Aracella found herself tumbling against his chest. Her hand instinctively pressed against his shoulder, which felt far broader and firmer than she had imagined.
Barely a finger’s breadth separated their faces.
With a slight furrow of his brow, Damian asked in a low voice,
Aracella felt his warm breath wash over her skin as he spoke.
It was true.
She ate regular meals precisely so she would have the stamina to keep up with her magic research.
Damian looked disapprovingly at her slender nape, laid bare by her swept-up hair, before speaking in a measured cadence.
Aracella replied in a sweetly affected voice.
Pulling free of his grasp with practiced composure, Aracella raised her voice enough for the nearby servants to hear.
Damian placed a hand over his chest and bowed with polished decorum.
He carried himself like a knight attending faithfully to his lady, brimming with impeccable dignity.
Even though she stood a step higher on the staircase, his striking face was still level with hers, prompting Aracella to offer him a strained smile.
Exchanging one last pleasant greeting, she continued on to her bedchamber.
Once Aracella had changed into a comfortable gown and settled onto the sofa to wind down for sleep, Audrey began carefully brushing out her hair.
Listening to the rhythmic sweep of the brush, Aracella’s eyelids grew heavy, until a hesitant voice broke the quiet.
Aracella answered in a drowsy murmur, her eyes nearly closed.
Aracella let out a soft chuckle.
Though she had been away for part of the day, she was hardly blind to the strained atmosphere around her.
Besides,
‘I’ve lived my whole life with a flawless maid by my side; of course I’d notice.’
Against the standard of Audrey’s meticulous care, the blunders of the other maids in the Vandermeer estate stood out all the more starkly.
Had she wished, she could have crushed the maids’ spirits and brought them to heel at any moment.
Yet the thought bored her. She preferred to extend some consideration to staff who had served the estate for years.
More than anything, having always lived at Marquis Hugo’s Mansion where she was revered, she failed to grasp how serious the current discord truly was.
Audrey set the brush aside and sank to her knees beside Aracella.
Aracella opened her eyes and looked down at Audrey.
Audrey did not laugh at the lighthearted quip.
That alone signaled her utmost gravity.
Aracella smiled warmly, patting Audrey’s shoulder.
Audrey knew Aracella was more than capable of taking control whenever she put her mind to it.
She also recognized that her mistress was deliberately making an effort to tread lightly and show patience toward the staff.
Reluctantly, Audrey yielded to Aracella’s wishes and stepped back.
After all, the maids had not committed any overt wrongdoing just yet.
‘I’ll simply have to work harder.’
If she did, the estate’s maids would surely come around, accepting her mistress as she came to accept them.
They would realize what a kind and gracious person Aracella truly was.
Though the benevolence she showed might not be fully appreciated right now, everyone was bound to feel it in time.
Audrey held fast to that belief.
While Aracella turned a blind eye to the peculiar undercurrents in the mansion, Rosalyn only grew bolder.
She began openly snubbing Audrey and gathering a clique of maids around herself.
She spoke ill of Aracella behind her back and took to adorning herself in ways entirely unbefitting a maid on duty.
Though the head maid ought to have meted out punishment, she looked the other way, intimidated by the Duke’s backing.
One day, an account from a maid who had witnessed the couple reached Rosalyn’s ears.
Rosalyn’s brow immediately furrowed. This directly undermined the narrative she had labored to weave—that Aracella was merely using Damian without a shred of affection for him.
Though doubt crept in for an instant, the memory of how distant they typically were chased it away just as quickly.
Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to pause her scheming against Aracella and turn her full attention toward snaring Damian.
Rosalyn arranged to swap duties with the maid assigned to Damian, claiming she found it unbearable to work under the strain of Aracella and Audrey’s demands.
She then donned a maid’s uniform a size too small and stepped forward to attend to Damian upon his return to the mansion.
Damian paused mid-stride while shrugging off his coat, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Rosalyn.
Rosalyn assumed the most innocent expression she could muster.
Rosalyn hesitated for a calculated beat, wore a pitiful, wronged expression, and tugged her sleeves slightly back.
She revealed faint bruises made to look as though Aracella had struck her, intending to elicit Damian’s pity while tarnishing Aracella’s reputation in one stroke.
Yet throughout her performance, Damian merely offered an impassive nod, treating the matter as if it were of no consequence.
Damian’s face was utterly unreadable, leaving Rosalyn thoroughly unnerved.
Still, the fact that he hadn’t dismissed her despite her confessed incompetence made her believe she had scored a modest success.
As Damian took note of the bruises on Rosalyn’s arms, however, a very different thought crossed his mind.
Damian pondered the question, wondering just how sorely Aracella’s brazen nature had been tested for her to pack this servant off to him.
Damian had no desire to be served by someone so incompetent, but he wasn’t about to take off someone’s head over simple clumsiness, so he chose to leave the matter alone.
While Rosalyn congratulated herself on what she assumed was a triumph, her thoughts strayed down a different path.
Why else would a man as cold and composed as Damian accept a maid dismissed for repeated mistakes without the slightest protest?
Rosalyn silently applauded herself for having chosen the tighter uniform.
She failed to grasp that while Damian was a stern man, he was not one to vent his frustration on subordinates, and thus she stumbled headlong into a delusion.
Bolstered by that conviction, Rosalyn began adding suggestive touches to her uniform and applying heavier makeup with each passing day.
Yet Damian never uttered a single word of criticism, entirely because he could not care less about how she looked; Rosalyn, however, was blind to his true indifference.
‘I must have made an impression. Perhaps it’s time to be a bit bolder?’
Thus, a full week into her service attending Damian, she resolved to take a daring gamble.
Instead of merely casting sly glances from afar, she would approach him directly.
After Rosalyn and the other servants offered their end-of-day greetings to Damian, she watched the others walk away in conversation, then slipped back toward the study alone.
She knocked on the door with nervous anticipation, and soon a deep, resonant voice answered from within.
Stepping inside with practiced delicacy, she saw Damian seated behind his desk, clad only in a light shirt after shedding his formal coat.
Damian asked without looking up, but words failed Rosalyn.
She was momentarily mesmerized by the lean, solid musculature outlined clearly beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
Swallowing down her sudden burst of greed, Rosalyn finally found her voice.