The weather was getting colder, and heavy snow had already fallen several times. Mormont Manor was blanketed in pure white, transformed into a world of ice and snow. The castle was damp and frigid; aside from rooms with fireplaces, every other space felt like an ice cellar, especially the small rooms where we servants lived.
Servants' quarters weren't permitted to have fires. At night, even under thick blankets, I still shivered, longing for the warmth of the parlor's fireplace during the day. My room was only a few square meters, very cramped. Inside was a single bed and a cabinet—nothing more. My personal belongings were pitifully few, consisting of only a few pieces of clothing and a diary.
I opened my diary, and under the dim candlelight, began to jot down a few lines.
"November 8th, light snow. The manor continues yesterday's deep cleaning to prepare for the arrival of our esteemed guests."
Then, I closed the diary and placed it by my bedside. I never wrote anything unnecessary in my diary; the things that kept me up at night, tangled in my thoughts, were only ever repeated over and over in my mind.
What I truly wanted to write was… he is coming soon.
...
After three months, the mourning attire at Mormont Manor was finally set aside. The ladies returned to their elegant silk gowns, carrying fragrant folding fans as they strolled gracefully through the castle. Due to the family mourning, the winter had been dull and uneventful for the Bruces. No music, no dances—they stayed hidden within the castle, quietly waiting for the social season to arrive in December.
The head butler, Aaron, stood before us with his hands behind his back, his expression serious as he addressed the neatly lined-up valets. "As you know, Viscount Bruce's nephew, Baron Bruce, is scheduled to arrive this afternoon. We've prepared meticulously for this, so stay sharp from now on—there's no room for error."
"Yes, sir!" we responded in unison.
"Alright, the manor's gates will open today to welcome guests. You will all follow me to the entrance to greet them. One last check on your appearance and attire—if any of you embarrass Mormont Manor, I'll have your hide."
The valets lined up in perfect order at the main entrance. The Viscount stood in the front row, with the ladies and young mistresses behind him. I stood far off, stealing glances at the gate out of the corner of my eye.
Before long, a large black carriage arrived at the castle gates.
Two valets stepped down from the back of the carriage—one unloaded the luggage while the other opened the carriage door.
A tall man wearing a black cloak stepped out, and the Viscount immediately went over to greet him with a warm embrace.
The carriage pulled away, and after a brief exchange, the hosts and guests moved inside the castle, leaving the entrance empty. I continued staring blankly at the spot where they had stood, though all I'd really seen was his silhouette from afar…
In the bitter cold, Simon nudged me. "What are you standing around for? Let's head to the back courtyard to help unload the Baron's luggage."
I wanted to say it wasn't necessary; the Baron had two personal valets with him, and they wouldn't allow strangers to touch his belongings—our help would be pointless.
"Though he's only a baron, this lord seems quite wealthy," Simon said eagerly. "Did you see that carriage? So luxurious and extravagant, even grander than the ones we have at the manor. There were sapphires embedded in that horse's blinders! Incredible."
Sure enough, by the time we reached the back courtyard, the luggage had already been unloaded.
"Could you show us to the Baron's room?" one of the Baron's valets asked.
"Please, follow us." We led them to the guest room.
This guest room had been prepared with great care for the Baron. It was spacious and included a private parlor. Facing the sun, it was warm even in winter, and the fireplace had been lit well in advance, making it quite comfortable.
However, the Baron's personal valet subtly wrinkled his brow.
Of course. Our Baron was no ordinary wealthy man; his lifestyle was extravagantly luxurious, with a grand villa in the capital. A place like this rural manor couldn't compare to the bustling city. Despite our best efforts, they likely saw our service as inadequate.
"Thank you for your preparations; we'll handle things from here," the two valets said, beginning to usher us out.
After leaving the guest room, Simon looked displeased. "Who do these people think they are, acting so arrogant?"
I thought to myself that they certainly had a reason to be. Though the Baron's title wasn't high, he was immensely wealthy—rumor had it that even a certain duke borrowed money from him. Of course, the Baron's wealth wasn't yet known to most of Mormont Manor.
As I entered the main hall, Butler Aaron hurried over and whispered, "Owen, come with me immediately."
"But I need to go to the kitchen to help serve the dishes. I'll be delayed," I replied.
"Simon can handle that. You're coming with me to the dining room," he said.
"The dining room…" I was a bit surprised, as a lower servant like me wasn't permitted in there.
The butler sighed and said, "That useless fool, Claude, went and broke his leg falling down the stairs, and at such a time! It's disgraceful. You'll take his place and stand by in the dining room for tonight's banquet."
"But I've never done a senior valet's duties," I hesitated.
However, the butler was already at the main dining room doors. He looked me in the eye and said, "Once inside, be extremely careful and make no mistakes. I'll be nearby to guide you—just follow my lead."
There was no other choice. Taking a deep breath, I followed the butler into the dining room.
In the dining room, the long table was set with exquisite silverware, porcelain, and cutlery. Tall white candles were lit and placed in gleaming gold candelabras, illuminating the entire hall. Tonight's guests, in addition to the Baron, included Miss Judith and her husband, Baron Tesrick; Sir Geoffrey, a judge from the Yorkton Court, along with his mistress; two female friends of the Viscountess; and Lord Randolph, a friend of the Viscount.
From the moment I entered the dining room, I kept my gaze straight ahead, knowing that the butler was watching my every move, worried I might embarrass myself out of nervousness. He whispered to me, "Follow me when it's time to serve the dishes. Stay close behind me, serve from the back to the front, copy my movements, and be sure to move lightly without saying a word."
There should have been four senior valets serving here, and with one unexpectedly absent, the butler had no choice but to have me step in. This incident had happened in my previous life as well. Back then, when I served for the first time, I made a fool of myself by presumptuously asking the third young lady, Katherine, if she needed me to stand by her side. She politely declined, but I was thoroughly scolded by the butler afterward and nearly got dismissed.
This time, I behaved myself, dutifully following the butler and saying nothing extra.
The hosts and guests around the table were lively and engaged in conversation. The Viscount was warm and accommodating to the Baron, speaking with him constantly and offering frequent flattery. I noticed that the second and third young ladies were seated on either side of the Baron. The second young lady didn't speak a word to him, while the third occasionally cast him flirtatious glances.
I finally saw him again, though he didn't spare me a single look.
He was a proud and aloof man. If it weren't for that particular incident, his gaze would likely never rest on someone as insignificant as me.
The Baron's name was Oscar. He was eight years older than me, making him twenty-six this year.
His appearance was average, perhaps even plain. He didn't wear a wig, instead showing off a head of thick, tea-colored hair curled on the sides and tied into a small braid at the back. His eyes were also tea-colored, very dark, with slightly drooping corners, giving him a lethargic look and an air of perpetual melancholy. Although he was tall, he had a slight hunch, a result, they say, of a severe illness in childhood that left him bedridden for years and curved his spine. His voice was deep and slightly hoarse, and he rarely spoke unless someone else initiated the conversation; most of the time, he remained silent.
He was a man of few words, even somewhat gloomy.
After serving the dishes, I stood by the wall, waiting for further instructions.
At that moment, Lady Sherry, a friend of the Viscount's, beckoned me over to attend to her personally.
Lady Sherry was a very full-figured woman. Tonight, she wore a brown silk gown with short sleeves and a low neckline adorned with delicate white lace—clearly a high-end piece. It seemed barely able to contain her ample figure; without her sturdy corset, it would likely have burst at the seams.
The corset made it difficult for her to breathe, let alone bend over, so she often required assistance from others.
As I poured wine for her, she kept her gaze fixed on my face. She was a widow, known for her flirtatious nature and fondness for young men.
When I bowed to her, she giggled, covering her face with her fan as she whispered to her companion beside her, who also looked at me with bright and eager eyes.
See, I knew it—women all seemed to like me. Back then, I should never have foolishly fallen for the aloof third young lady. Even if it meant being a personal valet to a flirtatious widow, it would have saved me from the pitiful fate I ended up with.