Natalie Scott sat on the edge of her bed in the small room she shared with three other maids. The room was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of pages as she lazily flipped through a book. She wasn't really reading, just looking at the words. Her mind was somewhere else—on the fact that the duke, the man she worked for, would be away for a long time.Today felt like a holiday—no hurried footsteps in the hall, no bellowing orders from the duke.
The thought made her smile, just a little. The duke was traveling, and he wouldn't be back for at least a year. This was her chance to rest. The duke had always been so particular about his tea—her tea—that she never had any time for herself. His obsession with it meant that she spent most of her day by his side. It wasn't a relaxing job.
Her job wasn't complicated in theory. The duke, for reasons Natalie could never understand, believed she made tea better than anyone else. It wasn't just tea to him; it was an art, a ritual. The water had to be the exact right temperature, the leaves measured to the tiniest fraction, and the steeping time counted with maddening precision. If it wasn't perfect, he wouldn't say a word—he'd simply stare at her with those cold, steely eyes, and she'd feel her stomach twist into knots.
But making the tea wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst part was standing silently like a statue while he drank it, then whisking the cup away the moment he was done because, apparently, the sight of an empty teacup offended him. Sometimes, hours would pass as she waited in the corner of his study, her legs aching, her stomach growling. And when he traveled, she had no reprieve. She'd pack his special tea set and follow him like a shadow, ready to brew his tea at the most inconvenient times.
But today, for the first time in what felt like forever, the duke was gone. He was far away, and she was free—at least for a while.
Natalie smiled as she took a small bite of the biscuit she'd been nibbling on. The buttery crumbs melted in her mouth. She let herself savor it, her body relaxing as she thought about what it would be like to have some real time to herself.
But then, a knock came at the door, and her heart sank.
She wasn't ready for anyone to disturb her peace.
The door opened slowly, and in walked Agnes, one of the senior maids. Agnes was older, and her tone was sharp.
"The duke wants you. He said you should prepare to join him on his travels."
Natalie froze, her mind going blank for a moment. She couldn't breathe.
"I think you must be mistaken," Natalie said quickly, standing up from the bed. Her voice trembled a little. "He can't want me. He must have asked for someone else. I'll go and clear this up with him."
Agnes didn't answer with any kindness. "No," she said flatly. "The duke specifically said it's you. He asked for his tea girl. Everyone knows who that is."
Natalie's knees shook, and she sank back down onto the bed. The warm, comforting feeling she'd had moments ago was gone, replaced with a cold weight in her stomach. Tears pricked at her eyes. "But… why?" Her voice cracked. "I was supposed to have time off. I need rest."
Agnes didn't show any sympathy. She just looked at her watch, impatient. "Hurry up," she said, turning and walking out without another word. "The duke's waiting."
The door clicked shut behind Agnes, and Natalie felt like she couldn't breathe. Her chest ached. She wanted to scream, but the tears came instead. They blurred her vision as she sat there, the weight of it all pressing down on her.
She had just started to feel free, just started to believe she could rest. And now it was taken away.
For what felt like hours, Natalie cried, letting the tears flow freely. She didn't care anymore.
The door creaked open again, and Natalie hurriedly wiped her face, hoping to compose herself. She didn't want anyone to see her like that. She glanced up, expecting Agnes, but it was Jenna, the younger maid, always kind, always understanding who stepped inside. Jenna paused in the doorway, her face softening as her eyes took in Natalie's tear-streaked face and slumped shoulders. She simply walked over to Natalie and sat beside her, wrapping her arms around her in a gentle hug.
"I'm sorry," Jenna whispered. "But you know how he is. We all saw this coming."
Natalie's voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. "I hate him. I really do."
Jenna sighed softly, pulling back a little to look at her. "I know," she said quietly. "But there's nothing we can do about it. The duke is waiting. And if you don't hurry, he'll get even more upset."
Natalie nodded slowly, feeling the anger still rising in her chest. But she knew Jenna was right. There was no choice.
"Let me help you," Jenna said gently, her voice steady and calm. "We'll get you ready. It'll feel easier if we do it together."
Jenna stood and made her way to the small wooden chest at the foot of Natalie's bed. She knelt before it, her hands moving with care as she opened the lid. The faint creak of the hinges echoed in the quiet room. Inside, the neatly folded clothes spoke of a life bound by order and duty. Jenna sifted through them, pulling out two plain dresses. She held each one up, studying them briefly before setting them aside.
"These will do," Jenna murmured, almost to herself. "Something simple for travel, and one that's a bit finer, in case he drags you to some grand affair."
Natalie remained seated, her eyes heavy with sorrow as they followed Jenna's every move. She felt frozen, as though the weight of her despair had anchored her in place. Yet Jenna's quiet, steady movements offered a strange comfort, like a lifeline in stormy seas.
After folding the dresses and setting them neatly into a small satchel, Jenna retrieved a pouch and began filling it with a few necessities—soap, a comb, and several hairpins. She paused, her brow furrowed slightly, and turned to Natalie.
"Where's your hairbrush?"
Natalie raised a weak hand, pointing to the nightstand. Her voice felt stuck in her throat, so she didn't bother to speak. Jenna retrieved the brush and tucked it into the pouch, tying the top with nimble fingers.
When she turned back, she crouched before Natalie, taking her hands into her own. Jenna's palms were warm and steady against Natalie's cold, trembling fingers.
"Come," Jenna urged softly. "Let's get you cleaned up. You'll feel better, I promise."
With slow movements, Jenna guided Natalie to the washstand in the corner of the room. The basin of water had grown cool, but it was still clean. Jenna soaked a cloth, wringing it out with her practiced hands, and then brought it to Natalie's face. The damp fabric felt cool against Natalie's flushed skin, a welcome contrast to the heat of her tears.
Jenna wiped her cheeks with gentle strokes, brushing away the streaks of saltwater and sadness. She moved carefully, cleaning the corners of Natalie's eyes and smoothing the redness around her nose.
"There," Jenna said softly, setting the cloth aside. "You're looking better already."
She took a step back and studied Natalie with a critical eye. "Your hair's in a bit of a state, though. Sit here, and I'll fix it for you."
Natalie sank onto the small stool beside the washstand without protest, her body heavy but obedient. Jenna stood behind her, lifting the brush and running it through Natalie's blonde hair. The rhythmic pull of the bristles, firm yet gentle, was strangely soothing. Natalie closed her eyes, letting herself relax for the first time in what felt like hours.
Jenna worked swiftly but with care, her fingers weaving Natalie's hair into a neat braid. She tied it off with a simple ribbon, smoothing down stray strands with her palm.
"There," she said, her tone satisfied. "You look more like yourself now."
Natalie opened her eyes and gazed into the small mirror above the washstand. Her reflection stared back, weary but composed. Her blue eyes were still rimmed with red, but her face was clean, her hair neat, and something about her looked… whole again.
Jenna returned to the chest, closing it with a soft thud and securing the latch. She hefted the bag and brought it to the door, setting it down with care.
"I'll carry this down for you," she said. "But you should wash your hands before you go. It'll help steady you."
Natalie nodded, her steps slow but more deliberate as she approached the washstand. She dipped her hands into the cool water, the sensation grounding her, pulling her out of the fog that had clouded her mind.
Jenna stood nearby, her presence as steady as ever.
Natalie dried her hands on a towel and turned back to Jenna. Her lips trembled, but she managed a quiet, "Thank you." The words were small, but they carried the weight of her gratitude.
Jenna smiled, soft and kind. "Always."