Emma woke to the shrill ringing of a bell. The sky outside was still dark, the promise of dawn barely visible on the horizon. She blinked sleep from her eyes, remembering where she was—the servants' quarters of the grand Harrington estate.
Her small cot creaked as she sat up, stretching her stiff limbs. The room was modest, with a simple wooden dresser, a washbasin, and a single candle providing faint light. It was nothing compared to the luxurious halls of the mansion, but it was a roof over her head, and that was more than she had before.
A sharp knock on the door startled her.
"Up and moving, girl!" Mrs. Whitmore's voice carried through the wood. "Breakfast must be served in thirty minutes. Don't keep me waiting."
Emma rushed to get dressed, pulling on the plain gray uniform she had been given. She quickly braided her long brown hair and slipped into her worn shoes before hurrying downstairs.
The kitchen was already bustling with activity. The other maids moved with practiced efficiency, setting out fine china and arranging silver trays of fresh bread, eggs, and fruit. A stout woman with flushed cheeks, whom Emma guessed was the cook, handed her a tray filled with steaming cups of coffee.
"Take this to the dining hall," the woman instructed.
Emma nodded, carefully balancing the tray as she made her way through the grand corridors. The scent of fresh roses lingered in the air, and the golden wallpaper gleamed under the chandelier's glow.
She entered the dining hall cautiously. A long polished table stretched across the room, where the Harringtons were already seated. At the head of the table sat Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, their expressions composed and regal. Beside them was their eldest son, Edward, engrossed in a newspaper, and across from him sat their daughter, Lillian, who lazily stirred her tea.
And then, at the far end, was Ruby.
Emma had only seen him in passing the day before, but now, up close, she noticed his striking features—the sharp line of his jaw, the unruly dark hair that fell just over his forehead, and the deep blue eyes that flicked up to meet hers.
For a moment, their gazes locked.
Emma quickly lowered her head, reminding herself that she was just a maid. She placed the coffee cups in front of them carefully, though her hands trembled slightly.
"Finally, the coffee," Mrs. Harrington said with a sigh, barely acknowledging Emma's presence.
"Indeed," Edward murmured, flipping a page in his newspaper.
Emma stepped back, waiting for further instructions.
Lillian gave her a pointed look. "You're new," she stated, taking a sip of her tea.
"Yes, miss," Emma replied politely.
"How unfortunate," she mused. "I do hope you last longer than the last one."
Emma frowned slightly but said nothing. She didn't dare ask what had happened to the previous maid.
"That will be all," Mrs. Whitmore's voice cut in, motioning for Emma to return to the kitchen.
Emma turned on her heel, relieved to escape, but just as she reached the door, she heard Ruby speak.
"Wait," he said.
Emma froze, her heart hammering.
"She didn't get any breakfast herself."
A silence fell over the table. Emma felt every pair of eyes on her, but none were as piercing as Mrs. Harrington's.
"She is a maid, Ruby," his mother said coldly. "She eats after us, as is proper."
Ruby leaned back in his chair, regarding Emma with a thoughtful expression before he finally shrugged. "Just seems cruel, that's all."
"Rules are rules," Mr. Harrington said in a final tone, returning to his meal.
Emma hurried out of the dining hall, her face burning. She wasn't sure if Ruby was mocking her or if he truly meant what he said. Either way, she knew better than to think he cared.
She had seen men like him before—wealthy, privileged, living in a world far removed from hers. She couldn't afford to dwell on the brief exchange. There was too much work to do.
The rest of the morning was grueling. She scrubbed floors, polished silverware, and carried heavy baskets of linens up and down the grand staircase. By midday, her hands were raw, her back ached, and her feet felt like they would give out.
She finally allowed herself a short break in the servants' quarters. A few of the other maids sat in the small space, whispering amongst themselves.
"Did you see the way Master Ruby looked at her?" one of the maids, Margaret, whispered.
Emma's head snapped up. "What?"
Margaret smirked. "At breakfast. He noticed you. That doesn't happen often."
Emma shook her head. "You're mistaken."
"Perhaps," Margaret said with a knowing look. "Or perhaps you've caught the attention of someone far above our station."
Emma dismissed the thought. She couldn't afford to entertain foolish fantasies.
As the day stretched on, exhaustion settled deep in her bones. By the time evening arrived, she was barely able to keep her eyes open.
She had just finished folding fresh linens when Mrs. Whitmore appeared.
"Emma, you will serve the family their evening tea in the drawing room," she ordered.
Emma straightened, pushing aside her fatigue. "Yes, ma'am."
Balancing the delicate tea set on a tray, she made her way to the grand drawing room. The family sat in their usual seats, engaged in quiet conversation.
As she placed the tray down, she felt a gaze on her. She didn't need to look up to know it was Ruby.
"Thank you, Emma," he said softly, his voice different from the others—gentler.
Emma's breath caught. It was the first time he had spoken her name.
But before she could respond, Mrs. Harrington's sharp voice cut through the air.
"That will be all, Emma."
Emma quickly curtsied and backed out of the room, her heart pounding.
As she returned to the kitchen, she scolded herself. Ruby Harrington was nothing but trouble. He belonged to a world she could never be part of.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, their fates were already beginning to intertwine.