The sun rose quietly over Mondego Manor, casting a warm glow across the stone walls and silver-tipped spires. Birds chirped from the hedgerows, and the scent of wet roses drifted through the open windows. Inside, the estate buzzed with life. Boots clicked across marble floors. Linens rustled as they were hung. Silver clinked softly against porcelain.
Amid the usual rhythm, a raised voice from the corridor caught my attention.
I glanced toward it.
Howard was scolding Peter—one of the attendants and the butler's trusted right hand.
"I told you to be careful with those documents! Now we're struggling to find them. The Count needs them as soon as possible," Howard snapped.
"I'm sorry, I know," Peter replied, looking down. "But I was in a hurry. You asked me to deliver papers to Baron Fenwyck yesterday—it was late, and the distance is far. I had to rush."
"No excuses. Go to the records room and start searching," Howard ordered, walking away.
I watched quietly from a distance. My expression remained soft, but my mind was already at work. A faint smile tugged at my lips.
This was an opportunity—and I wouldn't waste it.
As Peter made his way to the records room, I followed him.
"Peter," I called gently.
He turned and smiled kindly. He was in his mid-thirties, a man who had served House Mondego since his youth. Like his father before him, he was loyal and trusted—one of the few permitted to handle the estate's most confidential records: matters of territory, finances, and private operations.
"I heard you need to find a document in the records room. I can help," I offered.
"You don't have to. I can manage," Peter said warmly. He had watched me grow up, and like many, he pitied my mother and me—our place in the manor uncertain since Count Laurent's death.
"Please, Peter," I said softly, eyes downcast. "I need to prove I'm not useless. I want to help. And you said the Count needs it quickly, right? Let me do something meaningful—for the estate."
I didn't need to explain further. Everyone already knew. Without Lord Laurent, my mother and I were little more than tolerated guests, lingering in a place we no longer belonged.
Peter looked at me for a moment, then smiled gently. "Alright. Let's go."
---
The records room of House Mondego was dim and still. Tall shelves lined the walls, crammed with weathered books and sealed scrolls. The air smelled of dust and old parchment. In the center sat a broad desk, cluttered with ledgers, estate records, and financial accounts.
We began searching through the piles.
Moments later, a steward entered. "Peter, we need your help. Elle's shop says the wool shipment came up short, but Rick insists the count is correct."
Peter glanced at me.
"Go," I said calmly. "I'll handle this."
He hesitated—unsure about leaving me alone with sensitive files—but the matter was urgent.
"Thank you, Evelise," he said, and left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood in silence for a moment, then turned back to the table. Slowly, deliberately, I began to sort. Titles here. Financials there. My hands moved with careful precision.
Then the heavy door creaked open again.
Butler Howard entered, narrowing his eyes as he spotted me by the shelves. "What are you doing here?" he asked evenly, though curiosity laced his tone.
I turned toward him with calm poise, folders in my arms. "I offered Peter my help," I said gently. "I overheard that the documents were urgent. A steward came and pulled him away for a shipment issue. He left in such a hurry—I thought it best to continue searching rather than let time go to waste."
I watched his face closely. My words were deliberate—neither too eager nor too meek.
Howard's brow furrowed. He had been briefed on the wool dispute, and it made sense Peter had been called away. But he hadn't expected to find me here. He had come to retrieve the documents himself.
Before he could speak, I stepped forward and offered him the stack I had assembled.
"These are the files you needed, Butler Howard," I said, my tone modest, eyes lowered slightly.
He accepted them, flipping through the pages. Then his gaze returned to me.
"And… how is your mother?" he asked, voice softening.
"She's still recovering," I said, clutching the hem of my skirt. "Too weak to travel far."
Then, as if the thought had just occurred to me, I added quietly, a tremor beneath my voice, "If we were asked to leave now… I don't know what we'd do."
I let the silence hang there, heavy with implication.
"I suppose I need to find work soon," I said, my tone lifting just slightly. "Maybe in town. But I heard it's easier to get hired with a recommendation letter. From someone respected."
I paused. "Would it be… too much to ask?"
My voice was soft. Not desperate—never that. Just enough uncertainty to make him fill in the rest.
Howard frowned. "I'm sorry… You're not formally employed by the estate. That complicates things. Your standing is… different."
I lowered my gaze. But I was listening intently. He hadn't said no—just "complicated."
"I understand," I said. "I was never part of the staff. Just a child running through the halls. My mother always told me not to get in the way."
Howard's chest tightened. He remembered Evelise as a child—small, quiet, clinging to her mother's skirt. Many had doubted Helena at first, assuming her to be a gold digger. But in time, she had earned their respect: gentle, dignified, and loyal to the late Count.
"She never asked for anything," I said softly. "She never tried to replace anyone. She only ever wanted peace."
Let him remember. Let the guilt take root.
Howard glanced toward the desk. He remembered the last time he was here—it had been a mess. Paperwork scattered, drawers stuffed haphazardly. Now it was pristine. Ordered.
"Wait a moment," he said, eyes narrowing. "Are you the one who organized all this?"
I blinked, then nodded. "Yes. I didn't want to intrude, but… I thought it might help. In case someone needs to find something quickly again."
I let the truth stand on its own, simple and unadorned.
Now the thought wouldn't leave him: What if she stayed?
Howard didn't answer right away.
There it is, I thought. He's deciding—not because I begged, but because he believes it's his idea.
Finally, he muttered, half to himself, "It would be wasteful… to send away someone useful."
I dipped my gaze, hiding the faint smile that curled at my lips.
---
That evening, Count Rael sat in the study, reading through a report. The room was dim, lit only by firelight and a single lamp.
"Yes?" he said without looking up, as Butler Howard entered.
"I wish to speak regarding Evelise and her mother."
Rael set the report down. "What about them?"
"We're short on trusted workers in the manor," Howard said. "I believe we could employ them."
Rael scoffed. "That's absurd. She was my father's wife. Hiring her as staff would disgrace this house."
"But what about Evelise?" Howard pressed. "She could work in the records room. You know we can't hire just anyone to manage confidential documents."
Rael's gaze lifted, sharp. "And you trust her?"
"I do. I've watched her grow. And she's not a plant from another house—we'd know."
In noble circles, spies were often placed in rival manors—disguised as servants, companions, even tutors.
Rael leaned back. "You really want them to stay?"
"They don't belong here," he added coldly. "My father's generosity ended with his life."
Howard bowed. "Perhaps. But they have nowhere else. I simply ask you to consider it, my lord. For her sake… and your father's memory."
Rael said nothing.
---
The next morning, a letter arrived at our door. It was brief.
You and your mother are permitted to remain in the manor.
You will work in the records room, organizing estate documents.
A salary will be provided.
Should your mother fall ill, she may consult the house physician.
—Count Rael Mondego
I read it in silence.
Then I smiled.
Not a triumphant smile.
Not quite.
Just one of quiet satisfaction.
I folded the letter and pressed it to my chest.
The game had begun.