HIM
I'm staring at the last few lines of Adah's letter as I sit on the steps of the servants' entrance. It's one of the first warm days of the season–still slightly brisk, but the sun is out and small green shoots are starting to break through the barren soil. A sparrow lands near my foot and hops jauntily around, looking for crumbs, its feathers ruffling with each puff of wind.
Breathing in the smell of damp earth, I groan softly and put my head in my hands.
Why haven't I written to her?
I could say it's because we've been busy, or because I didn't know what to write. But that would be a lie. The real reason is because of what happened. Christmas and after.
I don't want to think of that day, the one after Christmas, but my mind drifts back anyway...
I hadn't slept at all, no. After making sure that bastard got back to his room, I listened the whole night, making sure he didn't leave again. I laid awake with my heart pounding, playing everything over in my head—what had happened…what could have happened.
I should have stayed. I should have said something. Done something. Anything. But I hadn't, not really.
And so that morning I did the only thing I could think of.
Maybe if circumstances were different, I would have had to set the valet up some way—frame him for stealing or digging up dirt on him. But there wasn't time, and I couldn't risk her safety, or any of the other maids', a moment longer. So I went to the only person I knew would believe me and do something about it.
"My Lady?" I whispered, knocking softly at her bedroom door, my voice cracking with nerves. I was expecting her to answer.
But instead, Lord Welch opened the door.
I stumbled back, startled. I assumed they would sleep in different rooms, like most noble couples do.
He regarded me for a moment, eyes alight with confusion, and then concern.
"Is something wrong? Is it Anna?" His voice tightens, and a flicker of pain crosses his face.
"No, my Lord," I said quickly. "Only—I have a very urgent matter to discuss with Lady Welch. It's… it's important." I force my back straight, chin high, voice professional. Unshakable. I brace for suspicion. Dismissal. But he just nods.
"Of course. She's just getting dressed. You can speak in the library–I'll make sure you are not disturbed."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me more grateful than I knew how to say. He could have asked more questions–pried–but he didn't. For all his oddities, Lord Welch had the knack for doing the unexpected thing—usually the right thing. If he had thought I was out of line, I could have been dismissed. Easily.
Minutes later, I was sitting in the library on one of the plush, ornate couches, bouncing my knee nervously and wringing my hands. I kept wishing I could be back downstairs. I needed to see Laura. To know if she slept. If she was alright.
"Aleksi."
Lady Welch—Mistress Elena—glided into the room, her dark hair uncharacteristically undone, eyes heavy with worry.
"My Lady," I breathed, the relief clear in my voice, standing as she entered.
"Oh, sit down, boy. I've known you since you were in nappies," she said, waving formality off with a tired smile. "Whatever is the matter?"
"It's about the valet."
Her eyes narrowed instantly. She leaned forward, focused.
"Tell me everything."
---
So I did. Not everything—not the parts that involved Laura. Not the parts that kept me awake at night. But I told her enough. That I caught him creeping in the maids' quarters. That he had lingered too long outside of certain doors, tried the handles.
She didn't say a word as I spoke–only clutched her teacup tighter and tighter, her knuckles turning white.
She had him gone within the hour. Good thing, too, because a messenger arrived just after that, delivering the news of His Lordship's mother's passing. God knows what I might have done, forced to watch her go off with him.
I lean back a little, squinting against the sun. The clouds swirl above, occasionally blocking out the gentle light. I should feel victorious, I guess. I got him fired. I protected her. I did the right thing.
But it doesn't undo what happened. Or didn't.
I tried to speak to her before she left, to catch her eye, to say something. But she was too busy preparing, and I was too slow.
After they left, I sat down to write a letter. I thought it might be easier to put the words on paper. But each time I tried, I only got as far as "Dearest Laura."
And anyway… it's not like she wrote to me either.
The sparrow returns, pecking at a bit of dry earth near the steps. It's little body twitches and hops with the cold, but seems unbothered. Even the birds won't let me forget her. Or maybe they just know I don't want to.
I still think about that moment.
Telling her about it while she was in my arms.
I still think about her.
They come home today.
What will I say to her? Will she be happy to see me?
A small part of me wonders–or maybe hopes–that she'll be happy with me for getting him fired. But the unselfish part of me just hopes she's doing well.
I'm watching the little sparrow and thinking of nothing but Laura when I hear the yelling through the open door. They will be here any minute.
The whole staff stands in our uniforms by the front entrance. We will greet them, take their bags, and get them anything they need after a long journey. But that's not why my hands are shaking.
I still might not get to talk to her yet, but just the thought of seeing her has my heart pounding. My daydreams range from her giving me a warm smile, or a sad shake of the head, to running up and throwing her arms around me. The latter is, admittedly, far-fetched.
The carriage rolls up the drive and I try to take some deep breaths.
We all stand a little straighter, bracing for whatever is coming. I smile slightly.
Here we go.