"You're early," Lady Honoria said, her voice drifting down the grand staircase like cold mist curling over a crypt.
The woman below lifted a brow, her mouth tilting in a smile as subtle as it was mocking. "Forgive me for not measuring time by your standards, Lady Honoria."
A flicker of annoyance, fleeting but unmistakable, passed across Lady Honoria's face. Her fingers tensed slightly against the polished banister.
"You've come unannounced," she said coolly.
"I was summoned," the other replied, head tilting with poised defiance. "Ask your son if you doubt it."
Elowen stood frozen near the foyer wall, wishing she could disappear into the marble panels. Around her, the staff had slipped into silence, their movements stilled, their eyes darting between the two women like spectators at a duel. Even the footman with the oil lamp had stopped mid-step.
Lady Honoria descended the remaining stairs slowly, her hands clasped neatly in front of her like a well-rehearsed portrait. Her gown, a deep wine velvet, whispered secrets with every movement.
"And still you bring your silks and paints like a bride returning to her trousseau, when you're just a loose woman" she murmured.
The woman's eyes flashed with humor. "Oh, but I've never been a bride," she said smoothly. "Or are you scared I might become one?, lady Honoria? Or mother-in-law ?"
A low gasp rippled through the staff. Someone stifled a nervous cough.
Before Lady Honoria could summon a retort, a voice echoed above them—smooth, decisive.
"That's enough."
Every head turned upward.
Lord Aramis stood at the upper landing, a single gloved hand resting lightly on the banister. His expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet authority in the way he surveyed the room—as though nothing escaped him.
"Isolde was summoned," he said. His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried.
Honoria turned toward him, her features carefully schooled into placid disdain. "Then the house should have been better prepared," she said. "I trust she knows which wing to occupy."
"I've given her quarters already," he replied. "And authority. She answers to me."
Isolde—now named—smiled faintly and began ascending the stairs, her dark skirts trailing like spilled ink. The heels of her boots clicked with quiet finality against the marble.
Elowen exhaled softly, her fingers finally loosening their death grip on the silver tray.
"Miss Elowen."
She startled. The tray nearly slipped from her hands.
Lord Aramis had not moved. But his gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, was on her now.
"Yes, my Lord?" Her voice was too soft, nearly swallowed by the silence.
"You're reassigned," he said simply. "From now on, you answer to no one but me. My rooms, my tea, my documents. Understood?"
A hush fell over the staff.
Even Isolde paused mid-step, turning her head slightly as if annoyed.
Lady Honoria's gaze narrowed.
Elowen's pulse quickened. Her lips parted.
"Understood, my Lord."
He gave a single nod. "Crowhurst will adjust the rotas. Report to me after breakfast."
With that, he turned, his coat flaring faintly behind him as he disappeared down the west wing.
The moment shattered like glass. The hush became whispers.
Elowen stood, numb. Her skin prickled beneath the weight of a dozen stares.
"He chose you?" Ruth's voice drifted from behind, barely more than a breath.
"She's next," came another hushed reply. "Poor thing. First the witch in black, now the lamb."
Their words stung like nettles. Elowen clenched her jaw, turned, and walked away without a word.
The west corridor stretched in golden silence. She passed window after window until she reached the linen closet, slipped inside, and shut the door behind her.
Darkness.
For a moment, she just stood there. Her chest heaved with shallow, shaking breaths. Her heart was a drum against her ribs.
Not like that, she told herself. Not like them.
She pressed her palms together, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Lord, give me strength to serve without losing myself. Let me not fall to vanity or fear. Keep me clean. Keep me Yours."
The silence after her whispered prayer settled gently around her like gauze. Her heartbeat steadied.
She opened her eyes, wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, and straightened her spine.
Whatever came next, she would endure it. She would not become a shadow like the others.
She stepped into the light and closed the door behind her.