Chapter 17
A Losing Battle (1)
The voice wasn’t quite a mutter, yet loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
Emily Everts froze mid-retort, her eyes wavering as if the words had struck a nerve.
“Did you investigate me or something? How shameless and rude. I’ll lodge a formal complaint with the ducal house.”
Would that get her thrown out? Anje exhaled in mild exasperation.
“Investigate you, my lady? Why would I waste money on something so pointless… ahem. No. Nothing of the sort. But someone like you—who ignores others and hears only what she wants—wouldn’t believe me anyway. Perhaps you’ve managed so far, but you’d best be careful from now on.”
The young ladies exchanged glances, reminded of the rumors that the Everts family’s fortune was not what it used to be.
Of course, Emily Everts, indifferent to household affairs, remained oblivious.
“Anje, was it?”
Grace Platt stepped forward, brushing aside the speechless Emily.
Anje’s expression soured. Grace smiled sweetly, but her aura radiated arrogance.
“Yes, my lady,” Anje answered meekly, unwilling to escalate things.
Grace’s smile deepened, pleased by Anje’s change of tone—unlike the dull-witted Emily, this servant knew how to read the room.
“So, His Grace noticed you for your remarkable abilities.”
“Uh… yes.”
Embarrassed, Anje scratched her cheek.
“You’ve only recently joined the duke’s household after living in Belph, correct?”
“That’s right.”
Grace nodded as if everything now made sense.
“I can understand your ignorance then. But stepping in when Lady Mariana herself remains silent was foolish. Listen carefully: Lady Crowe here is soon to be His Grace’s bride—the future Duchess. Mariana may bear the title of the duke’s daughter, but she can’t compare to the household’s future mistress, can she?”
Grace’s haughty gaze settled on Mariana.
“And… well, it’s hardly a secret, is it? Everyone knows Mariana was adopted from a collateral branch by the Dowager Duchess. Technically, that makes her barely a duke’s daughter—perhaps in a situation not so different from yours, Miss Anje.”
Grace hid a laugh behind her fan.
“Oh, forgive me, Mariana. You know I like you. Anyway, Miss Anje, whoever sent you, the true hostess here is Lady Crowe. So naturally the cake belongs to her.”
What a load of nonsense.
Anje’s eyes narrowed to sharp points, but before she could speak, Hildegarde slipped between the young ladies and moved to Anje’s side.
“That’s enough, everyone. She simply didn’t know. Isn’t that right? But her devotion to her mistress is admirable. Miss Anje, you may withdraw now. Please tell His Grace I’m very touched by the cake.”
“Perhaps His Grace was shy and used Mariana as an excuse to send it,” Grace chimed in, and the others eagerly agreed.
Anje glanced at Mariana.
From her perfect hair to the dawn-prepared gown, Mariana looked the most radiant of them all—yet her eyes were dull, her shoulders slumped in quiet resignation.
“Let’s all get along from now on,” Hildegarde said, patting Anje’s hand.
That had been Anje’s own intention before arriving—to get along with Hildegarde, even planning to write only favorable things about her in Joseph’s report.
“Oh my, I forgot to offer you tea,” Hildegarde said warmly, pouring a fragrant cup and setting a neatly sliced piece of cake before Anje.
Anje frowned at the silent invitation. Truly awkward.
“Lady Hildegarde, as I said, this cake was sent by His Grace for Lady Mariana. I know you’re to become Duchess, but my duty is to deliver his message precisely.”
She stepped back from the plate.
“Your kindness is appreciated, but I can’t possibly eat it.”
“Even with my permission?” Hildegarde’s eyes cooled. Anje retreated another step.
“Your permission doesn’t apply here. The cake belongs to Lady Mariana.”
Outwardly calm, Anje’s mind churned.
If she stirred up trouble and got dismissed, who would pay for the house repairs? Yet maybe this was the perfect chance to distance herself from both women.
While she debated, Grace’s chilling voice cut through the air.
“How insolent… Perhaps she grows bold because you treat her too kindly, Hildegarde. People like that need an example made of them—so it will be easier when you rule the household.”
Hildegarde stayed motionless, and Grace’s face hardened.
“Lady Mariana, the discipline in this ducal house is appalling. How are servants trained here? What is the Dowager Duchess—”
“Grace!”
Hildegarde’s sharp warning made Grace flinch. Even she knew mentioning the Dowager was crossing the line.
“Ahem. Regardless, this cannot be overlooked. Mariana is responsible for lax training. She should apologize.”
Anje’s mouth fell open.
She hadn’t done anything wrong, and even if she had, why should the blame fall on Lady Mariana—who’d barely uttered a word all afternoon?
“My lady, this is the Duke of Syde’s residence,” Anje said firmly.
Even a dog rules in its own home; yet these girls dared such behavior toward the duke’s daughter?
Anje strode forward, shielding Mariana.
“Do you mock Lady Mariana? Or do you take the ducal house lightly? Either way, it’s hardly wise.”
“Anje, stop,” Mariana whispered urgently, tugging her dress.
“Please… just stop.”
Perhaps she was right—what was a mere probationary aide doing challenging high-born ladies? If this escalated, the consequences could be severe.
But pity and righteous anger burned hotter than caution.
“Shouldn’t someone who truly respects the Dowager Duchess and His Grace be apologizing to Lady Mariana?”
The other young women began to murmur their own snide remarks.
Anje reached behind and clasped Mariana’s icy hand, startlingly cold for a warm greenhouse. She squeezed it gently, then sank to her knees.
She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong, but it was hers to resolve.
“If I’ve offended, I beg your—”
“Anje Beaufort!”
A sudden voice cut her off. Everyone turned toward the path leading to the tea garden.
“Your Grace? Why are you here?”
“I wondered why you hadn’t returned and found you here instead. Why on earth are you on the ground? Get up.”
The Duke of Syde, standing casually with a wry look, grasped Anje’s arm and hauled her to her feet.
“Ah—Your Grace?”
Noticing dirt on her skirt, he crouched and brushed it off himself.
“So careless.”
Around them, half the young ladies looked uneasy, aware of their guilt; the rest, serene and silent, simply admired the duke’s striking presence.
