The clock chimed midnight as I moved through the darkened halls of the Beaumont estate, dismissing the last of the servants for the night. Baron Reginald had left suddenly hours ago, his destination unknown. As head butler, I, Jasper Hamilton, was left to maintain order in his absence—a burden that grew heavier each day.
"Jasper, a word?" Matteo, our overworked footman, approached with shoulders slumped from exhaustion.
"Make it quick," I replied, straightening my waistcoat. "It's been a long night."
"That's precisely my point." Matteo ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I've been doing the work of three men for weeks now. When are we hiring more staff? I can't keep serving guests, polishing silver, and tending the gardens all at once."
I sighed, feeling the weight of managing a household in decline. "We'll discuss staffing tomorrow. The Baron's finances are... complicated at present."
"You mean nonexistent," Matteo muttered.
"Mind your tongue," I snapped, though I couldn't argue with his assessment. "For now, prepare guest chambers for tomorrow. And send Clara Meadows to attend to Lady Isabella in the morning."
Matteo's eyebrows shot up. "Clara Meadows? The maid the Baron fired last month?"
"We're short-staffed, and she's desperate enough to return." I straightened a crooked painting on the wall—one of many small attempts to maintain the illusion of order in this crumbling house.
A hesitant voice sounded from the shadows. "Mr. Hamilton?"
Clara Meadows stepped forward, her thin frame nearly swallowed by the darkness. I'd summoned her earlier, knowing the Baron wouldn't notice or care about my rehiring decisions.
"Miss Meadows. Your duties begin at sunrise. You'll attend to Lady Isabella."
The young woman's face paled. "Lady Isabella? The masked one?"
I hardened my expression. "You'll address her properly as Lady Isabella Beaumont, and soon to be Duchess Thorne."
"But sir," Clara whispered, "the rumors about her... they say she's cursed. That looking upon her face brings bad fortune. If I'm associated with her—"
"Then you'll be working for the wife of the most powerful duke in the realm," I interrupted sharply. "A position many would kill for."
Clara wrung her hands. "The servants say she rarely speaks. That she lurks in shadows and hides her face because it's monstrous."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Would you prefer to attend to Lady Clara Beaumont instead? The one who threw your personal belongings into the mud and accused you of stealing her hairpins?"
Clara's eyes widened. "No, sir."
"I thought not." I smoothed my already immaculate cuffs. "Lady Isabella will be leaving for Duke Alaric's estate soon. This means you could potentially follow her there—doubling your wages and escaping the Beaumont household altogether."
Hope flickered in Clara's tired eyes. "Is that possible?"
"If you serve her well, yes." I didn't mention that Isabella would likely have no say in which servants accompanied her. The Duke's staff would make such decisions. But the girl needed motivation, and a half-truth served better than none.
"I'll do my best, sir," she conceded.
"That's all I ask. Now go rest. Morning comes early."
After Clara departed, I made my final rounds, checking locks and extinguishing lamps. Twenty years I'd served in this household, watching it slowly deteriorate under Baron Reginald's mismanagement. Twenty years of covering for his gambling debts, making excuses to creditors, stretching food stores to feed servants when wages went unpaid.
My shoulders ached as I climbed the servants' staircase. At forty-five, I was still strong, but the constant strain of maintaining appearances while the estate crumbled beneath us took its toll. Perhaps it was time to seek employment elsewhere. With my references, I could secure a position in any respectable household.
A shadow moved at the corner of my vision. I turned sharply, peering down the hallway.
"Who's there?" My voice echoed against the walls.
Silence answered. Likely just my tired mind playing tricks. I continued toward my small bedroom at the end of the hall, anticipating the simple comfort of my bed.
The door to my quarters stood slightly ajar.
I never left my door open.
Cautiously, I pushed it wider, the hinges creaking softly. A sliver of moonlight cut through my window, illuminating a figure seated on my bed.
"Lady Beatrix," I said, fighting to keep surprise from my voice. "This is... unexpected."
The Baron's wife gazed at me with calculated intensity, her silk dressing gown catching the moonlight. "Jasper," she purred. "I've been waiting."
I remained in the doorway, maintaining a proper distance. "It's quite late, my lady. Is there something you required?"
"Information." She crossed her legs slowly, deliberately. "Where has my husband gone tonight?"
"I couldn't say, my lady."
"But you do know," she countered, her smile sharpening. "Reginald tells you everything."
I clasped my hands behind my back. "The Baron's movements are his private affair."
"As head of this household in his absence, I have a right to know." Her voice hardened. "Especially when he leaves without explanation after that disastrous dinner."
"I apologize, but the Baron gave explicit instructions not to discuss his whereabouts."
Lady Beatrix rose from the bed in one fluid motion. "You've always been so dutiful, Jasper. So loyal." She moved closer, her perfume—too heavy, too sweet—filling the small room. "But loyalty to a sinking ship is foolishness, wouldn't you agree?"
I stepped back, but found myself against the wall. "My loyalty is to the Beaumont household, my lady."
"The Beaumont household," she repeated with a bitter laugh. "A crumbling mansion with empty coffers. How much longer do you think it will stand? How much longer will your loyalty put food on your table?"
Her assessment hit uncomfortably close to my earlier thoughts.
"I need to know everything Reginald does," she continued, reaching out to straighten my already straight collar. "Every conversation, every letter, every midnight excursion. I cannot protect my interests otherwise."
"Your interests, my lady?"
"Our interests," she corrected, her fingers lingering against my neck. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed the estate's decline. Soon there will be nothing left."
I kept my expression neutral. "If you're concerned about household finances, perhaps speaking directly with the Baron—"
"He doesn't listen to me," she snapped, mask of seduction slipping momentarily. "He gambles away our future while that masked step-daughter of mine steals a duke from under our noses."
"Lady Isabella's marriage was arranged quite suddenly," I offered carefully.
"Too suddenly." Lady Beatrix's eyes narrowed. "Clara should have been the one to make such a match. And now Reginald sneaks away in the night without a word." Her hand pressed against my chest. "Where did he go, Jasper? Who is he meeting?"
I remained silent.
Her frustration flickered across her face before smoothing into something more calculating. She moved to the small vase on my bedside table—the only decoration in my sparse quarters—and caressed the single flower I'd placed there that morning.
"Do you know what happens to servants who refuse their mistress?" she asked softly.
"I serve the Baron, my lady."
"And the Baron serves me," she countered, though we both knew that was false. "I grow bored here, Jasper. I need diversions. New experiences." Her fingers plucked the flower from the vase, twirling it between her fingers. "You're young. Relatively speaking. Fresh."
I stiffened as she approached again, dropping the flower to the floor and crushing it beneath her slipper.
"My lady, this is highly inappropriate."
"Is it?" Her hand moved to the string of her dressing gown, fingers playing with the knot. "I find that propriety becomes tiresome in a dying household. Don't you?"
My mouth went dry as her meaning became unmistakable. Lady Beatrix had always been beautiful in a cold, calculating way. But her beauty was a weapon, one she wielded without conscience.
"I can make things very comfortable for you, Jasper," she murmured, the silk of her gown loosening slightly. "Or very uncomfortable. The choice is yours."
The implications hung heavy in the air between us. If I refused her advances, I would likely find myself dismissed without references. If I accepted, I would become entangled in her schemes—a puppet to be manipulated and eventually discarded.
And if the Baron ever discovered such an arrangement...
"Well?" Lady Beatrix's hand tugged at her gown's tie, the fabric parting to reveal the curve of her décolletage. "What will it be? Your loyalty to a gambling fool who doesn't appreciate you? Or a new alliance with someone who can reward your... services?"
Her smile promised both pleasure and danger, the predatory gleam in her eyes making it clear which of us would hold the power.
I swallowed hard, caught in an impossible position between duty and survival, morality and necessity. Twenty years of service had led me to this moment—trapped in my own quarters with a woman who could destroy me either way I answered.
Lady Beatrix's fingers released the knot entirely, her gown slipping further open as she waited for my response.