The dust from Eric’s departure hadn't even settled before the Dowager’s first move began.
At midday, Dowager Duchess Bianca turned to her head maid, a woman named Martha who had been the shadow of House Brant for three decades. “Go and fetch her. Tell her I desire her company for tea in the winter garden.”
Martha offered a thin, ominous smile. She’d been waiting for this moment. She’d spent years watching Cornelia’s "pathetic" attempts to win over the family, and she relished the thought of delivering the invitation that would lead to the Princess's final downfall.
She reached the residential wing and raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could touch the wood. Randon stood there, his back straight and his new head butler’s uniform impeccable.
“What is it, Martha?” he asked, his voice cool and laced with a new, authoritative edge.
Martha’s lip curled. She’d always despised Randon. To her, he was nothing more than a "fallen noble" parasite—a man with a title but no land, who had wormed his way into a position that should have gone to her own son, Robin.
“The Dowager Duchess requests the Duchess’s presence for tea,” Martha said, not bothering to hide the venom in her tone.
Randon didn't move. He looked at her as if she were a smudge on the floor. “Repeat that.”
Martha blinked. “I said, the Dowager Duchess—”
“Again.”
“What is wrong with you?” Martha hissed, her face reddening. “I have a direct order from the mistress of this house.”
Randon smiled, a cold, predatory expression that didn't reach his eyes. “I am the Head Butler of this manor, Martha. You are a personal servant of the annex. In this wing, you are under my jurisdiction. And you will address me—and the invitation—with the proper respect.”
Martha’s blood boiled. She remembered Randon’s mother, a woman who had bowed to her in the hallways. To see the son acting with such arrogance was a bitter pill to swallow. But she knew that if she failed to deliver Cornelia, Bianca would have her head.
“My apologies, *Sir*,” Martha spat, dropping into a stiff, shallow curtsy. “The Dowager Duchess humbly requests that Her Highness the Duchess join her for tea in the winter garden at noon.”
“Better,” Randon said. “Wait here. I will ascertain if the Duchess is inclined to accept.”
He stepped back into the room and closed the door in her face. Martha stood in the hallway, her hands shaking with rage. *Enjoy your little game while it lasts, you bastard,* she thought. *Once the Duchess is gone, you’ll be back in the gutter where you belong.*
Inside the room, Randon turned to me with a faint, satisfied smile.
“I have delivered the message, my lady. Martha is currently fuming in the hallway.”
I laughed softly. “How did it feel, Randon? Seeing her flustered?”
Randon looked at me, his expression softening into something like genuine gratitude. “It was... enlightening. I spent years fearing her influence, forgetting that I am the one who holds the keys to this house. Thank you, my lady.”
“You’ve earned it,” I said. “Now, go back out and tell her I accept—on one condition. I have already invited a guest of my own for the afternoon. If the Dowager permits, my guest will be joining us.”
***
When Martha returned to the annex with the news, Bianca nearly dropped her teacup.
“A guest? Who could she possibly have invited?”
Martha shook her head, her face pale. “I didn't ask, madam. Randon was... difficult.”
Bianca’s hand shot out, catching Martha across the cheek. The crack echoed in the small room. “You fool! You’re supposed to be my eyes in that wing! Go back and find out who it is!”
Martha clutched her stinging face, her eyes burning with a dark, suppressed resentment. She’d served this woman for thirty years, and she was still treated like a common stable hand. She looked toward the door, where her son, Robin, was standing guard. She saw the way his jaw tightened as he watched his mother be struck, and she felt a new, dangerous seed of rebellion take root in her heart.
A knock at the door interrupted the tension.
“Madam,” Robin announced, his voice stiff. “Lady Madeleine Arguin has arrived at the gate. She says she has been invited by the Duchess for tea.”
Bianca froze. “Madeleine? But... she was banned from the manor. I told her to stay out of sight until the ruby scandal died down.”
A slow, wicked laugh escaped the Dowager’s lips. She looked at Martha, her eyes shining with a frantic, unhinged glee.
“Oh, Cornelia... you really are a fool,” Bianca whispered. “You’ve invited the very woman I’m using to destroy you. You’ve brought the fox into the henhouse and called it a tea party.”
She turned to Martha, gesturing for her to fix her hair. “Tell the Duchess we accept. We shall have a very... interesting... afternoon. And make sure the 'special' tea is prepared. The one from the red bottle.”
Martha bowed low, her face in shadow. “As you wish, Grand Madam.”