There was a moment of hesitation when she approached the breakfast room that following morning. The two servants that stood by the door greeted her with a courteous nod of the head–clearly they had not been told she was nothing more than a servant herself. She lifted her hand as they moved to open the double doors, requiring a moment to prepare herself to face Mr Jones.
Last night's events had easily coloured her dreams in shades of sinful actions and lustful thoughts. And as such, she feared that any glance between them would send her into a fit of giggles, if not excessive blushing–and she dreaded the idea.
Early morning light seeped brightly through the ajar door out into the dark hallway. Voices came along with it. Two, specifically: Lady Belle's and Mr Jones'.
"In any case," Lady Belle continued a sentence that Emma had not heard. "You did not tell me she was literate, Killian."
A scoff came, followed by Mr Jones' rough early morning voice. "I see no reason why I had to tell you." He sounded tired still, perhaps he had only slept a few hours before Grace woke him up. Grace did have a tendency to wake early, even if she was allowed to sleep late.
"Or that she knew French?" Lady Belle added.
"I did not know."
"Do you even know her at all?" Belle teased.
Emma nodded at the servants, silently asking them to open the door. "I know –" Mr Jones quit his sentence quickly as he laid eyes on her, greeting her with a curt nod of his head. Grace excitedly patted on the empty chair next to her as soon as she noticed Emma walk into the breakfast room.
"Not as much as you would like to?" Lady Belle smirked, reaching for a steaming cup of coffee by her plate.
"Good morning," Emma spoke softly, taking a small curtsy before sitting down.
"Good morning," Lady Belle said over her cup. "We were just talking about you."
"You were talking about me?" Emma frowned, not understanding why she would blatantly admit to gossiping. But Emma could not quite bring herself to look at Lady Belle yet. What truly had her attention was the grand room. There a large table fit for twenty people, though currently only set for four, in the middle of it. It was not empty, however, luxurious flowers in elaborate bouquets dressed the long table. Impressive paintings hung on the wall, but the most impressive had to have been the ceiling. A stunning scene of angels in the heaven sky and a tall chandelier just above the table.
Finally tearing her eyes from the ceiling, her gaze landed upon Mr Jones. He looked at her with an amused glance, and then arched an eyebrow when she stared at him for just a bit too long. He did not seem as affected by her as she was by him after last night, and it hurt her more than she liked to admit.
"Yes. Though it was nothing of importance, I simply marvelled at the matter of your literacy. I certainly mean no offence. Coffee?"
"None taken," Emma answered. "And yes, please."
"We have decided will be going for a ride later today," Lady Belle informed her whilst gesturing for the servant holding a coffeepot to come closer. "Would you care to join us?"
"I've never sat on a horse before, I hope you do not mind if I sit this one out." Emma chuckled, silently thanking the servant for the coffee. "Perhaps you might show me your library before you leave? I am certain I would be able to keep myself busy during your absence."
"Of course," Lady Belle nodded.
After breakfast Emma followed Lady Belle through the hallways, walking into the enormous library. Emma was not certain where to look first, there were more books than she could count; so many that a ladder was needed to reach the highest shelves. And in the back was a wooden, spiral staircase that led to a second level of books. Near the left side of the room stood a few desks, each equipped with pens and papers, perhaps for guests to write to their loved ones during their stay at Lady Belle's estate.
And on the right side stood four chaises and sofa's arranged so that each of them were facing the giant fireplace.
The sun poured through the ceiling high windows, illuminating the thousands of dust speckles that floated through the room, its rays of heat leaving the room nicely warm.
Emma felt as though she was still dreaming. Never had she ever seen this many books in one room.
"My husband had it made for me." Belle said, tracing her fingers over the spines of her books. "I do not know what this room was before, he never told me, quite frankly I do not care; I like what it is now."
"Your husband?" Emma questioned, having noticed the lack of ring on her finger.
"It was an arranged marriage, that did not work out as well as they had hoped," She explained carelessly. "It matters not, he is rarely home anyway, off to God knows where making deals of sorts."
"Do you not long for love?" Emma asked, taking a book in her hands and carefully examining it. "I apologise, I do not mean to be so forward."
"She simply cannot help it, really," Mr Jones' voice sounded. Both women looked up to find Lord Jones entering the library with a grin playing around his lips.
"Casse-toi," Belle warned before turning back to Emma. "I do have love. Though I do not see her as much as I would prefer. But that might change now, Killian?"
Emma quickly hid her surprise as Lady Belle made mention of a woman instead of a man. Emma knew many people considered it scandalous, but Mr Jones was clearly not one of them. He simply brushed off the accusations thrown his way and shrugged. "You know she has my permission to come here whenever she pleases, Lady Belle," He said. "In any event, I came to fetch you, we are ready to take our leave."
"Of course. Emma, should you require anything, please do not hesitate to ask the servants, they will be more than happy to assist you, most of them speak a fair amount of English."
Lady Belle's library contained books from all over the world, certain ones in languages even Mr Jones did not speak.
After browsing for what felt like ages, hoping to have noticed almost every title in the room, she settled on a title she was certain was not in Mr Jones' collection, and took a spot on the wide windowsill that had been made comfortable with pillows and a blanket.
Before long evening fell and Mr Jones, Grace and Belle returned home just in time for supper. Emma had been so captivated in her book she had not noticed how night had fallen around her, the fireplace having been lit without her even realising someone had been in the library to do so, the tea that a servant had brought her long gone cold, but her book not nearly finished.
Lady Belle told her she would be allowed to keep the book until she finished it, even if that meant taking it home to England.
After dinner the four of them sat in the drawing room, Emma and Lady Belle with the company of a book, and Grace sat with her father by the piano. He played a few notes for her whereupon she tried to mimic them. However, his patience with her was often met with a frustrated clash of notes–and a chuckle on Emma's part.
It was not until Mr Jones started playing a soft lullaby, and Grace easily fell asleep with her head against her father's arm that Lady Belle suggested they all turn in for the night. Emma agreed, but she could hardly put the book down, it was exciting and well-written, and she wanted to finish it as quickly as possible. So she brought it with her to her room where she read until her eyes fell closed, scarcely managing to close the book, put it away and lying down before she fell asleep with the book on top of her.
It felt as though she had only just fallen asleep when a soft knock on her door came leaving her to suppress a groan, dreading the idea that morning had come already, but opening her eyes revealed her room was still veiled in darkness.
"Yes?" She mumbled tiredly. The door slowly opened, and in the candlelight she was holding Emma could just make out Grace's features. "What's wrong darling?"
"I had a nightmare."
"Come here," Emma whispered. At home, Emma would walk her to the kitchen and prepare a warm milk for her, but truth be told, Emma hadn't had a single clue as to where the kitchen was in this estate. Downstairs, likely, but she was not about to open every door until she found the kitchen, so she invited Grace to sleep next to her, with a promise of chasing the bad dreams away if they dared come near her again.
Her sleep was once more cut short when Emma flinched awake for the second time that night as her door abruptly opened without so much as a knock. This time she truly hoped she had barely slept an hour since Grace crawled into her bed and woke her. "Emma have you seen Grace?"
She recognised the voice as Mr Jones' and lied back down, closing her eyes as she yawned. "What time is it?" Emma asked, hopeful that she still had at least a few hours to sleep. Though in the brief moment she had opened her eyes, she had not seen any light, apart from the candle he was holding.
"I had a nightmare father," Grace spoke up with a thick voice.
"Why did you not come to me?"
Grace remained silent, either having fallen back asleep, or not entirely certain which answer to give. Because it she always came to Emma after a nightmare or because she was not entirely certain her father would allow her to stay.
"Are you all right, Milord?" Emma asked, looking over her shoulder briefly as she brushed her hands through Grace's hair.
"Yes," He replied shortly, and then finally, as if he had been holding his breath all this time, he took a deep breath and released it just as quickly. "It would appear nightmares were a common thing tonight. Goodnight," He whispered before closing the door after a moment of silence.
Minutes passed, but she never heard the door of the room next to hers close. So she rose from the bed, taking the blanket she had discarded last night from the floor and wrapped it around herself and quietly slipped out of the room. Mr Jones' bedroom door was opened, still. But a quick glance inside revealed the bed was empty.
The stone floor was cold against her bare feet as she padded through the empty corridors of the estate. She found the door of the library ajar, and candlelight poured in a gently flickering stream out in the hallway.
Mr Jones sat behind a desk with his back facing the door, his pen hastily scratching over the paper in front of him.
"Milord?" Emma whispered. He quickly dropped the pen and turned the paper around. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, go back to sleep," He said softly, but he did not look up. So she closed the door behind her and stepped inside, taking the chair from the desk next to his and placing it down so that she could sit closely next to him. "Always disobeying my orders," He shook his head, but a smile appeared on his lips anyway.
"What is troubling you, Milord?" She questioned as she sat down, pulling her legs up in the chair as well. He looked at her for a moment, his hand hovered over the paper he had been writing. He appeared to be debating whether or not to let her read the words he'd written down, but that would be a first, and he was clearly not ready for it. He did not want to give her access to his troubled mind. Not yet at least. "Are you still writing letters to the one you trust most?"
"Yes," He answered. "I have written quite a number already."
"What do you do with them?"
"Do you intend to find them and read them?"
"No, Milord, of course not. I am simply wondering whether you write them to get your thoughts in order and then throw them away, or if you keep them, perhaps for this person to read later."
"I have kept most of them," Mr Jones replied, fiddling with the corner of the paper. In the small streaks of ink she could just make out today's date. "But I do not think I will let her read them. Maybe at a later time, when I have explained myself properly and I know she will not be angry with me for all the things I have done and the things I have said to her."
Emma smiled at him. "I am certain Grace has already forgiven you, Milord. She did not need a lot of persuasion."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Go back to bed, Miss Emma."
"Will you be all right?"
"Yes," He said. It was not a lie, but whatever troubled him still, he did not wish to talk about it. Emma nodded, rising to her feet and laying her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. He sighed deeply at her touch and sat back in his chair as he rubbed his hands over his tired face.
"If you need me…" She trailed off when he took her hand into his.
"I will find you," He promised, kissing her knuckles softly. "Sleep well, love."
"Goodnight, Milord."
They remained in Lady Belle's estate for a few more days, before setting the date of their departure as the end of the week. Lady Belle entertained them for the most part, touring them through the city, hosting a small game tournament. The days she took Grace and Mr Jones for a ride, Emma remained at the estate and tarried in the library until evening fell and the company returned.
Breakfast on the morning of their departure had been a simple affair, Mr Jones informed her that Grace had convinced Lady Belle to go for one last ride before they returned home tonight, and they had already left, so today it would be just the two of them. When Emma asked him if he had anything planned for the day, he merely smiled and said it would be a surprise.
Before long, they found themselves in a carriage to a–for Emma–unknown destination, with Mr Jones refusing to say a single word each time she tried to have a guess at what they would be doing. It had nothing to do with horses, they would not be visiting the capital, they were not visiting a friend, nor were they buying a gift for Grace–or anyone else.
When Emma sighed and muttered something about giving up, Mr Jones gave her one of his warm chuckles and said something about patience still not being one of her virtues. She stubbornly crossed her arms and looked away from him, much to his amusement.
"We are almost there," He promised. "In fact," He glanced at his pocket watch and then outside, where for a moment nothing but trees could be seen. "I believe we are driving onto its driveway right now."
Once the tree-line stopped, it revealed an incredible building that stretched for as far as she could currently see. The building was gorgeous, though parts of it lay in rubble. The carriage drove through what once had been a quite impressive golden gate and pulled to a halt where a man dressed in elaborate and luxurious clothes stood waiting.
Mr Jones stepped out of the carriage once the coachman opened the door.
"The palace?" Emma asked in a low whisper, accepting Mr Jones' hand as he held it out for her.
He grinned and raised his eyebrows playfully, "You wanted to see the gardens, did you not?"
"Monsieur Jones, Lady Emma," The man greeted with a heavy French accent.
"Monsieur Humbert," Mr Jones shook the hand of the man as Emma made a courteous curtsy. "You are certain this is not an issue?"
"Non," He gestured for them to follow. "As long as you stay in the gardens there should not be any problem." They followed him past the impressive walls of the palace into its endless gardens where the man bid them farewell.
Mr Jones explained that after the Revolution the palace had been partly destroyed and its next occupant left it mostly vacant. Only now, they made an attempt and rebuilding what was lost and replanting the gardens that were ruined.
He told her that he had never been to the palace either until a few days ago, but he offered her his arm as they walked and shared the little knowledge he had about the palace and the gardens with her.
After hours of strolling through the endless gardens, by countless of statues and numerous fountains they decided the time came for their return.
Not many words has been spoken during the hours that had flown by, but when they were, Emma noticed there was a certain ease between them. They were not limited to society's standard small talk, nor the unease that should have been felt when a man and woman were left alone without another person in the room. Their conversation easily flowed from talk of art and statues to Grace, even to home, or silly things like a favourite meal. Emma realised she had been in his household for so long and never came to learn what that was exactly. He did not necessarily have one, but he quite appreciated the French cuisine. And his favourite dessert had to have been the apple pie Emma had once made–the comment had made her smile and promise she would make it again some time.
Upon their return in the direction of the palace Emma pulled to a halt as she noticed a pathway they had not yet seen, a series of archways and a statue in the middle piquing her interest.
A shared glance and a nod was all permission she needed to make one final stop before they would leave the gardens. Emma stared up at the tall statue, not necessarily staring at the artwork itself, but the way it was crafted from the marble. Though it was made from stone there weren't any rough edges, and each piece of fabric seemed as smooth as the real thing. Before visiting the Palace, she had never truly seen artwork like this before. She had seen a fair share of paintings. But she had never been in a place so far above her class that it could afford marble statues.
She thought of how the art would endure time, and perhaps in two hundred years, it might still be in its exact same spot for others to stand where she stood and marvel at the statue as she had done before them.
"L'Enlèvement de Proserpina par Pluton," Mr Jones spoke softly, his voice behind her almost startling her, she had nearly forgotten he was with her.
"Sorry?"
"The Rape of Persephone by Pluto. Naturally, they translated it into something gruesome. The artist could have also meant abduction. Not that, following the myth, it would be any less gruesome."
"Oh," Emma mumbled, looking behind her to find him looking at the statue as well. As the first drop of rain fell, he tore his gaze away from the art and sighed.
"We really ought to go back lest we both get ill," He mumbled, but the few droplets almost instantly became pouring rain and they quickly realised they would never make it to the palace before becoming soaking wet. So, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along to find shelter, finding it in the form of the trees around the Colonnade.
The thick trees offered protection from the rain, but not the cold wind that came along with it. As she watched the rain clatter against the ground, Emma wrapped her arms around herself in a poor attempt to keep herself from shivering. But her cold fingers against her wet, bare arms did not help her cause.
She paced around for a few steps until she turned back around again and Mr Jones stood right in front of her, his coat already taken off and held up towards her, so that all she needed to do was turn her back to him and slip into its warmth.
Instead she stared at him.
"You are cold," He stated matter-of-factly when she frowned and refused to move.
"So will you be, if you lend me your coat."
"I will be fine, I am wearing more layers than you are. Please accept my offer."
"Very well," Emma answered stubbornly, but once she turned around and let him help her into the warmth of his coat, she was very grateful she accepted the offer. "Thank you," She muttered.
He gave her a small nod but remained silent.
It did not last long before she noticed that he was getting colder as well. He would not be so bland as to outright hug himself, but he stood with feigned nonchalance with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tensed, his lips slowly turning purple.
Emma stepped forward, but he did not back away from her, not even when she tentatively reached out for him. He merely watched her with intense curiosity–and a slight shiver. She took one more step until she stood against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head into the warmth of his neck.
For a moment that seemed to last excruciatingly long, he stood with his hands in his pockets and did not move at all. When he did finally move, Emma found herself holding her breath, uncertain as to what he would do. Would he push her away or –
But then he removed his hands from his pockets and laid them around her, immediately engulfing her in his warmth. And then he sighed deeply as though he had been holding his breath for the entirety of her holding him and she found herself finally exhaling as well. Emma felt her heart drum strongly in her chest, the thrill of him holding her–the realisation that anyone could see them in such a scandalous position.
She felt his cheek gently laying against her temple, a sigh escaping him. His fingertips pressed softly into her skin as though he was afraid she would slip through his fingers, or step away from him too soon.
Emma closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain falling around them. With each passing moment feeling more and more like wrapped up in his arms was the place she belonged more than anywhere else in the world.
Truthfully, she had no notion of how much time had passed since she stepped into his embrace, but when the rain stopped and rays of sun started seeping through the leaves once more, she knew it had not been enough.
"The rain has stopped," Emma said quietly. He gave a soft murmur in response but did not release her. Emma chuckled softly and looked up to meet his gaze–his face far closer than expected. How easily she could simply inch a bit closer and close that gap between them. But she didn't, she looked away from him instead, averting eyes to the place where she had buried her neck only moments ago, and where she could gladly return to for a few more hours. "Much as I do not wish to release you either, Sir," She whispered, still not having found her voice to speak up any louder than a mere murmur. "We leave in however many hours, and I would like time to change into a gown that is not as wet as this one."
"As milady desires," He answered.
"I am sleepy, Emma," Grace mumbled, shifting in her spot for the nth time in a few short minutes. "Are we home yet?"
"No darling, not for a few more hours," Emma answered and looked up from the book Lady Belle had gifted her to accompany her on the journey home. Though the book was quite pleasing, Emma's thoughts were elsewhere entirely. Her thoughts kept dwelling back to the conversation with Lady Belle just before they left, when she pulled Emma into a hug and whispered words for her ears only.
"You take care of him, all right?" She'd spoken in her French accent.
"I will. If he lets me," Emma had promised with a chuckle.
"Ah," Belle had smiled and tilted her head slightly. "But you truly have no idea, do you?"
"Of what?"
"Of the effect you have on him," Lady Belle had told Emma and squeezed her hand gently. "Having you in his life it changed him for the better. Thank you."
As Lady Belle stepped away from her to hand Mr Jones a blue velvet pouch–the sound of coins a giveaway as to what the pouch contained–Emma was reminded of the time Ruby had said nearly the same thing.
Over the course of her stay with him, Emma had affected Mr Jones. Whether either of them had realised it or not, it happened, and Emma was slowly beginning to understand that now.
But he had affected her as well.
And it were those thoughts exactly that kept her from fully enjoying the book on her lap at this very moment.
"Why don't you lie down with your head upon my lap?" Emma suggested as she soothingly brushed her hand through Grace's hair.
"That is not very comfortable," Grace complained.
"Well, what do you wish for me to do?"
"I do not know," Grace snapped. Emma knew Grace was not angry with her, she was merely frustrated from the long ride, and the hours she had been cooped up in this carriage, and previously the ship. Through the trip to France had been wonderful, making the long trip with a child as young as Grace could be quite tiring.
Mr Jones looked up from his papers. "Grace," He warned.
"I apologise, Emma."
"It is quite all right. But surely you must understand that there is not much else I can do."
"Can you not sit next to father so I will have this seat for myself and lie down?" Grace questioned.
"It would not be very appropriate," Emma spoke, not daring to look at Mr Jones, lest her cheeks get even more red.
"I don't understand," Grace sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "Why not?"
"For Emma is not my relative nor my wife, it would be against etiquette," Mr Jones spoke, his voice was stern, yet slightly weary. The long journey was taking a toll on all of them. And Emma knew that if Grace would not accept his reasons for not wanting to sit next to her, he would give in eventually, just to silence his daughter. But Emma also knew that Grace did not quit easily, especially when she was grumpy.
"You have done many things that are improper," Grace said, raising a tired yet challenging eyebrow.
"Have we?"
"You spend time with each other, alone, you touch each other all the time, you–"
"Fine!" Mr Jones interrupted his daughter. "Take my bloody seat already." He gathered his papers from the spot next to him and held them to his chest as he exchanged seats with Grace. He sat down next to Emma with a tired, exasperated sigh and watched his daughter as she lay down with a contented smile on the seat across them.
Before long, Emma grew tired as well. Her eyes falling shut as she attempted to read the same line for the fifth time, and still not being quite certain what was written down.
She laid her head against the side of the carriage, shifting uncomfortably in her seat once or twice while trying to ignore the constant hitting of her head against the carriage.
Emma rubbed her hands over her face and stifled a yawn as she sat back straight again upon realising she was not going to find a comfortable sleeping position any time soon.
"Come here," Mr Jones whispered almost inaudibly. Looking at him revealed he'd sat with his back against the carriage inviting her to lean against him. Whether she was truly too tired to fight him over it, or her reasons for agreeing without complaint being something else entirely, she leant her back against his chest without him having to insist.
Still, it took them a moment before they'd found a position that was comfortable for the both of them.
But as she slowly fell asleep, she felt his fingers slowly rake through her hair, sometimes taking a curl and twisting it around his finger before falling into a peaceful slumber.
"Emma, wake up darling."
Slowly, she opened her eyes, realising her head rested against his shoulder, her face somewhat buried in the warmth of his neck. "What is wrong?" She mumbled softly, trying to keep her eyes from falling shut once more.
"Nothing, we are home," He explained in a gentle whisper. "Let me help you out of the carriage so you can go to bed."
"What of Grace?"
He smiled at her as she finally managed to pull herself away from his chest and sit up. "I will tuck her in, you may go to bed." Emma watched him through tired eyes as he stepped out of the carriage offering her his hand. Emma nodded, slipping her hand into his and lifting her skirt just the smallest bit to step out of the carriage, only to have her tired legs give out on her and fall right into his arms.
"Lucky I caught you," Mr Jones smirked. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, Milord," She replied, her hands tight around his bicep, dazed by the proximity of his face. "Sorry, Milord."
"Quit apologising. Especially when you have given me an excuse to touch you," He answered as he lifted his hand to skim his fingers over her cheek, the briefest touch of his gentle hands before they wove into her hair.
Emma gasped softly when he backed her up against the carriage. "I did not realise you needed an excuse."
"Darling," He grinned, his voice low and husky. "Who do you take me for?"
"If you wanted an excuse, all you had to do was ask."
"Is that so?" He murmured as he leant closer, bringing his fingers underneath her chin, tenderly lifting it. "Should I still ask?"
"No," Emma breathed, her hands reaching for the lapels of his coat. "You should not."
"Good," He replied, his mouth so close that she could almost feel his lips brush against hers. "Emma."
"Yes?"
"Wake up, darling." She awoke with a gasp, pulling away from him almost instantly. "Easy, you're all right." He said as he reached out for her, brushing the wayward locks from her face. "Nightmare?"
"No," Emma answered, unable to look at him. Instead looking at Grace who still laid on the seat across from them, sleeping soundly underneath her father's coat. "Are we home?"
"Yes," Mr Jones answered, opening the door to the carriage and stepping out. "You may go to bed, if you like."
"But Grace –"
"Do not worry about her, I will bring her to bed," He extended his hand to help her out of the carriage. "Go to bed, you are tired."
"Yes, Milord," Emma answered, carefully accepting his offered hand and lifting her skirt to exit the carriage as gracefully as possible. It occurred to her that things were happening just as they did in her dream. Though there was warmth in his touch, and kindness in his smile, and things did not seem as dreamlike as they had before. With her thoughts occupied by her previous dream, and not with the act of getting out of the carriage, she quickly found herself with his arms around her, her fingers digging into his biceps to steady herself.
"Lucky I caught you," He grinned, looking at her intently. "Are you all right?"
"I–" She released her grip on him immediately and stepped out of his grasp. "Goodnight, Milord." Emma curtsied more out of habit than formality, but refused to look at him as she walked away from him and made for her room.
Emma hadn't realised just how much time had passed in which she sat with her back against the door, her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead resting onto her knees, trying to calm her frantically beating heart, until a soft knock on her door came and startled her.
"Miss Emma?" Mr Jones' worried voice sounded softly. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Emma answered promptly, then quickly adding, "Milord."
"Are you lying to force me to leave, Miss Emma?" He lightly teased, but the worry was still clearly present.
"Yes, Milord."
"Very well, I merely came to ask if perhaps you wanted to have tea with me in the Grand Salon," He spoke almost shyly.
Emma bit her lip, leaning her head against the door. A trembling sigh escaped her as she stared up at the ceiling.
"I am very tired, Milord. Perhaps another time."
"Of course," Mr Jones said. Emma tried her hardest to ignore the disappointment in his voice, but it was too obvious, and her traitorous heart leapt at it. There was a soft bump at the door, as though he leant his hand against it – or perhaps his head. "Goodnight," He whispered.
"Goodnight," Emma mumbled, so silently that she wondered if he had even heard it. But a brief moment later the door of the servant's hallway opened and closed. And she knew he was gone and it did not matter anymore.
AN:
Woop, as promised, an update within two weeks! Unfortunately I cannot promise that my next one will be here just as fast, but I will promise I won't make you wait three months for it again :P
I hope you like this chapter, as I mentioned before it might not have been as historically accurate as I liked, but I found not everyone minded as much. Also, I admit that after I split this chapter, I realised this was my favourite part, so I'm pretty happy with this chapter!
Thank you for sticking with me, thank you for your kind words, thank you for talking about this fic on twitter, on tumblr - seriously those people who come to me to yell at me for certain parts of a chapter are amazing! Y'all are the best ❤.
And Happy Once Day!