Chapter 12

Viscount Garrett was utterly smitten with Freya. During their days at Baker Manor, they were inseparable—riding, picnicking, attending parties, hunting. The gentleman past his fifties seemed to have regained his youth. Soon, he proposed to Freya. At a dinner party, he publicly asked for her hand and sought Viscount Lloyd’s approval.

Freya shyly nodded in agreement, and Viscount Lloyd immediately applauded in congratulations. Garrett acted exceedingly generous, indifferent to the meager dowry Lloyd offered for Freya’s hand. Instead, he proactively paid a hefty bride price, making it seem as though he was purchasing a woman at a high cost. Yet, no one could deny that Freya’s beauty warranted such extravagance—at least someone was willing to splurge for her.

Viscount Lloyd was frantic with impatience, eager to marry Freya off as soon as possible, even if the groom was the older Garrett. This marriage would bring him a much-needed sum of cash to cover his financial deficits. Everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly, with only Freya’s wedding left to finalize.

However, the housekeeper Rachelia grew increasingly uneasy, especially when she overheard Freya arguing with the viscountess about the dowry.

“I had almost no dowry when I married. Can’t I even bring a few servants?” Freya argued righteously, her tone tinged with grievance.

“You can bring anyone, but why insist on male servants? What lady brings male attendants when she marries?” The viscountess couldn’t comprehend her daughter’s unreasonable demand at all.

“I’m used to these male servants. The groom takes care of my favorite horse—if he’s replaced, what will happen to my horse? And there’s the cook who makes Eastern noodles, and Bayou—I won’t drink coffee brewed by anyone else.” She stood her ground.

“No means no,” the viscountess coldly refused.

“I’ve already discussed it with Garrett, and he agreed. Why won’t you?” Freya grew agitated.

“We’ll talk after you’re married. Not now,” the viscountess remained unyielding.

Freya had no choice but to leave in frustration. At this, Lauren softly said, “Mom, sister just wants to bring a few servants. Let her.”

The viscountess shot Lauren a glare. “No. Stay out of this.”

Rebuffed harshly, Freya stormed off and slammed the door shut.

As Christmas approached, Rhodes and I received a new pair of gloves from the butler, who specially reminded us to mind our appearances, especially during this sensitive time. This year’s Christmas ball at Baker Manor was meticulously prepared, primarily for the noble and wealthy Viscount Garrett. They aimed to send a message to the surrounding high society through this grand event: the two families were about to unite in marriage.

Baker Manor became unusually busy—even the grooms had no time to smoke. They were occupied hauling cartloads of firewood from outside to ensure the fireplaces burned brightly during the ball. Rhodes and I spent our days hauling logs outside the castle, getting covered in soot.

“Hey, have you heard? Freya’s bringing a few male servants when she marries—confirmed so far are Rost from the stables, Fahn from the kitchen, and Bayou.” Rhodes snickered. “That old man Garrett isn’t afraid of his bride cuckolding him, is he?”

“Rhodes, we shouldn’t gossip about our masters,” I reminded him.

“Come on, Toker, who in the entire estate isn’t talking about it? The only ones unaware are themselves.” Rhodes pointed upstairs.

I squinted at the upper floors of the castle: “If word gets to their ears, especially Viscount Garrett’s, this wedding won’t happen. So we’d better be careful—causing trouble would be disastrous.”

“They’re about to get married. Once they do, even if they realize something’s wrong, it’ll be too late to change it. Besides, that old man’s eyesight is failing—no way he’d notice,” Rhodes said bitterly. “Bayou is one lucky bastard.”

“Yeah, once they’re married, what’s there to change?” I licked my finger, pricked by the firewood.

“You really don’t seem like a country bumpkin—look how soft your skin is,” Rhodes mocked. “Honestly, I feel bad for you. If Baron Lloyd weren’t so hard to please, you might’ve become his valet and gone to the capital with him. What exactly did you do to piss him off?”

“Who knows? Who can fathom the tempers of noble lords?” I sighed.

“If you can’t latch onto Baron Lloyd, surely with your looks you could latch onto a ‘good’ woman? I remember Berry took quite a liking to you.” Rhodes winked at me. “She’s been invited to the Christmas banquet too—I can help set you up then.”

I hesitated, then said uncertainly, “But I have duties that night. Would skipping out cause trouble?”

Seeing my interest, Rhodes excitedly clapped my shoulder: “Finally coming to your senses, eh? This is way better than grinding for seniority. I told you I’d help—what’s there to worry about? Once you’ve got Berry wrapped around your finger, who cares about the steward? On that night, you just focus on your business—I’ll handle the rest.”

I feigned deep gratitude and clasped Rhodes’ hand: “Good brother, thank you.”

The Christmas ball has always been one of the most important celebrations for the nobility. On this day, nobles and gentlemen of all ranks in the county would gather at the most prestigious household for a grand feast. To not receive an invitation was a disgrace, quickly making one the laughingstock of society. Thus, the atmosphere was especially solemn and ceremonious.

For a small place like York County, Viscount Lloyd was the most distinguished noble. Moreover, rumors had long circulated that his second daughter, Freya, would announce her engagement at the banquet. Guests arrived in droves from early morning—nobles with entourages of servants and luggage, men cracking whips and shouting boisterously, ladies hiding behind fans with tittering laughter.

This was the most crucial banquet of the entire social season. Everyone aimed to leave a flawless impression—or at least a dignified and respectable one. Thus, the most fashionable gowns, dazzling jewels, delicate plumed hats, and fragrant folding fans converged here. Women, peacock-proud on their escorts’ arms, strolled through every corner of the estate. Their male companions wielded expensive canes, puffed on pipes, and discreetly eyed flirtatious women. A smile, a glance—all were coded signals only they understood.

All day, I guided guests, served wine and delicacies, repeating endlessly: “Yes, sir (madam), as you wish.” Attending so many guests delighted me—this bustling scene was a testament to the viscount’s prestige. I looked forward to their performance, hoping everything would proceed smoothly, worthy of such an opportunity.

The undisputed stars of tonight’s banquet were Viscount Garrett and his fiancée Freya. They appeared hand in hand at the venue, looking somewhat mature but with lingering gazes full of tenderness that made people feel slightly uncomfortable. Holding a tray nearby, I felt half my face burning from a candle in the corner. Rhodes approached with a tray and whispered to me, “Hey, buddy, aren’t you going to make your move?”

He gave a meaningful glance toward the distance, and following his gaze, I spotted Berry’s plump figure. My eyes shifted from Berry to Freya, then to Viscount Garrett. I’m not a good person—I’ve already suffered my deserved retribution in my past life. This time, I swear to take revenge on these scoundrels. Whatever they desire, I’ll make sure it remains just out of reach, leaving them to bear fate’s sting in hopelessness.

Midway through the banquet, after enjoying fine wine and music, many guests began to shed their inhibitions, slipping out of the hall to seek dim corners for reckless indulgence. Meanwhile, the ladies prepared to retire for a change of attire and a brief rest before the evening’s second half. Handing my tray to Rhodes, I said, “I’m counting on you this time.”

Rhodes nodded knowingly. “Go for it, I’ve got things here.” In the distance, Berry was chatting with a few noblewomen, looking rather listless. The moment she noticed me approaching, she covered her face with her fan, fluttering it lazily with an air of languid grace.

“My lady, what a pleasure to see you again,” I said, bowing respectfully. She smiled faintly and extended her left hand. I hastily supported it and gently kissed the ring on her index finger.

In such formal settings, allowing a male servant to kiss the back of her hand would have been improper. But given this lady’s notorious reputation for flirtation, no one found it strange. “I remember you, young man,” Berry said, blinking playfully.

“The honor is mine. May I escort you somewhere?” I asked deferentially. She replied, “Of course. The design of this estate is so monotonous—I can never find my room whenever I visit.” She extended her hand again, and I led her out of the hall.

Instead of taking her to any guest room, I pulled her like an impatient child into a chilly corner on the second floor. Clutching her voluptuous figure urgently, I kissed her without hesitation. She gasped for breath, her body melting under my touch.

“Oh, heavens, you are so improper. You vile creature—I shall inform your master,” she protested, struggling to push me away. Dropping to one knee, I clung to her legs and repeated fervently, “I love you, madly. Please forgive me… I know how despicable I am, daring to love someone as noble and beautiful as you. I’m unworthy, but I can’t help it—I’m going insane!”

Berry panted as if suffocating. I quickly stood and embraced her tightly, caressing her through the fabric of her dress, alternating between rough and tender touches. Under this forceful yet passionate attention, she soon went limp, leaning into my arms. “Oh, you fool,” she murmured, covering her face as if weeping.

I gently pulled her hands away and kissed her again. Before long, she began returning my kisses. That earlier theatrical resistance was essential—nobles often elevate affairs into grand romances, as though it were a necessary ritual. Though her lips were full, her kissing technique was surprisingly refined.

Much later, she spoke in a tone of faint melancholy: “This shouldn’t have happened. It really shouldn’t.” Just then, she noticed a ribbon at her feet and pushed me away to bend down and pick it up. Thinking it was hers, she froze the moment she held it, her eyes widening in shock.

I know, she noticed the pattern on the ribbon. In the entire Yorkshire, you couldn’t find a second dress with the same design, and this ribbon was tied to underwear—who would leave something from their underwear here?

“Who lost this here?” Berry stared at the pattern, seemingly deep in thought. She seemed to recall seeing this design on Lloyd family’s Freya.

“Uh… this!” I hurriedly covered my mouth, like a foolish child unable to keep a secret.

Berry wound the ribbon around her finger: “Hmm? Do you know whose this is?”

“I… I don’t know…” I lowered my head nervously, my heart in turmoil.

“You brought me here—have you brought someone else before? Let me guess, it was the second young lady of this house… Freya!” Berry’s tone sharpened, her attitude becoming aggressive.

“No! No! I only love you, I’ve never brought anyone else here. This was Bayou with the young lady…” I hastily cut myself off.

“Oh, heavens!” Berry’s face lit up with excitement.

“Please, my lady, say nothing! The young lady is about to be engaged—no rumors can spread at such a time. I still want to keep my job here peacefully.” My face pale, I pleaded.

“Silly boy, what would I say? Nothing happened here today, and we never even met, did we?” Berry stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed my chin. “You’re such a good boy. See you later—I must go change.”