A SOFT VOICE BROKE through Clara's dreams.
"My lady," someone called gently, as though afraid to wake her.
She heard the sound but could not summon the strength to respond. Her body felt heavy, her mind still wrapped in the warmth of sleep.
"My lady," the voice persisted, closer now.
She stirred faintly, drawing the coverlet higher over her head. "Hmm," she murmured, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave her in peace.
"It's Adeline, my lady. It's time for breakfast," came the gentle reply, followed by a light touch on her arm.
At the mention of breakfast, Clara sighed, half in protest. "Breakfast?" she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.
"Yes, my lady," Adeline said, her tone patient.
Clara finally pushed herself upright, rubbing her eyes like a child reluctant to wake. Her chestnut brown hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, and for a long moment she sat at the edge of the bed, trying to gather herself. The air was cool, and the faint light from the tall window told her morning had already settled in.
Adeline stood nearby with three other maids, all with heads respectfully bowed. Clara stifled a yawn, stretching her arms slightly before sighing again. The truth was, she felt weak—perhaps from lack of proper rest. She had not slept well since her arrival at Langford Manor; the walls, though grand, seemed to breathe silence, and silence weighed heavily on her heart.
Her gaze drifted to the servants, who waited for instruction. They needn't speak—she already knew what they were thinking.
"I'll manage myself this morning," she said softly, her voice still thick with sleep.
"As you wish, my lady," they chorused, curtsying lightly. After arranging her gown and toiletries in their usual order, they slipped quietly from the room.
When the door closed, Clara rose slowly and crossed to the washstand. She washed, dressed with quiet efficiency, and took one last steadying breath before descending the staircase.
The hall was already alive with the faint clatter of plates and the murmur of male voices. When she stepped into the breakfast room, she saw Lord Percival seated at the head of the table and Adrian beside him. Lady Lillian was absent.
For an instant, Clara's steps faltered.
Her eyes met Adrian's, and memory struck her like a gust of wind. The image of him from last night flooded her mind: his arms around her as she wept, the warmth of his chest, the steadiness of his hand upon her back. And then—her embarrassment. The flush that had risen to her cheeks when she'd realized how tightly she had clung to him.
Her heart fluttered now, traitorous and quick. She clutched the folds of her gown, willing her trembling fingers to still.
Adrian rose as she approached. Their gazes met briefly—a moment suspended in air—and they exchanged awkward smiles.
"Good morning, Father," Clara said softly, turning first to Lord Percival.
He smiled at her with that proud, knowing look he often wore, as though he could already sense her discomfort.
Then she turned to Adrian. "Good... morning, Adrian," she said, her voice a shade too gentle, betraying her unease.
"Good morning, Eve," he replied, his tone warmer than she expected as he pulled out the chair beside him for her.
She sat, uncertain, and folded her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth. It felt strange, being so near to him after last night. He had seen her tears, had held her, and yet had asked for no explanation. Somehow, that silence made her heart ache all the more.
Lord Percival's voice cut through the uneasy quiet. "What is the matter with the two of you this morning?"
"Nothing, Father," Adrian replied quickly, a faint frown creasing his brow.
The old man chuckled softly to himself, unconvinced but amused. Servants entered then, placing dishes of steaming food before Clara before withdrawing discreetly to the corners of the room.
For a time, there was only the clink of cutlery and the soft rustle of linen. Clara ate slowly, her appetite faint, aware of Adrian's presence beside her with every breath. The silence stretched until Lord Percival, clearly impatient with it, spoke again.
"Evelina, my dear," he said between bites, "would you be so good as to accompany Adrian to St. Andrew's Orphanage today?"
The words startled her so completely that she choked on her tea. She coughed, embarrassed, as Adrian's hand immediately came to her back, steadying her. The brief contact sent a shiver up her spine. When she dared glance at him, he was no longer looking at her—his attention had already turned to his father.
"You did not mention I would be taking her," Adrian said coolly, his jaw tightening.
Lord Percival tilted his head with mild amusement. "Would you rather leave her here all alone? Surely you don't wish to deprive your young wife of sunshine—or conversation?"
Clara looked between them, her heart thudding. The truth in Lord Percival's words pricked at her. Since her arrival, she had hardly stepped beyond the manor's walls. Save for the chapel on their wedding day, she had lived each day confined to her chamber, her thoughts, her boredom.
The thought of going out—of seeing something beyond these gilded walls—brought a faint lightness to her chest.
"Of course not," Adrian said finally, his tone even but guarded.
"Then take her with you."
The silence that followed was heavy. The two men exchanged a look that spoke of unspoken contests—a quiet war of wills that always seemed to unfold between father and son.
At last, Adrian said, "Very well. But only if she wishes it."
Both turned to her then. Their combined gazes made her feel suddenly very small.
Clara flushed, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. "I—I don't mind," she murmured, eyes lowered.
"Excellent!" Lord Percival exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. His satisfaction filled the room.
When Clara dared to glance up, Adrian's eyes were still upon her. But this time, his expression was different from the usual irritating look he gave her. It unsettled her more than his coldness ever had.
He turned away first, his voice calm. "We'll leave after breakfast."
Clara nodded faintly, her cheeks warm. She lowered her gaze again, feeling the weight of his presence beside her. The world beyond the manor awaited—but she could not help feeling that something bad might happen. Probably, she'll be caught in her web of deception.