The grand wooden doors connecting the garden to the interior stood slightly ajar, the faint sounds of Beatrice's laughter drifting through.
Though only six people called the mansion home, its vastness demanded extra hands daily.
A few rookie maids from the main house would come from eight to four, working under Ophelia, the head of the servants, to maintain its spotless appearance.
Inside, at a nearby parlor overlooking the garden, a boy stood by the open window.
He held a teacup in one hand, his posture both elegant and imposing.
Edward looked strikingly like his sister Ann, sharing her fine features and sharp gaze, yet he carried an intimidating presence, his shoulders broad and muscles hinted at beneath his formal attire.
His slicked-back hair, held in place with pomade, lent him an almost mafioso air, the style giving him a look that suited his bold demeanor.
He sipped his tea, eyes narrowed as he observed the scene in the garden below.
"Damn Amelia," he muttered, watching as Amelia handed Beatrice the brooch.
"Three days away, and she returns with presents. Her technique for winning the lady's attention is always impressive."
He sipped thoughtfully, both admiring and begrudging the butler's effectiveness.
Nearby, Ann stood clutching one of Beatrice's teacups.
Gone was the dignified air she held in her lady's presence; in its place was an expression far less refined.
She hugged the cup close to her face, shoulders trembling faintly, a blissed-out smile stretching just a bit too wide. A thin line of drool threatened the corner of her mouth as her eyes went unfocused, as though the rest of the world had politely ceased to exist.
She whispered, with dramatic reverence, "My lady's teacup…"
Edward, still watching Amelia and Beatrice through the window, didn't even look her way as he extended his empty cup toward her.
"Ann, more tea," he ordered, pushing his cup against her face to break her trance.
She blinked, momentarily snapped from her creepy reverie, and scowled at him.
"Pour it yourself," she muttered, reluctantly pulling her gaze from the cherished teacup.
Only then did she hastily wipe at the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, cheeks coloring slightly, as if realizing she'd been caught mid-trance.
"I'm not a maid."
"Yes, you are," Edward replied, still watching the scene outside with hawkish intensity.
Despite her grumbling, Ann poured the tea.
Her hand was shaky and distracted, barely paying attention to her brother's cup as her focus remained entirely on the precious teacup in her own hand.
A fair amount of tea splashed onto the tray below, but neither of them noticed, both far too absorbed in their own peculiar preoccupations.
Edward took a sip of his tea, sighing with satisfaction.
"Do you think it'd work for me if I disappeared for three days, then came back with some grand gift?" he mused, half-serious.
Ann smirked, raising her cup in mock salute.
"Three days? Try three years, maybe thirty. I'm sure Lady Beatrice would be heartbroken in your absence and might even shed a tear when she sees you again."
She took a long sip, then added, "And don't worry; I'd be here every single day, keeping her company without fail."
Edward grumbled, "Tempting... but I'd die without my lady's attention. Besides, she needs my company far more than she needs yours."
As they bickered, a soft, measured voice interrupted them.
"Perfect timing. Edward, please inform Lady Beatrice that the carriage is ready and accompany her to school."
They both froze.
Not in surprise, but in the way one does when realizing they'd been completely outmatched in awareness.
Ophelia stood beside them, her kindly, unassuming smile already in place, as though she had been there the entire time.
Neither Ann nor Edward could recall the sound of footsteps.
She looked every bit the picture of a head maid: small, round glasses perched low on her nose, gray hair swept into a neat bun.
Her uniform was far more modest than Ann's, the long skirt nearly brushing the floor.
Despite her quiet demeanor, she had a habit of appearing without warning—a talent that never failed to put the twins on edge.
The instant they realized she was there, any further argument ceased.
Ophelia's calm yet commanding presence had that effect.
Ann's eyes flicked to her brother, her posture shifting.
Before Ophelia could even blink, Ann's hand had darted to the tray, fingers closing around a butter knife.
"Edward seems a bit… unwell, ma'am," she said smoothly, her voice dripping with manufactured concern.
"Allow me to substitute for him."
And then she lunged.
Her arm snapped forward in a blur, the knife flashing as it tore through the air—too fast to track, too precise to be accidental.
Edward reacted on pure reflex.
The tray was already in his hand as he wrenched it up between them.
The butter knife struck with a sharp thunk, punching straight through the metal and stopping mere inches from his throat.
Edward froze, breath caught in his chest—one hand still clutching his teacup, the other holding the tray like a shield.
Ophelia cleared her throat.
"Now, now," she said calmly, unfazed by the display. "There's no need to quarrel using tableware."
Her smile remained gentle, but the authority beneath it brought the moment to an abrupt halt.
Edward exhaled slowly, lowering the tray and casting a wary glance at his sister.
"Yes," he muttered. "Especially not with sharp objects."
Ann snorted, tapping the knife still lodged in the tray.
"Butter knives aren't sharp," she said. "They're blunt. For safety."
Edward raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the clean hole in the tray.
"…Blunt, huh?"
Ophelia clapped her hands once, reclaiming their attention.
"Chop, chop, Edward. Mr. Albert is already outside with the carriage—and it is Lady Beatrice's first day of school. We wouldn't want her to be late."
She gestured toward the door, a faint twinkle in her eye betraying her amusement at their antics.
With an eager grin, Edward straightened and nodded enthusiastically.
"Aye, aye, ma'am!"
"Edward," Ophelia corrected mildly. "Use a proper reply."
"Yes, ma'am!" he said at once.
He turned and strode toward the large doors, clearly pleased, ready to fetch Beatrice.
Ann's gaze followed him—sharp, lingering, and distinctly unimpressed.
Just before reaching the door, Edward glanced back, smirking. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the tray—still bearing the embedded butter knife—toward her like a projectile.
Ann ducked with a sharp hiss, scowling as it whizzed past her head.
Ophelia caught the tray midair with a graceful motion, her expression unchanged.
"Now, Ann," she said gently but firmly, "you're the elder sibling. It's unbecoming to sulk and act like a child."
Ann huffed, turning her face away, cheeks faintly flushed.
"I am not sulking," she muttered.
She lifted her teacup to her lips a little too pointedly, lingering over the rim as though determined to savor every last trace left behind.
Her expression softened, eyes half-lidded, a blissful calm settling over her features—one that contrasted sharply with her earlier scowl.
Ophelia sighed softly, though her smile remained.
"Let's clean up the mess, shall we? The day has only just begun, and there are plenty of tasks ahead."
Her tone was light, betraying how well she understood the twins' quirks and antics.
Ann gave a lazy salute with her free hand, her mouth still pressed to the cup.
"Aye, aye, ma'am," she mumbled, barely coherent, utterly absorbed in her devotion to her lady's teacup.
As Edward stepped out into the garden, the distance from the parlor to the door stretched before him, morning light spilling across the lush grounds.
From this vantage point, he could see Beatrice and Amelia still chatting, blissfully unaware of the chaos left behind.
Beatrice's laughter drifted toward him, bright and unguarded.
Edward straightened, smoothing his jacket and clearing his throat.
This was his moment—his chance to escort his lady on her first venture to school, to stand at her side as the protector he believed she deserved.
As he crossed the hall, the faint twinge of jealousy he felt toward Amelia ebbed away, replaced by quiet pride.
Reaching the door, he inhaled, set his hand on the handle, and opened it.
Beatrice turned at once, her eyes lighting up.
"Edward!"
"Are we ready?" she asked.
He stepped forward with a practiced flourish.
"The carriage awaits, my lady."
She accepted his arm without hesitation, her confidence visibly bolstered by his steady presence.
As they departed for the carriage, Edward cast a final glance back toward the mansion.
On the second floor, Ann stood at the window.
She appeared to be dutifully dusting with a small feather duster, her posture composed—
except for the teacup clenched firmly between her teeth.
Her eyes followed them with focused intensity, a faint sulk lingering beneath her otherwise diligent expression.
Ophelia, noticing, rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"There will be plenty of time to accompany her, dear."
"Now then," she added softly, "back to work."
Ann grumbled, but complied, her gaze lingering just a second longer on the distant carriage.
"One day, my lady… one day," she murmured around the cup, her words muffled with dramatic resolve.
Soon, the mansion returned to its usual rhythm.
The earlier bickering faded into quiet industry, and from the garden below, the scent of roses drifted through the open windows—a gentle reminder of the wider world awaiting young Lady Beatrice beyond the manor walls.