CHAPTER 13: SILK AND SENTIMENT

Eva’s POV

The private sunroom in the south wing was bathed in warm, honeyed afternoon light.

It was Lady Eleanor’s favourite sanctuary, a quiet space scented with dried lavender, sweet lemon tea, and old paper. I stood near the velvet settee, carefully folding a fresh stack of embroidered table linens and smoothing the creases from a pale silk shawl.

Lady Eleanor sat in her high-backed armchair by the arched window, a delicate porcelain cup resting in her lap, her attention fixed on a leather-bound book.

"Will there be anything else, My Lady, before I am dismissed?" I asked softly, setting the folded linens on the marble side table and resting my hands neatly over my apron.

Lady Eleanor paused, looking up from her page. Her gray eyes held a quiet warmth as she placed her teacup on its saucer.

"Yes, actually," she said, gesturing toward the wicker chair opposite her. "Sit down, Eva."

I hesitated. "My Lady?"

"Sit," she repeated gently. "And pour yourself a cup of tea. The pot is still hot."

I stepped over to the chair and sat on the edge of the cushion. Taking the porcelain teapot, I poured a small stream of steaming tea into a spare cup, keeping my movements careful and deliberate.

Lady Eleanor tilted her book toward me, revealing the gold-stamped title.

"Have you read this one?" she asked casually.

My eyes skimmed the dark leather cover. It was a popular capital novel about four sisters navigating society, love, and poverty.

"I have, My Lady."

"I am halfway through," Eleanor said, leaning back. "And I must confess, I find the younger sister rather difficult to sympathize with. She seems terribly materialistic, wouldn't you say? Always obsessing over silk dresses, capital society, and marrying for fortune rather than love."

I looked down at the pale amber tea in my cup, feeling an old spark stir within me. For a moment, I wasn't a maid carefully measuring every word. I was the girl who had once spent hours debating literature in my father's library.

"I wouldn't entirely agree, My Lady," I said softly.

Lady Eleanor raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Oh? Explain."

I paused, choosing my words carefully.

"A woman in our world is given very few weapons," I began. "From the moment a girl is born, she is taught that her primary purpose is to please a husband, manage his home, and elevate his name. If a woman learns to value money, fine linen, and estate security, I do not think it is purely selfish. I think it is practical."

Lady Eleanor watched me silently.

"If society demands that a woman surrender her independence, her name, and her entire life to a man," I continued, "then expecting him to provide comfort, wealth, and security is not greed. It is simply a fair transaction. She is choosing to find her leverage in a world that gives her very little."

Silence settled over the sunroom.

Then a slow smile spread across Lady Eleanor's face. She placed her book on the table, looking at me with a new depth of respect.

"That is a remarkably sharp way to see it, Eva," she said softly. "Tell me... are you educated?"

"Not entirely, My Lady," I lied gently, lowering my gaze. "My father kept a small collection of books before he passed, and I read whatever I could find."

"You have a rare gift," Eleanor said, leaning forward slightly. "You speak with clarity, and you see straight to the heart of things. Which brings me to a proposal."

I stilled. "A proposal?"

"I am assigning you as my personal lady's maid," Eleanor declared warmly. "Mrs. Gable agrees that your composure is exceptional. It gets terribly quiet in this large house, Eva, and I would thoroughly enjoy our conversations. Would you be interested?"

My heart gave a sudden, heavy leap.

Lady Eleanor's personal maid.

It meant higher standing in the household, direct access to the family's private wing, and protection from Mrs. Gable's suspicions. It was everything my mission needed.

Then a sharp ache pierced through my chest.

I looked at Lady Eleanor's gentle face and the genuine kindness in her eyes. She was offering me her trust. And when my revenge finally detonated—when I exposed the stolen treaties and dragged House De Witt into the scandal that would destroy the Sterlings—she would realize that the quiet maid she had welcomed into her private rooms had been a calculating imposter all along.

It would feel like the ultimate betrayal.

A problem for later, a ruthless voice whispered. You cannot afford to love the people you are forced to use.

I set my teacup down, forcing a graceful smile onto my lips before dipping into a respectful seated bow.

"I would be deeply honoured, My Lady," I whispered. "Thank you."