Alle Kapitel von The lords' maid: Kapitel 11 – Kapitel 20

Lucian’s POV Dinner in the grand dining room was turning out to be precisely the endurance test I had anticipated. Lady Genevieve Sterling sat to my right, resplendent in shimmering sea-green silk that looked entirely out of place against the warm, aged oak of Valenridge Manor. Her dark hair was styled into intricate capital coils, and she held her silver fork with the delicate, practiced disdain of someone who had never encountered a single hardship in her life. “The roasted pheasant is... acceptable, I suppose,” Genevieve remarked, poking at her plate with a small, theatrical sigh. “Though the seasoning is remarkably heavy. The cooks in the capital use far lighter wine reductions. Once Lucian and I are wed, I shall certainly bring my father’s head chef down to Valenridge to manage the kitchen. Your staff’s methods are terribly antiquated, Lady Eleanor.” A heavy, microscopic pause settled over the long dining table. My father’s jaw tightened imperceptibly over his wine glas

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

Lucian’s POV I spent the better part of the morning in the stables, saddling my horse before the sun had fully cleared the eastern hills. It had become my daily routine—leaving the manor before Lady Genevieve woke, riding through the valley until my boots were coated in red clay, and returning only when the sun went down. My home had become a minefield, and Genevieve was a fuse I had no desire to light. By late afternoon, I found Leo in the old stone pavilion near the lower orchards, sitting on a wooden bench with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, tuning his lute with quiet concentration. "You're hiding again," Leo called without looking up, his fingers plucking a clean chord that echoed beneath the stone arches. "I am managing my time," I replied dryly, stepping into the shade. "There is a difference." "Right. And that difference involves riding twenty miles in the cold just to avoid sharing a breakfast table with your bride-to-be." He glanced up with a mischievous grin. "Mother

Leo’s POV The grand clock in the main foyer was chiming three in the morning when I slipped through the side entrance of Valenridge Manor, taking care to keep my boots quiet against the dark stone floor. It had been a wild night in the lower valley tavern—loud music, heavy laughter, and a sudden, chaotic brawl over a game of dice. I managed to avoid most of the flying chairs, but a shattered glass bottle caught the back of my knuckles on my way out. My right hand was stinging, blood slowly dripping onto my cuff. I pushed through the wooden door of the quiet main kitchen, intending to grab a pitcher of cold water and a clean rag before Mother saw the mess in the morning. I didn't expect to see anyone standing near the prep table. "Bloody hell," I muttered, wincing as I startled a shadow near the hearth. Eva spun around, an oil lamp in one hand and a leather-bound book tucked under her arm. Her dark eyes widened with alarm before she recognized me. "Lord Leo!" she whispered, clutc

Lucian’s POV ​The carriage ride to the Highmoor estate was long, quiet, and filled with a lingering sense of urgency. ​Sitting across from me, Leo was casually tossing a brass coin between his knuckles, unbothered by the dust kicking up against the window glass. On the seat beside me lay my pocketbook, open to the remaining two names from the Sterling guest list: Lady Beatrice of Highmoor and Lady Laura of the Eastern Isles. ​If Lady Beatrice was the woman from the summer ball, this nightmare with Genevieve could finally end. ​Ten minutes later, we were ushered into a grand, velvet-draped parlor. Lady Beatrice sat on a plush settee beside her mother, the Dowager Lady Highmoor. Beatrice wore a sweeping lavender gown, holding a lace fan against her collarbone while her mother eyed us with sharp, calculating interest. ​"Lord Lucian," Beatrice cooed, setting her fan in her lap as both women offered practiced capital smiles. "And Lord Leo. To what do we owe the absolute pleasure