A Forbidden Encounter

The next morning, Lord Oscar left the Momon Manor. He told the viscount that the king had some matters to attend to, and no matter how much they tried to persuade him, it was futile.

Naturally, the viscount's family was extremely resentful, as Oscar hadn't uttered a word about marrying one of the ladies, which amounted to a rejection of the proposal.

"What an ungrateful fellow! If I had known it would come to this, we should have thrown him out of our house when he was sick!" Lady Viscountess exclaimed in frustration.

Miss Judith, sipping her red tea, said, "If he really won't marry my sister, we'll have to think of something else. Margaret and Catherine are both so beautiful; they will surely find men who wouldn't mind how much dowry they have."

Lady Viscountess sighed, "Such men are mostly older, already have heirs, and would prefer a mistress over being a second wife."

Judith let out an exaggerated scream, "Mother!"

"I know, I know," Lady Viscountess said, frowning.

I was outside the small parlor cleaning up the tea set when a little girl in a brown silk dress bounced in, clutching a delicate cloth doll in her hand.

I bowed to her, saying, "Good day, Miss Dolores."

The little girl stood beside me, her emerald eyes fixed intently on me.

"Who are you?" she suddenly asked.

"I am Owen. How may I assist you, Miss?" 

The little girl sat on the sofa, staring at me for a long time without speaking. It wasn't until I bent down to leave that she hurriedly spoke up, "I've never seen you before."

"I was recently promoted to senior footman."

"Go get me a cup of tea." She suddenly tossed her doll aside, straightened her back like her mother Judith, placed her hands elegantly on her knees, and lifted her chin slightly.

"Of course, Miss." I smiled at her, bowed, and turned to leave, noticing her cheeks flush suddenly.

I set the brewed tea before her and knelt beside her to place some sugar cubes. She looked a bit nervous, her feet fidgeting.

"Is your father very busy lately? Why isn't he accompanying the ladies today?" I asked, half-kneeling close to her.

Dolores let out a small sigh, "I don't know. I haven't seen Daddy in a long time. Mama says he's been enchanted by some harlots out there."

I had heard that the relationship between these two was not good, and it seemed to be true. I told Dolores, "That's a shame. Please don't be too sad, Miss."

Dolores shrugged, indicating she didn't care at all. Noble ladies are often like that; their mothers tend to love parties and jewelry more than they love their children, usually leaving them with the maids, resulting in distant mother-child relationships.

Then Dolores began chattering about a conversation she overheard in the parlor.

"They plan to invite Viscount Wilson to visit. I heard he's over fifty and quite an old man. They want to marry one of the aunts off to him." Dolores giggled mischievously, saying, "Because the aunt has no dowry, Grandfather can't even come up with a thousand pounds. No one is willing to marry her except for some rich old man."

"My dear Miss, discussing others in private is not very ladylike."

"Okay, I won't mock them anymore." Dolores laughed heartily.

Viscount Wilson, huh…

In my previous life, the second Miss Margaret married this Viscount Wilson. Margaret was an outright libertine; she had been involved with a footman named Jansen long ago. She liked rugged men, especially those with a strong build. Jansen was of mixed race, with dark skin and a sturdy physique, and Margaret was quite fond of him.

As I fell silent, Dolores seemed restless and asked, "Would you like to come home with me? To be our footman."

"Uh, I can't decide that." I hurriedly replied.

"I'll tell Mama; she will definitely agree." She mumbled.

At seven o'clock, the Bruce family arrived punctually in the dining room.

Dinner was extravagant. Technically, the whole Momon Manor had been in debt for a long time, yet they still lived a luxurious life, pawning or borrowing money whenever necessary. They would do anything to maintain the nobility's dignity and respect, or rather, this was their way of life.

"The estate of Viscount Wilson is in Petersalli. You should all see his magnificent estate; it's so wealthy it's mind-boggling," the viscount said while savoring his red wine. "His wife has passed away; his eldest son is in politics and has his own estate, and all his daughters are married off. As long as someone can give him a son, they can inherit half of his estate, which is a huge sum."

"He sounds like a good match; it aligns with our family's status. I've had enough of those filthy merchant relatives. I hope we won't have to deal with them anymore," Lady Viscountess said.

"Let's hope so. Do you know how much effort I put into inviting him to our house?" The viscount looked at his two daughters, seemingly waiting for their response.

The second Miss set down her knife and fork and elegantly wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin, "Sounds good, but how old is he? Can his teeth still chew food? Can his body still impregnate young women?"

Upon hearing Margaret's acerbic remarks, Lady Viscountess screamed, "Margaret!"

Margaret rolled her eyes disdainfully, "I'd rather marry a hunchback than that old man."

The third Miss remained silent, realizing she had no other choices. Rather than ending up with nothing, it was better to hold on to something, even if it was not ideal.

The viscount slammed down his knife and fork, glaring at Margaret, "When Viscount Wilson arrives, you both need to display your best manners and treat him well. If he refuses to marry you, don't expect me to find you a better match. You'd better pray he takes a liking to one of you!"

With that, the viscount threw down his napkin and stormed out. Lady Viscountess hurried after her husband, calling anxiously, "Dear, don't be mad at Margaret; she didn't mean it."

The second Miss had lost her appetite; she pushed the food away and sobbed into her arms on the table.

"I don't want to marry an old man. Just think of the wrinkles on his face; he's older than father. How could father do this to us!"

The footman Jansen hurriedly offered Margaret a handkerchief, softly comforting her, "Miss, please don't be sad. There's nothing we can do about it."

Catherine glanced at Jansen, her face darkening. She patted her sister's back, saying, "Don't be sad, my dear Margaret. This is our fate. If you don't want to marry that old man, I… I can take your place… just don't be sad."

Margaret looked at her worried sister, crying even harder, "Really? Catherine, but that's not fair to you."

The servants quietly withdrew, and I left the dining room, only puzzled. It seemed the third Miss intended to marry Viscount Wilson, but in the end, how did the second Miss end up marrying him?

That night, Butler Aaron ordered me to polish the silverware in the warehouse. I was busy until very late, my hands nearly frozen. By the time I returned to my room, it was nearly midnight, and the servants had already gone to bed. I carried a lamp as I made my way to the third floor.

At that moment, I suddenly heard voices around the corner upstairs. Listening carefully, I realized it was the second Miss Margaret and the footman Jansen. The two were huddled together and quietly went upstairs.

I hurriedly blew out the candle and stealthily followed them.

They headed to the balcony on the third floor, a place seldom visited even during the day. I quietly followed them until I reached the balcony, then hid in a corner not far from them.

"What do you need me for?" the second Miss asked softly. This woman, usually so proud, now sounded as soft as cotton.

"Don't talk, just let me kiss you," Jansen said impatiently.

Then came a suffocating silence, filled with suggestive gasps and the sound of fabric rustling.

I had suspected their ambiguous relationship for a long time but didn't expect it to have progressed this far. Indeed, the lives of the nobility were decadent; even unmarried young ladies mingled with footmen, not much different from the loose women outside. I quietly hid in the shadows, trying to control my breathing to avoid detection.

The two were lost in their passion and were, of course, unaware of someone behind them. I even heard the sound of clothes falling.

"Okay, stop. We have to be careful; otherwise, we'll get caught," Jansen finally said, breathless, as he pushed Margaret away.

"Oh, Jansen, my dear, don't you want me?" Margaret's voice was clearly filled with desire.

"Of course I want you, but not now. If I take you now, it would harm you. I love you so much; how could I bear to hurt you? We must wait," Jansen said. "I risked coming to find you for this. I hope you'll agree to marry Viscount Wilson."

"What! You want me to marry him too! Don't you know he…" Margaret raised her voice.

"Shh, keep your voice down. Don't you love me? If you love me, you'll listen to me. As long as the man you marry has money, it's fine. I'm just afraid that if you marry a handsome man, you'll forget about me." Jason's voice sounded pitiful.

"Oh, darling, you're so foolish. No matter who I marry, I will only love you. But Lord Wilson..." 

"He's wealthy, and he's old and foolish. Isn't he suitable for us?" Jason said. "Don't listen to Miss Catherine; she wants to marry him because she knows our master won't be able to find a better match."

"Really? Is there truly no one better?" Margaret asked anxiously. 

"Just as you said, your hunchbacked cousin would be a better fit, but unfortunately, he's not interested in marrying either of you sisters," Jason replied. 

Margaret said sadly, "But..." 

"No buts, my dear. You can't go wrong listening to me." Jason embraced Margaret, his hand slipping under her skirt.

Before long, Margaret's muffled moans filled the air, full of springtime passion, like a restless kitten. 

"Don't, please... don't leave..." Margaret grasped Jason's hand. "Let's go to my room; no one will find out." 

"No, my esteemed lady," Jason wiped his moist fingers. "We must wait until you're married, do you understand? It's all for our future."

They tidied their clothes and shared a reluctant kiss goodbye. 

I stepped out of the shadows, and in the moonlight, I noticed a ribbon belonging to Miss Margaret quietly lying on the ground. 

It was a scarf tied to her undergarments; they had been far too careless.