The Secret Affairs Behind the Nobility

Viscount Wilson was completely captivated by Margaret. During their days at Mormont Manor, they were almost inseparable. Horseback riding, picnics, parties, hunting—this man, over fifty, acted like a young man experiencing love for the first time. Before long, he proposed to Margaret. At a dinner party, he publicly proposed to her and begged for Viscount Bruce's approval.

When Margaret shyly nodded, Viscount Bruce immediately led the applause, offering his congratulations. Wilson, wealthy as he was, didn't mind that Bruce only provided a small dowry while demanding a hefty bride price—it almost seemed like he was buying a woman for an exorbitant price.

It was clear Margaret's beauty wasn't wasted—at least there was a man willing to spend so much on her.

Viscount Bruce was anxious. He wanted to marry Margaret off as soon as possible, even if it meant giving her to a man older than himself, because he was about to receive a sum of money to cover his financial losses.

Everything seemed perfect, as if they were just waiting for Margaret's wedding.

But one person was worried—Selina, the housekeeper—especially after overhearing an argument about the dowry between Margaret and the Viscountess.

"When I got married, I had almost no dowry. Can't I at least take a few servants with me?" Margaret said, sounding both righteous and aggrieved.

"You can take anyone, but why must you take men? What lady takes male servants with her when she marries?" The Viscountess couldn't understand her daughter's unreasonable request.

"I'm used to these servants. That groom takes care of my favorite horse. What will happen to my horse if I change grooms? And that chef makes the best Eastern pastries. And then there's Jason—no one's coffee can compare to his."

"No, absolutely not."

"I've already talked it over with Wilson, and he agreed. Why won't you?"

"That can wait until after the wedding. Not now."

Seeing no way to convince her mother, Margaret could only sit to the side and sulk.

"Mother, it's just a few servants. Let her take them," Catherine murmured.

The Viscountess shot Catherine a glare. "No, you keep out of this."

Margaret stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Near Christmas, Simon and I received new gloves from the housekeeper, who reminded us to maintain our appearance, especially during this sensitive period. Mormont Manor was clearly sparing no expense for the Christmas ball this year—both to honor the wealthy Viscount Wilson and, again, to honor the wealthy Viscount Wilson. The ball was intended to announce to the surrounding county that their families would soon be united in marriage.

Mormont Manor would soon be bustling. Even the grooms had no time for a smoke break. They hauled in cartloads of firewood, fearful the manor might run out of fuel for the fireplaces during the ball. Simon and I spent the whole day carrying wood outside the castle, both of us covered in soot.

"Hey, did you hear? Miss Margaret is taking some male servants with her when she marries. The ones chosen are Rost from the stables, Gordon from the kitchen, and of course, Jason." Simon snickered, "Isn't old Wilson afraid his new bride might cuckold him?"

"Simon, we shouldn't gossip about our masters."

"Oh, come on, Owen. Everyone in the manor is talking about it. The only ones who don't know are them." Simon pointed upward.

I squinted at the upper floors of the castle. "If this gets to their ears, especially Viscount Wilson's, this wedding won't happen. We need to be cautious; it would be a disaster to cause trouble."

"They're getting married soon. Even if something seems off, once they're married, nothing will change. Besides, that old fool's half-blind—he wouldn't notice anyway," Simon added bitterly. "Jason's got some real luck."

"Yeah, once they're married, nothing can change." I licked my fingers, which had been pricked by a splinter while carrying the wood.

"You really don't look like a country boy with your delicate skin," Simon mocked. "Honestly, I feel sorry for you. If Baron Oscar weren't so hard to please, you might've become his personal valet and gone with him to the capital. How did you even make him angry?"

"I don't know. Who can figure out the moods of the nobility?" I sighed.

"Well, forget about Baron Oscar. With your looks, you should at least find yourself a 'good' woman. I remember Lady Sherry seemed quite fond of you." Simon winked. "She's invited to the Christmas ball. I could help set you up."

I hesitated, "But I have work that night. Wouldn't it be a problem to leave my post?"

Simon grinned and patted my shoulder. "You're finally coming around. This is much better than working your way up the ranks. I'll take care of things for you. You don't have to worry—just focus on Lady Sherry. I'll cover for you."

Feigning gratitude, I shook Simon's hand. "Thanks, brother."

…

Christmas balls were always one of the most important events for the nobility. On that day, nobles and even gentlemen from across the county would be invited to dine at the home of the most prestigious noble family. Failing to receive an invitation was a source of humiliation and would quickly make one the laughingstock of society. As a result, these events were solemn and grand affairs.

In the small county of Yorkshire, Viscount Bruce was the most esteemed nobleman. Moreover, it was widely rumored that his second daughter, Margaret, would announce her engagement at the ball.

Guests arrived early, one after another. Nobles with their entourages of servants and luggage. The gentlemen brandished their riding whips, shouting orders, while the ladies, fans in hand, hid their faces and giggled softly.

This ball was the highlight of the social season. Everyone aimed to make the perfect impression—if not perfect, at least respectable and dignified.

Thus, the most fashionable and elegant gowns, the most dazzling and brilliant jewelry, the softest feathered headpieces, and the finest perfumed fans all gathered here. The women, like peacocks in full bloom, strolled arm in arm with their male companions throughout the manor's various corners. The men, carrying expensive canes and puffing on pipes, subtly eyed the flirtatious ladies, exchanging smiles and glances—silent signals only they understood.

I spent the whole day guiding guests, serving them wine and food. The phrase I repeated most was, "Yes, sir (or madam), at your service."

Being able to host so many guests delighted me. The grandeur of the event was a reflection of the viscount's family's standing. I eagerly awaited their performance, hoping everything would go smoothly and that they wouldn't waste this golden opportunity.

The stars of the night were, without a doubt, Viscount Wilson and his fiancée Margaret. They entered the hall hand in hand—an old man and a young woman, looking more like father and daughter. But their intimate, affectionate glances sent shivers down my spine.

Holding a tray, I stood in a corner, the heat from a nearby candle scorching one side of my face. Simon, also holding a tray, approached and stood next to me, whispering, "Hey, aren't you going to make your move?"

He gestured toward Lady Sherry, her plump figure standing not far away.

My eyes drifted from Lady Sherry to Margaret, then to Viscount Wilson. I wasn't a good man. In my previous life, I had paid the price for my sins. This time, I vowed to take revenge on these scoundrels. Whatever they desired, I would make sure they could see it but never touch it, leaving them to bear the cruel fate of unfulfilled desires.

The ball was halfway through. After indulging in wine and music, many guests began to relax, some sneaking out of the hall to find dark corners for indulgence. At this time, the ladies retired to their rooms to change clothes and rest briefly before the second half of the ball.

I handed my tray to Simon. "I'm counting on you this time."

Simon nodded knowingly. "Go get her. I've got it covered here."

Lady Sherry was chatting with a few other noblewomen, looking rather uninterested. From afar, she noticed me approaching and lightly fanned her face.

"Lady Sherry, it's a pleasure to see you again." I bowed and greeted her.

She smiled faintly and extended her left hand. I quickly supported it and kissed the ring on her index finger.

In such formal settings, it was clearly inappropriate for a male servant to kiss her hand. But given her notorious reputation, no one found it odd.

"I remember you, young man," Lady Sherry said with a wink.

"It's my honor, madam. May I guide you?"

"Of course. This manor's layout is so monotonous. I can never find my way to my room." Lady Sherry extended her hand again, and I led her out of the hall.

But instead of taking her to a guest room, like an eager child, I pulled her to a cold, dark corner on the second floor and urgently embraced her ample figure, kissing her impatiently.

She was soon breathless from my kisses, her body limp.

"Oh, my goodness, you're so rude, you scoundrel! I'll tell your master!" She struggled to push me away.

I knelt down on one knee, clutching her legs, my voice filled with emotion as I repeated, "I love you, madly in love with you. Please forgive me...Oh, I know how despicable I am, falling in love with someone as noble and beautiful as you. I am not worthy, but I can't help it—I'm going mad!" 

Lady Shirley was panting, as if she were about to suffocate. I quickly stood up, holding her tightly, touching her through her clothes, groping and caressing her. Under such rough and forceful affection, she soon became soft and pliant, leaning into my arms.

"Oh, you fool," she said, covering her face with her hands, pretending to cry.

I gently pulled her hands away and kissed her. After a moment, she began kissing me back. That staged resistance earlier was necessary—it was common for nobles to elevate an affair to the level of a passionate love, as if it were an essential step.

Although her lips were thick, her kissing skills were quite remarkable. After a long while, she spoke in a soft, melancholy tone, "This shouldn't have happened, it really shouldn't." Suddenly, she noticed a ribbon at her feet and pushed me away to pick it up.

She thought it was hers, but when she picked it up, her eyes widened.

I knew she saw the embroidered pattern on the ribbon—no other dress in all of Yorkshire had the same design, and it was from an undergarment. Who would leave something like that behind?

"Whose is this?" Lady Shirley asked, looking thoughtfully at the pattern. She seemed to recall seeing Bruce's daughter, Margaret, wearing it.

"Uh...this!" I hastily covered my mouth, like a fool who couldn't keep a secret.

Lady Shirley wrapped the ribbon around her finger. "What? Do you know whose it is?"

"I...I don't know..." I stammered, lowering my head in panic.

"You brought me here. Have you brought others before? Let me guess... It was the second daughter of this household—Margaret!" Lady Shirley pressed me sharply.

"No! No! I only love you, my lady. I've never brought anyone else here. This was Jensen and Miss..." I quickly stopped myself.

"Oh my God!" Lady Shirley exclaimed excitedly.

"No, please, my lady, don't say anything, I beg you. Miss Margaret is about to get engaged. At a time like this, we can't have any rumors spreading. I just want to keep my job here peacefully. Please, I beg you," I pleaded, my face pale with worry.

"Foolish boy, what would I say? Nothing happened here today, right? We haven't even met, have we?" Lady Shirley stood on her toes and kissed my chin. "You're such a good boy. See you later. I need to go change."