Chapter 1: Life of servitude

The morning air was crisp as Jane tightened her shawl around her thin shoulders. The grand estate of the Lawrence family stood before her, its towering white columns and expansive gardens a stark contrast to the small, crumbling cottage she shared with her ailing father. She had grown used to this contrast—wealth and luxury brushing against hardship and survival. It was the way of the world, and she had long accepted her place in it.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward, passing through the servants' entrance at the back of the estate. The scent of freshly baked bread and simmering broth filled the kitchen, where other maids bustled about, preparing for the day's work.

"Jane, you're late." Susan, the head maid, shot her a sharp look as she kneaded dough with forceful hands.

"I'm sorry," Jane murmured, lowering her gaze. She had spent the early hours tending to her father, ensuring he had his medicine before making the long walk to the estate.

Susan sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "You know Lady Margaret doesn't tolerate tardiness. If she finds out, she'll dock your wages."

Jane nodded. Every penny she earned went to her father's care—medicine, food, rent. She couldn't afford to lose a single coin.

"Go upstairs and help prepare the drawing room," Susan instructed. "And for heaven's sake, keep out of sight when the family is around."

Jane hurried up the servant's staircase, her worn shoes silent against the polished wood. The Lawrence estate was a world of grandeur—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, walls lined with gold-framed portraits, and furniture so delicate it looked untouched.

She moved swiftly, dusting the marble fireplace and straightening the velvet cushions. She had just finished adjusting a vase of fresh roses when the sound of approaching footsteps made her freeze.

"Mother, I don't see why this is necessary," a deep voice said.

Jane knew better than to linger, but curiosity rooted her to the spot.

"It is necessary because a man of your standing cannot afford to remain unattached," came a woman's clipped reply. Jane immediately recognized the voice of Lady Margaret Lawrence.

Jack Lawrence, Jane realized. She had seen him before, but only from a distance—a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes and a presence that made the air feel charged. Unlike his mother, who carried herself with an air of cold superiority, Jack was different.

"Olivia is a lovely young woman," Lady Margaret continued. "You have known her since childhood. It is only natural for you to marry her."

Jack sighed. "I have no intention of marrying Olivia, or anyone else for that matter. I fail to see why you insist on arranging my future like this."

"Because I am your mother, and I know what is best for you."

Jane's pulse quickened. She should leave before they saw her, but as she turned to slip away, her foot caught the edge of the rug. She stumbled, knocking over the vase. Water spilled onto the carpet, and the crash of porcelain shattered the silence.

Lady Margaret gasped. "You foolish girl!"

Jane dropped to her knees, hurriedly gathering the broken pieces. "I'm sorry, my lady," she whispered.

Jack's gaze landed on her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you hurt?"

Lady Margaret scoffed. "She'll be hurt if she keeps this up. Do you realize how expensive that vase was?"

Jane kept her head down. She knew from experience that apologizing was useless. The best she could do was clean up and get out of their sight.

Jack, however, surprised her. "It was an accident, Mother. There's no need to make a scene."

"A scene?" Lady Margaret's voice was sharp. "That girl has no place eavesdropping on private conversations."

Jane felt her cheeks burn. "I wasn't—I only came to—"

"Enough." Lady Margaret waved a dismissive hand. "Get out of my sight."

Jane scrambled to her feet, clutching the broken shards, but as she turned to leave, Jack spoke again.

"What's your name?"

Jane hesitated. His voice was calm, yet something about it made her heart race. She swallowed hard. "Jane, sir."

"Jane," he repeated, as if testing how her name felt on his tongue.

Lady Margaret stepped between them. "She's a maid, Jack. Hardly worth your attention."

Jane bowed her head and hurried away, her heart pounding.

She had spent years being invisible, blending into the background, unnoticed by those who lived in luxury. But for the first time, someone had looked at her. Really looked at her.

And that terrified her more than anything else.