Chapter 3: An Unwanted Summons

Jane's breath was unsteady as she followed Anna through the dimly lit halls of the servants' quarters. The candlelight flickered against the cold stone walls, casting shadows that danced with her growing unease.

"Mr. Jack Lawrence asked for you."

The words echoed in her mind, heavy and unsettling. Maids were rarely, if ever, summoned by the master's son directly. Servants were meant to be unseen, their presence fading into the backdrop of the grand Lawrence estate. Yet tonight, Jack had broken that unspoken rule.

"Do you know what this is about?" Jane whispered as they climbed the narrow staircase leading to the main hall.

Anna shook her head. "Susan sent me to fetch you. That's all I know."

Jane exhaled slowly. Perhaps it was about the vase she accidentally broke that morning. Lady Margaret must have insisted on punishment.

Or worse—she had somehow drawn Jack's attention.

At the top of the stairs, Susan stood waiting, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable.

"Go in," she said, tilting her head toward the heavy wooden doors of the study.

Jane's fingers curled at her sides. "Is Lady Margaret inside?"

"No. Just him."

Him.

That didn't ease Jane's nerves in the slightest.

Taking a steadying breath, Jane stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

---

Inside the Study

The study was dimly lit, the scent of aged books and burning firewood thick in the air. The warmth from the hearth contrasted with the chill running down Jane's spine as she stepped inside.

Jack Lawrence stood near the large mahogany desk, pouring himself a glass of brandy. His tall frame cast a long shadow against the towering bookshelves, and the golden glow of the fire illuminated the sharp angles of his face. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing strong forearms, and his dark hair fell slightly over his brow in an effortless way that only made him seem more untouchable.

Jane's gaze lowered to the floor as the heavy doors closed behind her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Jack set his glass down and turned toward her, his piercing blue eyes locking onto her.

"You're trembling," he observed.

Jane straightened her posture, willing her hands to stop shaking. "I was told you asked for me, sir."

His lips twitched slightly, almost amused by her formal tone. "I did."

When he didn't continue, Jane swallowed hard. "If this is about the vase, I truly didn't mean to—"

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about the vase."

Her eyes widened slightly. "It's not?"

He stepped closer, the faint creak of the wooden floor echoing in the silence. "No. I wanted to know something."

Jane's pulse quickened. "And what would that be, sir?"

Jack studied her, his gaze lingering on her worn dress and calloused hands. "How long have you worked here?"

The question startled her. "Three years, sir."

"Three years," he echoed, as if weighing her answer. "And yet, I never noticed you until today."

Jane's heart skipped a beat. "Servants are not meant to be noticed."

A quiet chuckle escaped Jack's lips. "No, I suppose they're not."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire. Jane felt the heat of Jack's gaze, but she dared not meet it.

Then Jack's eyes drifted to her hands. "Your hands... they're rough."

Jane instinctively curled her fingers into her palms. "I work."

"Harder than the others, it seems."

Her jaw tightened. "I do what I must to provide for my father."

At the mention of her father, Jack's expression shifted. Curiosity softened into something more... something Jane couldn't quite place.

"You take care of him?"

"Yes," she said quietly, her eyes falling to the floor. "He is ill. I do what I can."

Jack was silent for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Then, he turned away and took a slow sip of brandy.

"You should go," he said at last.

Jane blinked in surprise. "That's all?"

Jack smirked faintly, setting his glass back on the desk. "Did you expect something more?"

"No, sir," she answered quickly, though her heart raced with confusion.

Jack said nothing else, only watching her as she turned and walked toward the door. With each step, her heart pounded against her ribs.

As she stepped into the dimly lit corridor and the heavy doors closed behind her, she released a shaky breath.

She had survived the encounter.

But deep inside, something told her this was only the beginning.

---

Later That Night

In the cramped servants' quarters, Jane sat on the edge of her narrow cot, staring at the flickering candle beside her. The shadows on the walls seemed to taunt her, whispering secrets she couldn't understand.

Jack's words replayed in her mind.

"Three years... yet I never noticed you until today."

Why did that matter to him? Why had he summoned her, only to ask such simple, almost trivial questions?

She had spent years blending into the background, keeping her head down, avoiding unnecessary attention. And yet, tonight, Jack Lawrence had seen her.

Not as a maid.

Not as someone invisible.

But as Jane.

Her heart clenched at the thought. For the son of the house to notice her... it was dangerous. Foolish, even. Lady Margaret would never allow her son to lower himself to the likes of a poor maid. And the other servants, especially Susan, would not take kindly to it either.

She had seen how Olivia, Jack's childhood friend, clung to him at every social gathering. The whispers in the servants' quarters spoke of a future marriage between them—a union of wealth and status.

And yet... tonight, Jack's eyes had lingered on her. His words had held curiosity, perhaps even... interest.

Jane shook her head, forcing the thought away. It was madness to entertain such ideas. Men like Jack Lawrence did not belong in the world of women like her.

And yet... she couldn't silence the flutter in her chest.

In the darkness of the night, she prayed that whatever had begun in that study would fade with the morning light.

But deep down, a part of her feared that Jack Lawrence had already planted something dangerous within her heart.

Something that no amount of fear or reason could stop.