Chapter 15

William wandered through the manor the day after the latest broken window incident, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished floors. As he moved from room to room, he couldn't help but notice the subtle yet significant changes that had taken place since Rose had begun working there.

The once oppressive atmosphere had lifted. Curtains, which had long hung heavy and dark over the windows, were now pulled back, allowing streams of sunlight to filter into the rooms. The light revealed a space that had been transformed. Dust, which had collected in thick layers over the years, was gone, replaced by a fresh, clean scent that seemed to permeate every corner of the manor.

Books and knick-knacks that had once been strewn haphazardly across tables and shelves were now neatly arranged, creating an air of order and tidiness. The floors gleamed, and the furniture, which had looked worn and tired, now seemed to have a renewed luster. The walls, once dull and faded, appeared brighter, as if Rose's touch had breathed new life into them.

He paused in the drawing room, a place that had once felt oppressive and stifling. Now, with the curtains drawn back and the room bathed in natural light, it felt warm and welcoming. He could almost hear the echoes of laughter and conversation that had once filled the space, a stark contrast to the silence that had settled over the manor in recent years.

William realized just how much he had let things go since the tragedies that had befallen his family. The manor, once a symbol of his family's legacy and pride, had become a reflection of his own sorrow and neglect. But now, with Rose's diligent care, it was beginning to feel like a home again.

He took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of gratitude and guilt. Gratitude for Rose's efforts in revitalizing the manor, and guilt for allowing it to fall into such disrepair in the first place. He knew he owed her a debt of thanks, not just for her work, but for the quiet determination with which she had approached her duties.

As William stood in the drawing room, quietly reflecting on the transformation, Mr. Hancock appeared in the doorway. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Good morning, Mr. Hancock," William turned to him with a smile. "You are not interrupting at all. I was just admiring the changes around the manor. It seems… brighter somehow, wouldn't you agree?"

Mr. Hancock's eyes flashed across the room, taking in the sunlight streaming through the freshly cleaned windows and the neatly arranged furniture. His face remained impassive, but William detected a flicker of something in the old man's eyes… perhaps, approval? Although it was difficult to tell with someone as reserved as Mr. Hancock was.

"It does appear different, Your Grace," Mr. Hancock replied, his tone neutral.

William smiled slightly, knowing that Mr. Hancock had never been one for overt displays of emotion or praise. The steward had served the family for decades, through joy and sorrow, and his loyalty was unquestionable. However, William also knew that Mr. Hancock was wary of newcomers, particularly someone like Rose, whose presence had brought about such a noticeable change.

"I trust the changes are to your liking?" William asked, trying to gauge the man's true feelings.

Mr. Hancock hesitated for a moment, then he responded. "The manor is certainly looking… refreshed. Miss Rose has been thorough in her duties.:

William nodded, appreciating the effort it took for Mr. Hancock to give even that measured praise. "Indeed, she has. Her hard work has made quite a difference. It's almost as if the manor is waking up after a long sleep."

And not only the manor, but he himself. Only, he didn't say that part aloud. He wisely chose to keep it to himself.

Mr. Hancock's gaze lingered on the windows, the light reflecting off his spectacles. "I do not doubt her diligence, Your Grace. However, I have always believed that the true character of a home is not in its appearance, but in the steadiness of those who maintain it."

William understood the underlying message. "Your steadfastness has been the backbone of this household, Mr. Hancock. And it's because of that foundation that such improvements can be appreciated."

Hancock inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. "As you say, Your Grace."

William sensed the steward's reluctance to fully embrace the changes, but he also knew that time would eventually soften Hancock's reservations. "Thank you, Mr. Hancock. Your loyalty and service mean a great deal to me."

With a final nod, Hancock turned to leave, but William called after him. "Mr. Hancock, if you have any suggestions or concerns, please don't hesitate to bring them to my attention."

Hancock paused, then nodded again. "Of course, Your Grace."

Continuing to wander through the mansion, William found himself back in his study, realizing that there was a note on his writing table. Curious, he approached it and took it in his hand.

Your Grace,

I will go to the village after church and find someone to mend your broken window. It is the least I can do.

Sincerely

Rose

William frowned. The least she could do? He couldn't understand her reasoning. She hadn't done anything wrong, just as he had already told her. Surely, she knew that such matters would be handled by Mr. Hancock. He placed the note back on the writing table, its presence stirring a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

The events of the previous night flashed vividly in his mind—the kiss, the intensity of the moment, and the undeniable connection he felt with Rose. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his conflicting emotions. Guilt gnawed at him. He was a duke, and she was his maid. It was inappropriate, a breach of the trust and boundaries that should exist between them.

Yet, despite the guilt, he couldn't deny the longing that pulsed through him. The way her lips had felt against his, the softness of her touch, the spark that ignited between them—these sensations haunted him, making him yearn for more.

He sat down heavily in his chair, staring at the note once more. Rose was thoughtful and capable, always going beyond her duties, and he admired that about her. But it was more than admiration. It was a deep, growing affection that he hadn't expected and wasn't sure how to handle.

Not wanting to linger there any longer and remain stuck in the vortex of his own thoughts which threatened to pull him apart, he decided to head to the stables. The broken window from the night before had unsettled him more than he was willing to admit, and he feared that there could be more damage, especially in the stables.

His horse Midnight had been with him since it was barely older than a filly, a steadfast companion through all his trials. The thought of anything happening to him filled him with dread. Without even realizing, he hastened his step, reaching the barn. He entered, when suddenly, several shadows started to move about.

"Run! He's here!" William heard voices, and he knew that the same boys had returned, obviously to finish what they had started the previous night.

His gaze darted in all directions, but he couldn't catch sight of any of them. They were already heading towards the back, where they slipped out, leaving him alone in the stables. He inhaled deeply, a strange scent irritating his nostrils. He couldn't immediately recognize the scent, but he recognized the smoke, which appeared at the far end. A sense of horror gripped him.

"Fire!" he shouted, hoping that no one else was around or inside the stables, but him and the horses, all of which started to neigh nervously, sensing the imminent danger.

Somewhere in the distance, boyish laughter exploded, their voices carrying on the wind. He couldn't believe that there was so much malice in such young souls. He had not seen that even in hardened war veterans. He quickly reminded himself where he was and what was happening. Panic surged through him.

"Midnight?" he shouted, calling for his horse.

The smoke thickened, stinging his eyes and clawing at his throat, as long flickering tongues of fire started to dance around him. He pushed through, lifting his arm and burying his nose into the inner side of his elbow, in hopes that the fabric of his shirt would provide some sort of barrier between his nose and the smoke.

Within seconds, the fire had already taken hold. Flames licked hungrily at the wooden beams and stacks of hay, crackling with fierce intensity. He spotted Midnight, wild-eyed and terrified, kicking at the stall door. William's heart pounded as he raced to free him. He yanked the latch open and guided him out, the horse bolting away to safety. He did the same with the other three horses.

With all of them safe, William turned back to the inferno. He grabbed a nearby bucket, desperate to douse the flames, but it was a futile effort. The fire had spread too quickly, fed by the dry hay and timber. He threw bucket after bucket of water, each splash seeming insignificant against the roaring blaze.

The heat was unbearable, and the smoke thickened, making it hard to breathe. William's vision blurred, his head spinning. He stumbled, feeling the fire's relentless advance. Just as he was about to collapse, a wave of dizziness overtook him. The world darkened, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.