The manor smelled different when Margaret was awake.
Arthur had noticed it before, of course. The faint scent of fresh bread in the morning. The herbs drying near the kitchen window. The clean linen folded beside the bedrooms, the polished wood of the dining table, and the little vase of flowers that somehow appeared in the entrance hall whenever the old ones began to wilt.
He had assumed those things happened because the house had servants.
Then he had begun paying attention.
The bread was Margaret’s work. So were the herbs, the linen, the flowers, and the little repairs that kept the manor from looking as though its owner had abandoned it years ago.
Even the dining room had changed. The heavy curtains had been drawn back to let in the morning light, and someone had placed a small bowl of fruit at the centre of the table.
Arthur stopped beside it.
There was a note beneath the bowl.
Please eat something before leaving for your training, Sir. You cannot live on stubbornness.
He stared at the handwriting.
Then he laughed.
"She’s getting bold."
"She has always been bold."
Elena stood in the doorway with a basket of folded clothes resting against her hip. Her expression was composed, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her.
Arthur picked up the note. "You make it sound as though you knew her before I did."
"I know enough to recognize the handwriting of someone who has been trying to keep this household functioning."
"Is that a criticism of me?"
"Would you prefer praise?"
"No. Praise would make me suspicious."
Elena laughed and continued toward the stairs.
Arthur watched her leave, then glanced around the dining room again.
He had inherited the manor with its furniture, its servants’ quarters, and all the expensive objects that wealth accumulated over time. None of those things had made it a home.
Margaret had done that.
He found her in the kitchen, checking a pot while the morning sunlight streamed through the windows. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a plain apron over her dress. A list lay beside her, covered in neat handwriting.
"Margaret."
She turned immediately. "Yes, Sir?"
"How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough to prepare breakfast."
"That wasn’t what I asked."
Her eyes flicked toward the clock.
"A reasonable amount of time?"
Arthur folded his arms.
She gave him a small smile. "I woke early."
"You need to rest too."
"I will, Sir."
"When?"
Arthur looked at the list. It contained the day’s meals, the washing, several household repairs, and a note reminding someone to collect fresh supplies from the market.
He picked it up.
"Everything will never be finished. That’s how houses work."
Margaret opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He put the list back on the counter.
"You don’t have to earn your place here every morning."
For a moment, the kitchen became unusually quiet.
Margaret lowered her gaze to the pot.
"I know, Sir."
He suspected she did not entirely believe it.
That would take time.
Arthur had rescued her from the market, but rescuing someone was only the first step. It was easy to promise safety during a dramatic moment. The harder part was making that promise believable on ordinary mornings, when there were dishes to wash, meals to prepare, and no danger in sight.
He took an apple from the bowl beside the window.
"Good. Then consider this an order from your exceptionally wise master. You are taking a break today."
Margaret looked at him.
"An order?"
"An important one."
"What happens if I disobey?"
"I shall be forced to eat two breakfasts."
She covered her mouth, but the laugh escaped anyway.
"You’re impossible, Sir."
"And yet you continue to feed me."
"Someone has to make sure you survive."
"See? The household would collapse without you."
The words came out casually.
Margaret’s smile lingered, but something in her expression changed. She looked away before he could ask what had happened.
Arthur let her have the moment.
He was learning that kindness did not always require an immediate answer.
By midday, the manor had become a small theatre of domestic arguments.
Kaelera had decided that the pantry shelves were arranged incorrectly. Elena disagreed, pointing out that the arrangement made sense if one understood the difference between supplies used every day and those kept for emergencies.
Kaelera insisted that anything worth eating was an everyday supply.
Elena asked whether that explained the mysterious disappearance of the smoked meat.
Kaelera looked offended.
Arthur, who had entered at precisely the wrong moment, decided to leave before he became a witness. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
"Master!"
He stopped.
Margaret stood beside the pantry with a ledger in her hand.
"Could you settle something for us?"
Arthur slowly turned toward the ceiling.
"Why do I feel that this is a trap?"
"Because you know us," Kaelera replied.
Elena smiled pleasantly. "We simply need an impartial judgment."
Arthur looked from one woman to the other.
"Fine. State your cases."
Kaelera pointed at the shelves. "The food should be where people can reach it."
"It is where people can reach it," Elena said. "Provided they remember which shelf contains which ingredients."
"I remember perfectly."
"Then perhaps you can explain why the emergency meat is missing."
Kaelera’s ears twitched.
Arthur looked at Margaret.
Margaret looked at the ledger.
Then all three looked at Kaelera.
The beastwoman folded her arms.
"I was hungry."
Arthur nodded gravely. "A devastating defence."
"You ate half the bread this morning!"
"That was breakfast."
"It was meant for breakfast!"
"Exactly."
Margaret laughed so hard that she had to close the ledger.
The sound made Arthur smile.
There had been a time when she moved through the manor quietly, careful not to take up too much space. Now she argued over food, laughed at Kaelera’s excuses, and corrected her when the latter became too particular about household accounts.
She was no longer merely the woman Arthur had brought home from the market.
She belonged here.
The realization settled into him with surprising weight.
As the argument dissolved into more laughter, Arthur stepped closer to Margaret. While the other two were still bickering over the ledger, he let his hand slide down and delivered a firm, playful slap to her ass. The sound was sharp in the pantry.
Margaret jumped, cheeks flushing instantly. "Sir!"
Arthur only grinned, then turned and caught Elena by the waist, pressing a quick, warm kiss to her lips. Before Kaelera could protest the favoritism, he did the same to her—lingering just long enough for the beastwoman’s tail to flick in surprise.
"There," he said mildly. "Balance restored."
Kaelera huffed, but her eyes were bright. Elena touched her lips, a small smile playing there.
Margaret, still pink, muttered something about "impossible masters" under her breath and returned to her ledger with far less composure than before.