Lady Eleanor’s brows rise, her mouth tightening in what looks like disbelief—or maybe disgust. “And why,” she says slowly, “would you be wasting your time speaking with a servant?”
I meet her eyes. “Because she’s a person, Lady Eleanor. Just because someone is a servant doesn’t mean they don’t have value. Besides,” I add lightly, “I enjoy conversation. Something I don’t get much of around here.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t reply. Instead, she waves a dismissive hand at Lina, who practically flees from the room, clutching her cleaning rags like a shield.
When the door closes, silence settles again. Lady Eleanor surveys me with an expression I can only describe as disapproving curiosity, like she’s inspecting a piece of fruit that might already be bruised.
I take ano
