CHAPTER 19: The Alpha Female of Henstone
1127 Words
The sun rose in a blaze of gold, flooding Henstone Manor with its warm light. Inside, the usually tranquil halls buzzed with activity. Every servant was consumed with frantic preparation, the air thick with urgency. Emma, amidst helping here and there, had entirely forgotten her most important task—attending to her lady. Realizing this, she dashed through the corridor, her hurried footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
At last, she burst into the lady’s chambers, breathless.
"My lady!" she gasped, clutching her hand. "I’m so sorry. I—"
Her words faltered as she took in the sight before her. Valerie, already awake, stood before the mirror, adjusting the delicate folds of her dress. Emma froze, her hands flying to her lips, her eyes sparkling with surprise and admiration.
"How do I look?" Valerie asked, turning with a graceful twirl. She wore a pastel blue gown, simple yet exquisitely elegant, its soft hues highlighting her fair complexion. Dangling earrings adorned her ears, their gentle sway catching the morning light. A choker with a brilliant topaz sat snugly around her slender neck, accentuating her refined beauty. "I was thinking of tying my hair up as well," she added with a radiant smile.
"My lady, please, allow me," Emma offered eagerly, her earlier panic replaced by devotion.
Valerie inclined her head gracefully, granting permission. Emma’s nimble fingers worked with care, gathering the silky strands into an elegant updo. Once satisfied, Valerie descended the grand staircase to the dining room.
The manor, no longer its serene self, pulsed with noise and movement. Servants bustled to and fro, their hurried steps and voices filling the air with a cacophony of preparation.
"It’s like watching a tap dance accompanied by an overzealous orchestra," Valerie murmured to herself with a touch of amusement.
Emma, ever by her side, voiced her concern. "My lady, you should have taken breakfast in your chambers. The manor is in such disarray because of the Marquess's upcoming return."
Valerie's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Marquess. Her slender fingers instinctively rested on her chest, feeling the quickened rhythm beneath. "E-Emma, is everything proceeding smoothly?"
"For the most part, yes," Emma replied, though her voice betrayed a hint of unease. "But there’s been a commotion. The supplier of meat and produce delivered the goods late, and when they arrived..." She hesitated, worry clouding her features. "...they were in poor condition. Mr. Owell is arguing with their representative as we speak."
Valerie’s brows knitted in frustration. A memory surfaced—when supplies had been sent to the Marquess's troops during battle, the crates of cabbages had been spoiled. The thought sparked indignation, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"Emma," Valerie said, her voice cutting through the air like steel, "who is the manor’s supplier?"
Emma shifted uneasily, avoiding her lady’s piercing gaze. "Well... it’s someone you know, my lady."
Valerie’s confusion deepened. "Someone I know?"
"Yes, it’s Viscount Seddy," Emma admitted.
At the name, Valerie’s memory stirred. The image of Viscount Seddy leaped to the forefront of her mind—a pompous man who had once humiliated Ashton at a ball, mocking his lack of title. The scene burned fresh in her memory, as did the Viscount’s unwelcome admiration for her, which she had swiftly rejected.
Her hands clenched into fists, her fury barely contained. "Emma, take me to Mr. Owell at once," she commanded, her voice cold and resolute.
As they approached the commotion, the noise grew louder, a cacophony of heated voices clashing in the open courtyard. Valerie's sharp eyes took in the scene from a distance. Butler Alex stood rigid, his fists clenched and his jaw tight, the picture of barely-contained fury. Beside him, the Madam was struggling, her maid holding her back, preventing her from rushing forward. Scattered across the ground were overturned crates of vegetables and slabs of meat, their spoiled state evident in their unpleasant odor and discolored appearance.
At the center of the chaos stood a man in fine yet pompously adorned clothing, his posture exuding arrogance. Arms crossed, he sneered at the distressed Madam, his voice dripping with mockery.
"The meat was already contaminated because the careless, mentally retired mistress of this manor mishandled it," he declared with a cruel chuckle, his words deliberately cutting.
The Madam’s voice trembled with both anger and anguish as she shot back, "No! Your goods—rotten... damaged—my son... my son got sick because of them!"
The man rolled his eyes, his contempt palpable. "Huh? As if your precious son isn’t just another lowly commoner, running his sword through monsters and feasting on their filthy blood and flesh."
Alex’s grip on his composure was fraying. His lips pressed into a bloodless line, his knuckles white from how tightly he clenched his fists. The insult wasn’t just an affront to his mistress, it was a direct attack on the Marquess himself. Yet the man before him wasn’t just any merchant’s representative—it was Viscount Seddy, a noble notorious for his venomous tongue and disdain for those he deemed beneath him.
"Hah!" Seddy sneered, his voice oozing derision. "Don’t forget that your so-called master is a Marquess in name only. He’s a noble only in the eyes of groveling commoners, not in the world of true aristocracy."
The words stung like a whip, an open mockery of the Marquess's rise to power and his less-than-illustrious origins. Alex's restraint was a thread away from snapping, but before he could react, a sudden whistling sound cut through the air.
Thud!
The Viscount staggered, clutching his forehead as blood trickled down from a fresh wound. Shock and confusion crossed his face, his composure crumbling. Gasps echoed from the onlookers, but before anyone could recover, another projectile struck—this time, square on his face.
Smack!
It was a shoe.
Seddy reeled from the impact, nearly losing his balance, the sharp outline of the heel leaving a clear mark on his skin. Dazed and humiliated, he struggled to stand upright, only to see the second shoe lying at his feet. His face flushed crimson, not just from pain but from the mortification of being publicly struck.
All eyes turned toward the source, and there stood Valerie, her posture regal, her gaze as sharp and cold as a blade. Her bare feet rested on the ground, but her stance made it clear she needed no shoes to assert her authority. The fire in her eyes dared anyone to challenge her next move.
"You dare insult this house and its people?" she said, her voice low and steady, yet carrying the force of a thunderclap.
Silence fell over the courtyard, broken only by the distant rustle of wind. Everyone froze, waiting for what would come next.
- Writer
