Chapter 7: Hope Enkindled.
1111 Words
As the moon arose, I stood on the terrace, looking out over the silent grounds and reflecting on all that has happened to me so far. I felt a presence behind me, the scent of expensive sandalwood and subtle heat of Richard’s proximity. He didn't crowd me, he just stood at the railing a few feet away, giving me space to breathe.
“Richard?” I called.
“Yes?” He responded.
“Why do you care about the baby?” I asked in a very low voice. “Most men in your position would see a child that isn't theirs as a complication, an heir issue, or a complete scandal.”
Richard turned to me, the moonlight catching the grey at his temples. “Like I said and I will repeat it a million times if it will make you believe me. “I’ve spent my life building a legacy of paper and ink. Contracts, litigations, victories that don't breathe. When I saw you collapse in that diner, I realised that all the money in my accounts could not wake you up. This baby… it's a chance for me to build something that actually lives. It's not a complication, Oma. It's a gift I didn't know I was allowed to ask for.”
I impulsively put my head against his shoulder. For the first time in months, the tension in my neck snapped, I felt hope strongly rekindled. I wasn’t just a waitress, he wasn't a cruel corporate shark, and the baby wasn't a secret.
“I think I will like to see the gardens tomorrow,” I said as my heart felt lighter than it has been in months.
Richard wrapped his arm around my waist, anchoring me. “Then tomorrow, the gardens are yours. Everything is yours.”
Surprisingly I slept very well in the night, I was not aware of the dawn. The residual exhaustion was still lingering in my body. I was just turning in the bed ready to continue the sleep when I heard a light tap on my door. Then I opened my eyes to the brightness of the morning sun filtering into the room.
I knew it would be Richard and nobody else but I asked. “Who is it?”
“It's daybreak, sleeping beauty” Richard responded. “Wake up and get ready for breakfast, I’ll come and get you in a bit” he said and left the door.
I was obliged to get up feeling refreshed but not yet accustomed to my new mansion. I quickly got ready, dressed in a pink silk dress, one of the ones Richard had ordered for me and was waiting for Richard.
We later moved down the stairs together, to be introduced to the domestic staff before breakfast. I was physically nervous because I didn’t have any idea of what to expect.
“Deep breaths,” Richard whispered, his hand firm and grounding on the small of my back. “You belong here.”
He pressed the button on the wall intercom. “All the staff of the foyer, Immediately.”
Within three minutes, the household’s clockwork precision was on display. Mrs Higgins, the silver-haired housekeeper, led the line. Behind her stood Michael, the Stoic butler; Clifford, the young chef; and two junior maids, Sophie and Evelyn.
They stood in a perfect row, their eyes forward, though the air was filled with suppressed energy.
Richard stepped forward. “I have called all of you here to make a formal announcement.” Richard began. “This is Oma. As of this moment, she is the mistress of this house. Her word is my word. Her comfort is the priority of this estate. She has been unwell, and she's carrying my child. I expect the highest level of discretion and service. Is that understood?”
There was silence which was heavy enough to sink a sheep. Mrs Higgins however was the first to recover, dipping into a practiced, slightly stiff curtsy. “Of course, Mr Jones, and turning to me she said. “Welcome home, Miss Oma.”
The others echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘welcome, Miss,” that sounded a little too rehearsed. Richard nodded, satisfied, and led me towards the sun room for breakfast.
The moment the heavy oak doors closed behind us, the staff scrambled into the kitchen like a flock of startled birds.
“Did you say Mistress?” Sophie, the younger maid, hissed as she grabbed a polishing cloth. “Not a guest, not a friend, the Mistress. And did you see her shoes?
“She is a waitress,” Clifford the chef added, leaning against the prep table with a smirk. “I’ve seen her on a few occasions. She is one of those who always handle double shifts on Friday nights. He didn't find her at a gala; he found her in a restaurant, at her work station.”
“That's enough.” Mrs Higgins said slamming the silver tray onto the table. ‘It doesn't matter if he found her in a garden or the gutter. Mr Jones has made his position clear. She is carrying the Jones heir.”
“That's the bit that gets me,” Evelyn whispered, poking her head in. “The waitress is suddenly the queen of the manor? It's like a Hallmark movie, only with more expensive lawyers.”
“I give it a month,” Sophie muttered, turning on the tap. Once the morning sickness kicks in and the glamour of the mansion wears off, she'll realise that she's a bird in a very expensive cage.”
Back in the sunroom, I couldn’t help but voice out my disapproval of Richard’s action. “Richard, you can't just…tell people I'm the Mistress,’ I said with a trembling voice. “I serve tables. I don't know how to be …this.”
Richard reached across the table and held my hands. Richard smiled, “You don't have to ‘be’ anything, Oma “The staff will adapt, and if they don't, I‘ll find a staff that does. You and the baby are the only things that matter to me now.”
Outside the door, Mrs Higgins stood with a fresh pot of tea. She had heard the exchange. She looked down at the humble girl and the powerful man, then back towards the kitchen where the gossip was still brewing.
“The waitress might have been a shock to the system, but the Master was finally home, and for the first time in years, the house felt like it was breathing.” Mrs Higgins said as she walked away.
- Writer
