Chapter 2 - The Maid Who Wouldn't Bow
Celeste’s heels clicked once against the marble.
Laura heard everyone around her stop breathing.
“You’re new.”
Laura placed another porcelain shard onto the tray.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then perhaps nobody has explained how this house works.”
Laura finally stood.
She was not as tall as Celeste. She was not dressed in silk or diamonds. Her black uniform had been issued that morning, and her white apron still carried a crease from storage.
Yet something about the way Laura met Celeste’s gaze changed the balance of the corridor.
“I understand my job,” Laura said.
Celeste smiled.
“No. You understand cleaning.”
The seventeen-year-old girl beside Laura flinched.
Laura noticed.
Celeste noticed Laura noticing.
That seemed to irritate her more.
“What’s your name?”
“Laura Beckett.”
“Laura Beckett,” Celeste repeated slowly. “You work for me.”
“No.”
Bess made a strangled sound.
Laura remained calm.
“My employment papers say Hardwick Household Management.”
Celeste’s smile disappeared.
“You think that distinction matters?”
“I think contracts generally do.”
Someone behind Laura coughed to hide what might have been a laugh.
Celeste turned.
Nobody moved.
She looked back at Laura.
“You’re dismissed for today.”
Laura nodded.
“If Mr. Hardwick or Mrs. Bess tells me that, I’ll leave.”
For the first time, genuine disbelief appeared on Celeste’s face.
Then footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor.
A man came around the corner carrying a leather portfolio.
Garrett Hardwick.
Laura had seen photographs.
They had not prepared her.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed entirely in black, his dark hair combed back from a face that looked carved rather than handsome. A faint scar crossed one eyebrow. Ink disappeared beneath his collar.
He stopped.
His eyes moved from Celeste to Laura, then to the girl kneeling beside broken porcelain.
“What happened?”
Celeste answered immediately.
“The new maid was disrespectful.”
Garrett looked at Laura.
“Was she?”
Laura met his eyes.
“I told Miss Vane the broken porcelain needed to be cleaned before somebody was injured.”
A pause.
“That’s disrespectful?”
“You weren’t here for her tone,” Celeste snapped.
Garrett’s gaze returned to her.
“No. I wasn’t.”
Something about those three words made Celeste stiffen.
Garrett crouched beside the kitchen girl.
“What’s your name?”
“Emily, sir.”
“Did you cut yourself?”
She hesitated.
Then showed him her palm.
Blood ran from a narrow slice beneath her thumb.
Garrett’s jaw tightened.
“Bess.”
The housekeeper appeared instantly.
“First-aid kit. Then have the driver take Emily to urgent care.”
“It’s barely a scratch,” Celeste said.
Garrett slowly stood.
Nobody spoke.
“Then you won’t mind me paying for it.”
Celeste’s expression hardened.
He turned toward Laura.
“You.”
Laura waited.
“My study. Six o’clock.”
Then he walked away.
Percy found Laura twenty minutes later.
“What did you do?”
“Cleaned up porcelain.”
“You contradicted Celeste.”
“Yes.”
“In front of Garrett Hardwick.”
“Yes.”
Percy stared at her.
“You’re insane.”
Laura almost smiled.
“Possible.”
But she wasn't.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
At six, she knocked on Garrett’s study door.
“Come in.”
The room smelled of leather, cedar, and expensive whiskey.
Garrett stood at the window.
“Close the door.”
Laura did.
He turned.
“Why did you take this job?”
“Money.”
“That simple?”
“Usually is.”
Garrett studied her.
“My security chief ran your background.”
Laura felt something tighten beneath her ribs.
“That seems excessive for a maid.”
“It is.”
“Did you find anything interesting?”
“Very.”
There it was.
Laura said nothing.
Garrett opened the portfolio on his desk.
“Laura Beckett. Thirty-four. Eight years in domestic service. Before that, four years in the United States Army.”
Laura’s face remained still.
“Military police.”
Still nothing.
“Advanced defensive training.”
Garrett closed the file.
“You neglected to mention that.”
“It wasn't relevant to polishing silver.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
“Why domestic work?”
“Because I wanted a quiet life.”
“And did you find one?”
“Until Tuesday.”
This time, Garrett definitely fought a smile.
Then it disappeared.
“Celeste will try to make you quit.”
“I assumed.”
“She doesn’t tolerate challenges.”
“I didn't challenge her.”
“You looked her in the eye.”
“That counts?”
“In this house?”
His gaze sharpened.
“Yes.”
Laura folded her hands.
“Then maybe this house has a problem.”
Garrett looked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then came the question Laura hadn't expected.
“Are they afraid of her?”
Laura could have protected herself.
She could have said she was new.
Could have claimed ignorance.
Instead she answered.
“Yes.”
Garrett looked back.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Something cold entered his expression.
Not anger at Laura.
Something else.
“Why has nobody told me?”
Laura considered that.
“Maybe because everyone is also afraid of you.”
The silence became absolute.
Most people, Laura suspected, did not speak to Garrett Hardwick that way.
He walked slowly around the desk.
He stopped several feet from her.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you afraid of me?”
Laura studied him.
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
“But fear and obedience aren't the same thing.”
Garrett stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he nodded.
“You may go.”
Laura reached the door.
“Miss Beckett.”
She turned.
“If Celeste touches a member of my staff again, you come directly to me.”
Laura’s expression changed.
“Your staff already tried that.”
Garrett went still.
Laura opened the door.
“Ask Bess.”
She left him alone.
Ten minutes later, Garrett summoned his housekeeper.
Bess entered pale-faced.
He asked one question.
“How long?”
Bess stared at him.
“Sir?”
“How long has Celeste been putting her hands on my employees?”
Bess said nothing.
That silence answered him.
Garrett leaned back.
“Tell me everything.”
And downstairs, completely unaware of that conversation, Laura walked into the servants’ dining room.
Every person at the table looked at her.
May you like
Then Emily, her palm freshly bandaged, pulled out the chair beside her.
For the first time since Laura entered the Hardwick estate, somebody smiled.
