As expected, the ducal family arrived promptly at noon the next day. 

From her balcony in the West Wing, Celestine looked at the members of the household staff lining the entrance hall, their dark uniforms contrasting with the white marble columns like the black ants in her windowsill during summer. At the top of the steps stood the stocky figure of Mrs. Wicks, her back ramrod straight, her broad chin raised. Celestine couldn’t make out the head maid’s expression from her vantage point, but she was certain that her old, beady eyes were gleaming with pride as she awaited for the carriages to draw to a stop.

Celestine loathed to admit it, but Mrs. Wicks had every reason to be proud. She had worked tirelessly to ensure that the sprawling 2.5 acre mansion lived up to the standards one would have for the residence of the Grand Duke of Norfolk. Maids had rotated between sweeping the floors and wiping the furniture until not a speck of dust could be seen from them. The kitchen aides had also dutifully restocked the pantry with a month’s worth of different proteins, vegetables and special spices to satisfy any of the duke’s cravings.

This fastidious care, however, didn’t extend to the West Wing. 

Or as Celestine had heard the other maids call it, the Bastards’ Abode.

No one aside from Lucille and her young assistant, Mary, cared enough to maintain the cleanliness of the thirty rooms in it. There were barely any furniture aside from a bed, a dresser and a few settees, and the decorations were limited to an assortment of outdated draperies and moth-eaten carpets. Celestine knew that none of these shortcomings mattered to Mrs. Wicks and the other servants. 

The duke never goes here, so why bother, right? Celestine’s lips thinned at the thought, and she quickly turned away from the marble balustrade. She wasn’t the same girl who had looked on expectantly whenever the footman assisted the duke from the carriage, desperately clinging onto the foolish hope that he would look up her way at least once.

But he never did.

And so Celestine left the balcony and went inside her bedroom, the hem of her white cotton dress billowing around her calf.

Lucille was sitting in the edge of the settee, red hair swept up in a bun and dressed in a plain brown gown, looking years older than her actual age of twenty. It certainly didn’t help that her ruddy brows were knit together and her forehead were scrunched up like an old lady as she concentrated on her task of adjusting Celestine’s blue dress.

Her brother, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Silas?” asked Celestine as she sat next to her friend.

“Lord Silas had retired to his room for a nap, my lady.” Lucille lifted her head and inspected her handiwork. She gave a small nod of satisfaction when she saw that the stitches on the sides were barely noticeable. Having finished her task, she placed her sewing kit on the side table. “This should do. I’ve also added some extra inches of fabric inside just in case the bodice becomes tight again.”

“Thank you so much for fixing my favorite dress.” Celestine hugged the garment to her body. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to wear this again. You’re a lifesaver, Lucille. Oh, what would I do without you?”

Celestine’s tone must have exposed some of the apprehension she felt because Lucille’s expression instantly softened. “I’m sorry to be leaving you, my lady.”

Celestine shook her head vehemently. “No, please don’t apologize. I’m happy for you. It’s just—“

“It’s just that I’ll miss you very much.” Lucille reached out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind Celestine’s ear. “I feel the same way, my lady. It breaks my heart to think that I’ll be leaving you in this unforgiving place, but I know that the gods will make a way for you. The day will come when you’ll meet someone and he’ll fill your days with so much love that you’ll forget your past hurts.”

“Love,” murmured Celestine. Somehow the word sounded foreign coming from her lips. “Tell me, Lucille, what does being in love feel like?”

The crests of Lucille’s cheeks turned bright pink. “I—It’s quite a different experience depending on the person, my lady.”

“That’s such a stingy answer. Tell it from your experience, then.”

Lucille’s gaze strayed towards her left hand and lingered on the ring on her finger. “I’m not sure how correct my interpretation of the concept is, but for me, being in love feels like… coming home. There’s a deep sense of safety and peace in the knowledge that there’s another soul willing to accept yours without prejudice or ulterior motive.”

Celestine’s chest ached. Safety and peace were two things that she had never truly experienced. She was a pariah with no past to call her own and no future to move towards. She licked her lips that suddenly felt dry. “Do you truly think that I’ll find something like that? Find love, I mean?”

“Yes, I do. If there is one person who deserve to be happy, it’s you, my lady.” There was so much conviction in Lucille’s words that Celestine almost believed her.

The words thank you was at the tip of Celestine’s tongue when she was interrupted by a sharp knock on her door. She shot a questioning look at Lucille, who lifted her shoulders in reply.

It couldn’t be Silas; he wouldn’t be knocking unless the door was locked.

Another round of knocking came, this time more insistent.

“Please wait,” Lucille called out, standing up. It took her a few steps before reaching the door.

It was Mrs. Wicks behind it, her heavyset frame filling the span of the doorframe. The displeasure was apparent on her face, her eyes wrinkling at the edges as she glared.

But it wasn’t her sudden appearance that caused Celestine’s breathing to stop, but what she said next:

“The master would like to talk to you.”