Chapter 282: Monika [3]

In one of the estate’s rooms reserved for the care of the lord’s clothes, Monika stood before a large worktable with a white woollen shirt in her hands.

The laundress had already washed it and pressed it until every fold sat as it should. That did not mean it was ready to be returned to Ulrich’s quarters. Monika’s inspection came last. She checked for overlooked marks, loose threads, strained seams, and any small fault that might have escaped notice while the garment was being cleaned. If a button needed securing or a cuff required a few stitches, she saw to it. If the washing or pressing was unsatisfactory, she sent it back.

Only after she approved a piece of clothing did it go into his wardrobe.

It was familiar work. She knew which shirts he preferred beneath his coats, where the fabric tended to wear, and how he liked the sleeves folded when they were put away. Usually, she finished quickly, not because she was careless, but because she had done it so often that her hands knew what to look for.

The sooner she completed these duties, the sooner she could return to his side.

This morning, she had made no effort to hurry.

She had taken up one task after another, finding reasons to remain among the servants and in the working rooms rather than going to Ulrich’s quarters. There was always something that needed checking. A garment could be examined again, a stack of linen rearranged, a question put to the laundress before she left.

Monika knew what she was doing.

She could not face him after the previous night.

The shirt she held needed no further attention. She had checked its collar, cuffs, and seams already, yet she remained looking down at it, her fingers resting against the soft wool. Several minutes had passed without her folding it.

She felt foolish.

Nothing about her position had changed overnight. She was still Ulrich’s personal maid. He was still the Count. She had understood the distance between them long before she began to care for him, and no discovery in his office should have surprised her so much.

She was of noble birth, but that did little to close the gap. Her father had been a tenant baron beneath Rubenhart’s authority. Ulrich belonged to one of the kingdom’s great Houses and held responsibility for lands far beyond anything her own family had governed.

There had never been much reason to imagine a future with him outside the one she already possessed.

Most of the time, that was enough.

Monika liked taking care of him. She liked knowing what he needed before he asked, having his clothes ready when he left his room, and ensuring that small inconveniences did not interrupt his day. He seldom praised such things, but she had learned to recognise when he was satisfied.

When she first came to the estate, she had been clumsy. She knew how to behave as a noble girl, not how to attend to someone as exacting as Ulrich. Every unfamiliar instruction frightened her, and she worried that one mistake would make him regret taking her from her uncle’s house.

She learned quickly because she wanted to remain.

In time, the duties that once made her nervous became comfortable. She understood his habits, his silences, and the difference between an impatient glance and one that merely meant he was thinking. She came to enjoy the work, then to look forward to the moments when she could be near him.

Her feelings had grown from there.

She kept them to herself. Ulrich had given her a place in his household, not an invitation to burden him with an affection he had never asked for. Monika had always been careful not to let what she wanted interfere with what she was supposed to do.

Recently, that had become more difficult.

Meera’s visits had stirred feelings Monika thought she had put safely aside. She had seen Ulrich allow the woman close, watched the familiarity between them, and eventually understood that their relationship went beyond the teasing she overheard.

There had been a little envy.

She wished she could speak to him so freely, draw his attention so easily, or be welcomed near him without needing a task to justify her presence. But she had accepted Meera’s place in his life, however much it troubled her at first.

Monika still believed Meera was a foreign noblewoman of considerable standing. The woman spoke of ships, merchants, and arrangements that Monika only partly understood, and she carried herself with a confidence that seemed to support the assumption. Someone with that much influence could belong beside the Count in a way a personal maid could not.

That explanation had helped Monika set aside what she felt.

Perhaps she had also been naïve before Meera appeared. Ulrich had been so distant with women, especially where Ashara was concerned, that Monika had allowed herself to believe he might never become close to anyone. She knew how unreasonable that hope was. A man did not cease to want companionship merely because he seldom showed it.

Sooner or later, someone or several people would enter his life.

Meera had, and Monika had told herself she could still be happy serving him.

Then there was Shana.

The memory of the office returned with painful clarity: the tea she had brought, the open door, and Shana standing before Ulrich with her gown fallen around her feet.

Monika’s hands tightened slightly on the shirt.

She had left before she could hear everything Ulrich said.

Now she wished she had stayed long enough to listen.

Yet the image remained stronger than the few words she recalled. Shana had been alone with him at night. Monika had found her undressed. It seemed difficult to make those things mean anything other than what she first believed.

And Shana’s presence hurt in a way Meera’s had not.

Monika disliked thinking in terms of rank. Shana had suffered, and Monika had been glad to help her settle into the house. She did not want to resent a frightened woman who had only just been brought out of confinement.

Still, Shana possessed no title, no influence, and no family connection that could explain the difference. She was a witch, a member of the very kind Ulrich had once despised, and had been his prisoner until recently.

If he had chosen to be close to her, then perhaps status had never been the obstacle Monika thought it was.

Perhaps the difference was simply Monika herself.

She had served him for seven years. In all that time, he had never touched her with any intention she could misunderstand, nor looked at her in a way that suggested he wanted more than her service.

Until last night, she had regarded that restraint as something proper. He had taken her into his household when she needed protection, and he had never used her dependence on him against her. She knew the value of that.

But her feelings had changed as she grew older. Now, if he had shown an interest in her, she would not have been offended. She would have been happy, far happier than she could admit aloud.

Instead, she believed he had turned to Shana.

Monika could not understand why.

She tried to tell herself that she had seen too little and concluded too much. Then she remembered what the other maids had told her about Shana’s preparations. The scented soaps, the requests for finer underclothes, the nervous insistence that she needed to be ready before going to the Count’s office.

According to them, Shana had been summoned after dinner and had spent the evening preparing for it.

No one could say that Ulrich had requested any of those things. Monika knew that distinction, though her thoughts kept passing over it. The preparations seemed to fit what she had seen so neatly that she struggled to hold on to the possibility of a mistake.

Perhaps she did not know him as well as she believed.

That thought hurt almost as much as the jealousy.

She had built much of her life around understanding his needs. She knew when he would finish training, how he arranged his work, and which small attentions he accepted without complaint. Those things had made her feel close to him even when she knew her position remained that of a servant.

Now she wondered whether all she understood were his habits.

She did not begrudge him desires. She did not expect him to remain alone for her sake, nor imagine that years of loyal service entitled her to his affection.

But if he could look past rank, past a witch’s origins, and past the history that brought Shana into the estate, had he ever considered Monika at all?

She lowered her gaze to the shirt again.

There was nothing wrong with it. She had known that for some time.

Still, she could not make herself fold it and carry it upstairs.