Chapter 4: The Price of a Glance
Chapter 4: The Price of a Glance
Brittany remained deep in thought, still unsure why he had taken her.
‘Does he intend to use me as a maid?’
But that idea didn’t make sense. No one in their right mind would pay ten thousand pounds for a servant — especially not a businessman who knew the value of money.
Then perhaps he intended to use her for some other kind of dirty work, something unsavory or illegal. Or worse yet, despite her reluctance to think it, he might have taken her for nocturnal service.
Yes, perhaps as a mistress…
As her thoughts ventured there, Brittany recalled what happened in the darkness of night. She had no experience of it herself, but remembered Laura, her friend of the same age, once saying while mending a seam:
“Brittany! The more refined a man appears, the more careful you should be.”
Laura had gestured toward Theo, a young man they’d once exchanged greetings with. He was the son of a stableman who worked at the count’s manor. Brittany thought she’d never see him again after they started using hired carriages, but she ran into him at an art supply shop, where he helped her find work. She couldn’t help asking:
“Why?”
“Because men like that usually have… particular nighttime interests.”
Laura shrugged like it was nothing and added:
“Well, not necessarily only nighttime desires, but the more polished someone is, the stranger they tend to be.”
“I see,” Brittany replied.
Laura’s nonchalant answer had caught her off guard, so she teased back:
“So, Brittany, have you ever tried it?”
“What?!”
“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you don’t even know what it is!”
Laura had looked at her incredulously, and began explaining what happened between men and women. Brittany still wasn’t sure if it was the truth or Laura’s joke — she had no one to ask.
But if it were true…
Brittany glanced at the man in front of her. He was the most refined man she’d ever seen. Her palms began to sweat, and she fiddled nervously with the hem of her dress. Her fingers trembled; she balled them into fists to keep them still.
She glanced anxiously at him. The more she looked, the paler her face became. His handsome appearance only increased her worry and shyness, making her eyes flutter.
At that moment, he turned towards her, having noticed her gaze. His eyes were a steely grey, like quantum dust — the remnants of some great blaze, cold and unreadable.
When their eyes met, her shoulders flinched.
Those eyes, seemingly laced with a hint of blue, made her heart sink and her pulse quicken. She forgot to blink, trembling beneath his gaze.
The eyes she had imagined differently, based on his voice, now commanded her like a tyrant. She couldn’t move. All she could do was swallow a shallow breath.
“What is it? Am I so handsome that you can’t look away?”
He broke the silence with a smooth, composed voice.
After holding her gaze a moment longer, he lowered the hand that had supported his chin and crossed his arms like a lock.
His curved lips suggested a smirk, yet his slanted eyes held no trace of mirth.
“No, no,” Brittany replied, flustered by the sudden question. She had forgotten the question itself, too humiliated by being caught staring.
“Then please stop staring at my face.”
With that, he looked away.
Freed from the weight of his gaze, Brittany loosened her clenched fists. Her fingers twitched, and only then did she realize what the question had been. She covered her mouth with a hand, mortified.
The word “no” had come out by reflex, born of panic. But the man was handsome.
His features were defined and undeniably attractive. Despite his cold demeanor, he possessed a striking allure.
She had said he wasn’t handsome. Her face, already pale, turned waxen.
‘What have I done? Did I offend him?’
People usually resented criticism of their appearance — especially negative ones.
‘What if he hits me? Should I tell him he’s handsome now? But how? When?’
She glanced at him nervously, but thankfully, he showed no signs of aggression.
Her tense shoulders dropped with a quiet sigh.
She dared not raise her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. Just then, the carriage jostled, and their knees touched.
Brittany jolted and pulled her leg away, glancing at the place of contact.
The first thing she noticed was his shoes — gleaming brown Oxfords. Even to someone as unversed as she, they looked expensive.
Then she looked at her own.
Plain black shoes, worn thin, the heel flattened with time.
Beside his, her tattered footwear looked utterly miserable.
Though he didn’t seem to care, she pulled her feet in, letting her skirt hide them.
She gave a soft, meaningless cough, hoping to mask her discomfort.
Looking out the window, she saw nothing but darkness. The glow of a single candle inside the carriage reflected their images like a mirror.
When she saw her face, she gasped.
A dried patch of blood stained the corner of her lips. She touched her cheek, then tried to smooth her tangled hair.
It wouldn’t make her look elegant, but she kept tidying her disheveled clothes anyway.
Her white dress, a ragged one often worn by the poor, was stained.
‘I look so pathetic…’
She glanced sideways at his refined suit, then placed her hands on her soiled knees, trying to hide the squalor.
With awkward, flustered movements, she adjusted herself, then finally sat still.
Silence returned to the carriage. Even the caw of a distant crow sent shivers down her spine.
Time seemed to crawl. What would happen next? Her thoughts raced as she stared out the window.
About an hour later, the carriage stopped.
The coachman opened the door. Like before, the man offered his arm.
Brittany took it warily and stepped out.
As soon as her feet touched the ground, he withdrew his hand as if she’d been a bug.
He didn’t seem to care about his rudeness and walked on. Brittany followed quickly, clutching her bag.
By the time they had boarded the carriage, the sky had already turned a dark inky blue. Now, it was pitch black.
Yet the grounds were brightly lit by arc lamps dotting the grass.
The garden was immaculate compared to the overgrown grounds of the count’s estate. The trimmed lawn made walking easy.
In the center stood a fountain, flanked by sculptures like sentinels. Her steps slowed naturally.
As she admired the view, she stepped on a dry leaf, the faint crunch making her flinch.
The tiny sound reminded her how far ahead the man had gone. Regaining her composure, she hurried after him.
Inside the manor, the servants welcomed him in an orderly line. Brittany hesitated.
The interior, all polished white marble, gave off a sense of pristine luxury.
A grand chandelier hung in the tall entry hall. Unlike the empty count’s manor, the walls were adorned with paintings and porcelain arranged in perfect harmony.
Priceless artifacts, ones she could never afford even if she worked her whole life, lay scattered as if commonplace. Brittany was overwhelmed.
“Put her in any vacant room.”
The master of it all spoke with cold indifference, as if referring to a piece of furniture. Brittany, too nervous, barely caught his words.
“What purpose shall she serve?” asked the head housekeeper as she followed him up the stairs.
“I brought her in place of House Raven’s debt. See that she’s looked after. I believe she’ll be of some use.”
“Yes, we will serve her faithfully.”
Klein handed his coat to the housekeeper and ascended the central staircase. After a few steps, he paused as if recalling something.
“Ah, and summon Mason tomorrow morning.”
With that final instruction, he vanished.
