Lucy's day in her books was as uneventful as could be. After an hour in a morning class learning the different types of tea and their meaning to different circumstances, she went in for lunch only to have it cut short by a visitor. She now sat in the drawing-room waiting for this unknown person with her maid, Shilla standing behind her.

Lucy recognized the man that walked in; it was Lord Morge. The grim look on his face set a contrast to his light brown coat and shinny combed-back black hair. She noticed Shilla's looming presence as she neither stepped back nor excused herself instead curtsies and remains in place, as she sees the lord walk in. The Earl of Morge kisses Lucy’s raised hand before sitting.

“Do you have something for me?” Lucy asked.

“Forgive me, my lady, I’ve failed you. During my watch, the diamonds went missing,” Lord Morge said, his voice a worse shade of grim than his face.

“Were you thinking it'd be there?” Lucy asked.

“My lady....I...”

“It was only a matter of time. Some have started to lose faith in my ability, this is to be expected,” Lucy said offhandedly.

“Forgive me...”

“Do you have an idea who?” Lucy asked.

“Rumour has it the Mclears are openly trying to drown you,”

“Rumour or they truly are open about their intentions?”

“They think your father is the one they fight, my lady. What do you want to do about them?”

“Oh, let them be for now. Be ready to take from them, though,”

“What?”

“Everything,” Lucy said. Lord Morge looked at the soft face before him. He felt a chill down his spine. One would think that look on her face innocent, but he knew better. That look was anger. He kissed her raised hand with caution, before leaving in haste. Lucy remained silent for a while before calling to Shilla. The maid walked round to face Lucy before curtsying.

“Tell me, Shilla, did you learn anything useful?”

“My lady?” Shilla's eyes filled with confusion.

“I have had a thought. If I owned this institution and I wanted to know what the ladies of heightened positions were up to; what they talked about, what they knew of their families and their businesses,

I'd have a system where I’d receive reports; know when their letters are in, so I can see their contents first. But, you see this plan of mine would be terribly flawed. I would need a key; the maids; those that walked behind the ladies hearing their whispers, knowing exactly when they receive a letter, write one, get anything from home and whisper as secrets,” Lucy paused letting the room soak her words.

Shilla felt the back of her dress soak with sweat she could swear before the king, could not possibly be hers. She looked before the young lady. Those grey eyes pierced her deeply as if they saw all, and she knew that if the head maid or headmistress found out that the lady suspected something, she would go missing like others before her. She could not move or breathe, for fear that the lady would see.

“If you owned a school such as this, would you not consider this?” Lucy asked, her face as straight as ever, her eyes though trained on her maid, and a look starved of care for the matter of which she spoke of floated off her pale face.

“And if a maid could not keep discrete, I could get creative with their service. What say you?” Lucy asked. The pause was deep,

as though everything had frozen in place. A knock on the door brought air into the room Shilla did not know was absent. Taylor walked in and curtsied to Lucy.

“I’m here to release Shilla. The head maid asks to see her,” Taylor said. Shilla thought an earthquake just seized the room as she could not stop shaking.

“You are released Shilla. Go. It is an institutional necessity,” Lucy said, a soft smile gracing her lips.

Shilla soon stood before the headmistress' door. She was supposed to report to the head maid but was redirected to the headmistress. She took in two deep breaths as her thoughts scattered in different directions.

She remembered the look on Lady Wickshire's face and fear like never before settled in her heart. She could walk in there and say what she had heard; after all, she did not want to disappear. She knew the choice before her was clear. This is what she was employed to do, and she had every intention of doing it right. Knocking twice, a calm voice called to come in. She walked into the office with a confidence she had never before experienced.

“Report,” the headmistress ordered without looking up.

“Pardon?” she found herself asking the lady before her.

“Are you new?” the headmistress frowned.

“No, headmistress” Shilla answered. For some reason, she had lost all fear.

“Then, why do you need to be told what to do?” the lady asked.

“I’m sorry headmistress, I still do not understand,” Shilla maintained her ignorance.

“What did the Earl of Morge want that he came all the way to see Lady Wickshire?”

“Oh, that. Forgive me, headmistress, it seems there is a meeting he is attending and was entrusted to deliver painting drafts to my lady,” Shilla found herself answering.

“Drafts?”

“My lady says, it's a... hand sketch of... the final outcome of the painting for... her tea room,” Shilla found words from somewhere she was sure not her head.

“Hmm?” the headmistress raised a brow in confusion.

“One of my lady's brilliant ideas,” Shilla said.

“You may leave,” the headmistress said and Shilla curtsied and left.

The headmistress watched the maid leave as she sat on her large oak desk, dazed. Her brows pinched together as she seemed deep in thought. Too long did she remain so, that she did not notice the man who entered and lazily leaned against the office door.

“My lady?” she finally said the words she had heard Shilla repeat too many times, a slight frown stealing her face.

Something about the way Shilla said those words when referring to Lady Wickshire bothered her.

“That look on your face says, you’re in a state. The maid that just left, is it she you put in the lady’s entourage?” A deep voice echoed its question, waking the headmistress from her trance. The man dressed in a sharp brown coat strolled over and took a seat before her. The headmistress did not look up, as she knew who it was that spoke.

“The way that maid kept repeating the words, ‘my lady’ when referring to that girl, was unsettling,” the headmistress said.

“Lady Wickshire is, after all, her lady,” the man answered.

“Yes. Forget it. It’s nothing but my mind making up trolls to unsettle me. What I want to know is how you knew that it was Lady Wickshire in question that I referred to,”

“She is your most recent acquisition thus, the client you promised me,” the man answered with a snort. The headmistress looked up for the first time since the man-made himself known, into sharp blue eyes glazed with hints of impatience. She found the man in her presence terribly attractive yet too much below her to pursue,

much more concoct thoughts of love. There was something about the way he paused his lips and rubbed his hairless chin; that stopped her heart.

“She just arrived and settled in. It would take time to deliver and you know that,” she said.

“That is only because you have schemes in your head towards the lady,”

“My, Wensworth, whatever do you mean?” she feigned ignorance.

“Anne, do you know why she is referred to as Lady Wickshire?” Wensworth asked, “Her family title was that of an Earldom till only a few years ago; His Majesty gifts her father Lord Torgenn, the Wickshire fortress; a territory that is accompanied by a dukedom. Her father remains as to this day, Lord Torgenn; maintaining his position as an Earl while his daughter stands, the duchess of Wickshire,”

“She’s daddy’s little pet. Everyone with a brain is well aware of how dotting her father is on matters of her,” the headmistress snorted.

“No, Anne. As true as that may be, what you do not know is that there is a trend of some sort in the Wickshire dukedom that extends into the Torgenn earldom. As I hear, I believe the saying is; Lady Wickshire is the beginning and end. Her father may be doting; but what about the higher social class? Sure, the women may not be informed, as not much concerns nor is allowed to concern them, but never will you find more secretive noble gents than when talk sways towards Lady Wickshire,” Wensworth said, getting up, “I have things to see to. You promised me an opening to have her as a client. Make it happen,” Wensworth buttoned his coat and then strolled out.

***

Lucy made her way to have dinner. She sat at the head of a table in a well-furnished dining hall filled with ladies seated in groups, taking their light dinner. She sat in silence as Taylor rushed to get her meal arranged.

“Hello,” a small voice called for her attention. Lucy looked toward the voice. Her eyes settled on a natural redhead taking a seat beside her.

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting. I’m Methrede Tayllum or Lady Jeuteh if you please,” the redhead introduced herself. Behind her, two girls follows suit and took seats on the opposite side.

“I’m Lucy Sharterux, Lady Wickshire,” Lucy answered.

“Wickshire; as in Lucy Wickshire? I’ve heard of you!” Methrede exclaimed in a voice not short of a whisper, yet very much heard.

“What have you heard?” Lucy asked as Taylor and some maids arrived with their dishes.

“Nothing really, just whispers. Your name comes up a lot, but much more of recent,” Methrede said rapidly.

“I’m Christy Laz. My father, Lord J’hunten is also a household name,” the blonde girl said haughtily.

“I did not mean her father Christy, I meant her,” Methrede frowned.

“Whatever. She should at least know since she now has me as a friend,” Christy nodded as though what she spoke of was obvious knowledge.

“Friends? Why would I be friends with her? I know her father; Diamond mines, miles of land unused and wasted, just in need of the right hands,” the other girl with raven hair snorted.

“Shut it, Leah. How did you end up tying yourself to me? Of course, she can’t be friends with you, she’s already friends with me and I don’t like you. As her best friend, it is only right that she cannot be friends with you,” Christy declared.

“I hear you come from a long lineage of blondes. Is that why your hair is white?” Methrede asked Lucy, her eyes swimming in curiosity.

“You are too presumptuous, Lady Christy,” Leah said to Christy as her face distorted into a frown.

“Save your tears of apology, Mclears. You forget you are not even nobility. Your father is just a tad too ambitious,” Christy declared.

“Have you heard of the luncheon coming soon? I hear some lords will be in attendance,” Leah turned to Methrede who looked deep in thought and ignored Christy's taunt.

“Only you would care. But I guess it matters as your family needs you to lead them to nobility through means of marriage,” Christy said in a haha manner. Leah rose abruptly with her face red and fist clenched, then stormed off with her maid in tow.

“Does that mean that if two blondes marry, their child will have your hair or if the blonde blood in the family is long enough, one day their child will have your hair?” Methrede asked Lucy, oblivious of the fight on the table. Lucy smiled at her question as she had never had such an amusing dinner.