Luckily Dolcie was too busy turning a toddler in the right direction of their team's goal to notice Tomas.

Oswin bristled. "I'm going to kill him."

"You and me both," I murmured back, keeping a sharp eye on Tomas, whose gaze slid to Oswin and, curiously, he visibly swallowed, his eyes flaring round with fear.

A heartbeat later, I realized why. Fright sputtered through my veins when Oswin surged forward, both of his hands fisted and rising. Almost shrieking in startlement, I grabbed hold of my friend's arm and tugged him back. "No, you're not," I whisper-hissed, even though I was in total agreeance. I darted a quick look around to make sure no one was wandering close enough that they'd hear our conversation. "You need to calm down. Everyone will ask what's going on between you two if you get into a fistfight. Dolcie and her family can't have that kind of attention cast their way."

Oswin didn't advance any further, but neither did his wrathful expression falter. His arm was taut beneath my hand, and the muscles trembled with restrained power. I clenched my fingers tighter around his upper arm, digging my fingernails into his flesh so hard he hissed with pain. His gaze snapped to mine and I held it, silently warning him to back down. His wide jaw sawed. For one long moment, I wasn't sure if he was going to listen.

Finally, his muscles relaxed and he took a step back.

I patted his arm and let him free.

"What the hells is he doing here?" Oswin grumbled, still simmering with dark fury.

"He came first thing this morning," I explained. "Delivering fruit from the Lyons' orchard to replenish our supplies." We'd run low from hosting and feeding the vast number of attendees from other Houses at the funeral and wake yesterday. I'd unfortunately crossed paths with Tomas in the kitchen. He'd sheepishly lifted up a hand in greeting, but I'd quickly turned my back when he called out my name, asking me to wait up. I'd stomped off, the safer choice because my fingers had been itching to whip out my wooden spoon and belt him with it. I couldn't believe he'd think I'd willingly speak with him after the mess he'd gotten Dolcie into.

Oswin narrowed his eyes. "Has he got a death wish with Beckah on the loose?"

"I would seem so," I muttered.

Hells!

Beckah!

Both Oswin and I had the exact same thought, and both of us furtively searched for Dolcie's fiery younger sister and found her opposite us on the playing field. She stood beside her elderly parents. Beckah and her gray-haired father were red-cheeked with cold anger. Both of them glared at Tomas, looking as if they were about to unleash hells. But Beckah's mother stood in front of them both, liver-spotted hands raised as she hurriedly spoke, probably telling them both to calm down.

Tomas noticed their attention. He gulped and his complexion went a sickly color. He stepped back quickly and disappeared like a coward behind the spectators.

Good. I hoped he had the sense to leave the estate, immediately.

Oswin seethed with anger beside me, his forehead furrowed along with deep grooves around his mouth. I'd never seen my friend so furious before, nor had I ever seen him in an actual physical fight.

"How's she doing?" I asked Oswin to distract him from hunting down Tomas. I darted another glance at Dolcie. She was crouched beside her small charge, brushing dirt from his overalls, but her own gaze had flicked to her family, clustered around one another quietly whispering. She looked wan, tired and worried.

Both of Oswin's hands were braced on his hips. "I want to kick his ass." He shot me a swift, fearful look as soon as the curse left his mouth. His gaze dipped to the wooden spoon tucked into my jacket's belt and he shifted his hands behind his back.

I just shrugged. After dealing with the ridiculous amount of swearing from Varen, ass wasn't the worst curse word I'd heard, and some small part of me had felt completely badass for actually spitting asshole at him a few days ago.

"What do you think she's going to do?" I ran through the few options available to Dolcie. A rushed marriage, with a child that arrived prematurely—but she needed to quickly find someone to marry. There were even a few illegitimate children that were raised as their birth mother's siblings. And I had heard that some members of the upper ranks were sympathetic to Dolcie's particular plight, and covertly assisted fallen women. Maybe Aunt Ellena could help. Maybe she could speak with Sanela Deniaud in the hopes she'd help shift Dolcie to a new House. Maybe my aunt or Dolcie's parents might know of someone that would be open to a quickly arranged marriage and raising someone else's child.

Oswin glanced over his shoulder to check that no one was close enough to overhear us. "There's not much of a choice," he whispered, leaning close. "Dolcie's mother is too old to get away with a surprise pregnancy and raise the child as her own. Dolcie needs to find someone to marry, fast. The problem is she hasn't been seen courting anyone. It's all been secret boyfriends. Maybe she might get away with no one suspecting the truth if she marries someone she knows... Like a friend."

Oswin's gaze had fallen to his muddied work boots while he shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if uncomfortable. And then I noticed his round cheeks flush a fiery red.

"Oswin?" I was starting to get an awful feeling I knew just who was going to offer Dolcie a position of safety. "Are you going to ask her—"

"I haven't asked her yet," he replied quickly, cutting me off.

Oh my freaking gods!

He dug the toe of his workboot into the lawn, upturning chunks of grass and dirt. "It would make sense."

My gaze ping-ponged between Oswin and Dolcie. "Oh, Oswin..." I knew he was in love with her, but I knew she wasn't with him. What kind of life would that be for my friend? It was on the tip of my tongue, but he silenced me with a dark, warning glare, knowing exactly what I was about to say.

"Sometimes it just takes time between the couple for that to develop between them. You know I'd look after her and the child. I'd treat her with respect."

I did. But I hated to think that both of them could be stuck in a loveless marriage of convenience and miss out on something wonderful. Oswin deserved a grand love and a girl that was perfect for him.

I sighed and moved over to the long table. Picking up a mug, I poured hot coffee from a tall flask into it and wrapped my cold fingers around the warm ceramic. Delicious, bitter black coffee slipped down my throat and I indulged in its heat, briefly closing my eyes, wondering what the hells would happen if Dolcie did agree to marry Oswin.

"Oh, hells..." murmured Oswin.

My eyes flashed open. "What's going on?

"Volkov," Oswin replied with a tilt of his head. "Coming this way."

Mr. Volkov, the Head Housekeeper, was indeed headed my way with a long, leggy stride, stern features, and seemingly endless displeasure etched in the line of his mouth.

Hellsgate!

My mind immediately speared to what I'd organized for Varen's welcome. And of course, I needed to inform the Head Housekeeper of my latest breakage. However, I'd wanted to do it later at the end of my shift when there'd be no witnesses when he chewed me out. Misery seeped up my throat as I recalculated how long it was going to take to pay off the amassing debt I owed.

The words rushed from Oswin's mouth. "I'm outta here. See you after work." And then he quickly lumbered off.

"No...wait," I hissed, trying to grab him by the arm.

Ugh. Thanks, Oswin.

As he strode past, Mr. Volkov pointedly ignored Josie and her family, and then my stomach lurched when he shot Dolcie a shrewd look with his hawk eyes. The man had an uncanny sixth sense when it came to these kinds of problems.

I bolstered my courage with a shimmy of my shoulders and locked my spine straight. I greeted my superior with a confident and professional smile. "Mr. Volkov."

The Head Housekeeper came to stand beside me. I felt dwarfed beside him. "Miss Catt." He gave my wooden spoon a disparaging glance, and I refrained from wrapping my fingers around the smooth wooden handle for a bit more courage.

Soon after waking up at the Deniauds' as a child, my memory completely wiped, I'd found myself sneaking into the kitchen late at night to steal a spoon from the drawer. I didn't know why I had such a desperate need to claim a wooden spoon. It just felt right to have one tucked into my belt, and I felt safer with its company.

"Mr. Crowther's arrived. I hope everything is organized for his stay with us?"

"Yes, sir," I replied brightly. But behind my back, I nervously wrung my hands. My mouth was as barren and dry as a desert and I rasped my tongue along my bottom teeth as I stared up at Mr. Volkov, wondering if he'd already caught me out and was simply toying with me like a predator. Was he waiting for me to falter, only so that he could pounce and tear my lies to shreds? Would he discover where I'd chosen to accommodate the heir to a Lower House and punish me with an official warning on my record, perhaps even a demotion?

I swallowed, internally bracing myself.

After a moment, Mr. Volkov's cunning brown eyes relaxed a fraction and he nodded. "Good, good. I can't say that I'm looking forward to hosting Mr. Crowther here at the Deniaud estate." The brisque, insulting tone he used, as if the Crowthers were lowly to even a servant, spiked my ire, and the hackles rose on the thing inside me.

A low growl.

Mr. Volkov's gaze drifted to my aunt, full of energy and side-stepping to keep a vigilant eye on the tackle between Freddie and his father. She blew her whistle, calling, "Foul!"

His cold eyes drifted back to mine and he spoke in his usual superior tone, dripping with condescension. "Still, Mr. Crowther deserves to have a comfortable and pleasant stay with us."

A shard of guilt stabbed my resolve, and I dropped my gaze to my ridiculous-looking yet comfortable shoes. Whatever the reason he'd given Romain Deniaud for his presence, Varen Crowther wasn't going to have an easy time staying here. I was going to make sure of it and send him running back home. I shouldn't feel guilty for what I'd organized, but I did. However, none of this was ever going to turn out well for either of us if he sought to pursue me.

"After the soccer match finishes, everyone needs to get back to work, Miss Catt."

"Yes, sir," I replied. Just as he was turning away, I called out weakly, "Um...Mr. Volkov?"

He turned back. "Yes, Miss Catt?"

I sucked in a deep breath and launched into explaining about the figurine I'd accidentally broken, altering the facts just a smidgen. Mr. Volkov didn't need to know that it wasn't so much my elbow accidentally knocking the figurine off the mantle when dusting, as it was me stamping my foot and exploding with anger when I learned that Varen dared to return to the Deniauds'. While I waved my wooden spoon around, I smacked the figurine and whacked it off the mantle.

Mr. Volkov pinched the bridge of his thin nose, briefly closed his eyes, and sighed with exasperation. Inwardly I shrank, fearing the worst, a public dressing down. "Luckily, for you, Miss Catt, the sum you owe the Deniauds has been wiped. You no longer owe anything, even this most recent antique you broke."

I stared blankly, then blinked, processing the news.

Pardon?

"All of it?" I asked.

He nodded once, sharply. "It's all rather untoward and highly unusual—striking the debt of a servant." He clicked his tongue and murmured with distaste, "A Between Maid, at that."

He kept staring at me, disdain gleaming in his eyes. My head spun dizzily, and I felt slightly ill under that long, intense gaze as if he were trying to figure me out or wait until I broke first and confessed everything.

Finally, he dipped his head, a silent dismissal, and then walked off.

I grabbed hold of the table to steady myself.

Untoward and highly unusual...

There was only one person I could think of who knew I'd broken a Venetian vase...and he'd returned to the Deniauds.

He hadn't...?

He freaking had!

Gods-freaking-dammit! I was getting myself further and further into debt with Varen Crowther. But worse, much worse, Mr. Volkov now knew Varen, a member of the upper ranks, had paid my debt. An heir, and not an heir to the House I served either.

My stomach churned and I pressed my hands around my tummy, thinking for a moment I was going to throw up.

I was in so much trouble

My mind frantically scrambled for a way out of this. Maybe Varen explained to Mr. Volkov that he was paying the debt because he was the one who had broken the Venetian vase the night we first met—but it was always deemed the servant's fault. That's why the repayment was coming from my working wages

Maybe it would seem innocent to Mr. Volkov. Maybe the Head Housekeeper would understand.

But all of it?

Varen had paid all of my debt: the Venetian Vase, the antique teapot, and now it was simply expected by Mr. Volkov that he'd pay for the figurine too.

I knew I should feel grateful toward Varen, and it was a really sweet gesture. But if Mr. Volkov suspected that Varen had paid my debt because something was going on between us...if he suspected that Varen and I were engaged in an illicit affair...

Oh my freaking gods!

Without knowing it, Varen had put me in so much danger.