“She is coming to finalize the wedding details,” Margaret said, her tone souring.

“She does not tolerate mistakes, and she certainly does not tolerate staff who do not know their place.”

Margaret looked down at Emma, her stern face softening just a fraction before she masked it.

“Keep the girl in the carriage house tomorrow,” Margaret warned.

“If Vanessa sees her running around the main hall, she will have you both thrown out before the weekend.”

I felt a cold dread settle in my stomach.

“I understand,” I said.

“Go on then,” Margaret said, gesturing toward the back stairs. “Get her fed and kept out of sight.”

I took Emma’s hand and led her down the narrow service stairs.

Our living quarters were above the old stone carriage house, separated from the main mansion by a paved courtyard.

It was small and smelled of old wood, but it was warm.

I sat Emma down at the small kitchen table and gave her a bowl of warm broth.

She ate quietly, her small fingers tracing the pattern on the tabletop.