He did not look at me when he said it, his eyes fixed on Vanessa’s retreating back.

I hurried toward the side entrance, my legs shaking.

Inside, the warmth of the kitchen hit my face, but it did not stop my shivering.

Margaret Bell was standing by the silver industrial sink.

She looked at me, her stern face softening for a fraction of a second.

“Is she alright?” Margaret asked, nodding toward Emma.

“Yes,” I said, setting Emma down on the wooden stool. “She was just cold.”

Margaret reached into a drawer and pulled out a small ginger biscuit.

She handed it to Emma without a word.

“Thank you,” Emma murmured, her eyes wide.

“Keep her in the back quarters today,” Margaret said, her voice dropping.

“The bride-to-be is in a state.”

I nodded, peeling Emma’s wet mittens off her hands.

From the main hallway, the sound of raised voices drifted through the service door.

Vanessa was loud, her heels clicking aggressively on the marble floor.

“I want the grand ballroom cleared of all those dreadful linen covers,” Vanessa screamed.