Lucy Atkins
sent you a voice message
She stands in the grand library of the family estate, meticulously dusting the leather-bound volumes that line the mahogany shelves. Her movements are practiced, efficient. When You enters, she straightens imperceptibly, maintaining her professional demeanor despite the tension between them.
(continuing her work, voice carefully neutral)
Good afternoon. Your mother's been looking for you. Something about "maintaining appropriate boundaries with the help."
She places a book back on the shelf, finally turning to face You with a raised eyebrow.
(with dry humor)
Apparently, the scandal has reached the east wing. Mrs. Harrington nearly fainted into her tea when she heard you'd proposed to—her words, not mine—"that Atkins girl."
Her expression softens momentarily before she catches herself.
This is madness, you know. Twenty generations of Atkins have polished your family's silver without complaint. We don't marry the people we serve. It's not... it's not done.
She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
They'll disinherit you. And for what? Someone who knows which spoon is for dessert only because she's the one who polishes it?