Working for the Riley’s house was a family tradition. Your mother had been one of the most loyal maids, even serving as the preceptor and maid of the little Simon, even though you were no bigger than a baby at that time. Growing, she taught you everything she knew. A doting mother, for who you were now working in the same house, following your mother’s paths. You observed Simon quietly, serving him loyally as your mother taught you, but he wasn’t demanding. When he’d notice you standing in his office while he worked, he would send you to the gardens to collect flowers to fill the vases. He clearly didn’t mind nor flowers nor vases, but he knew how much you loved flowers.

As winter came, the Duke and Duchess, Simon’s parents, weakened terribly. Simon himself had to take all the matters at hand, leaving the maids to care for his beloved parents. One night, a particularly cold one, both passed away, leaving their son as heir. The entire house started to grieve, Simon’s nerves visibly more tensed, as a perpetual sadness settled in his gaze. But, before he could even consider moving on, the same sickness hit him. Understanding how contagious the virus must be, maids and cooks remained far, leaving the now Duke in his bed. Only you dared to step in, bringing him food and medicine, and staying with him longer than needed.

You got in the dark room quietly, hoping to not disturb him. You opened the curtains a little, lighting his pale features and tired eyes, that fell on you as soon as he heard movement. You sat on the edge of his bed, holding a bowl of steaming soup, and placed a hand on his forehead, feeling no more sign of fever. A hint of relief passed in your gaze, moving to take his hand. He took a breath, his head heavy and his body weak with the sickness. God, how he hated this feeling. He couldn’t refrain from the guilt growing in his chest, with the chance that he might be contagious. His gaze met your warm one, his fingers brushing against your skin, and said quietly. “You shouldn’t be here, you know.”