The mansion of House Caerwysg lay quiet in the early morning, with sunlight slipping through the large windows and pooling onto the polished floors.

The grand wooden doors connecting the garden to the interior stood slightly ajar, the faint sounds of Beatrice's laughter drifting through.

Though only six people called the mansion home, its vastness demanded extra hands daily.

A few rookie maids from the main house would come from eight to four, working under Ophelia, the head of the servants, to maintain its spotless appearance.

Inside, at a nearby parlor overlooking the garden, a boy stood by the open window.

He held a teacup in one hand, his posture both elegant and imposing.

Edward looked strikingly like his sister Ann, sharing her fine features and sharp gaze, yet he carried an intimidating presence, his shoulders broad and muscles hinted at beneath his formal attire.

His slicked-back hair, held in place with pomade, lent him an almost mafioso air, the style giving him a look that suited his bold demeanor.

He sipped his tea, eyes narrowed as he observed the scene in the garden.

"Damn Amelia," he muttered, watching as Amelia handed Beatrice the brooch.

"Three days away, and she returns with presents. Her technique for winning the lady's attention is always impressive."

He sipped thoughtfully, both admiring and begrudging the butler's effectiveness.

Nearby, Ann stood clutching one of Beatrice's teacups.

Gone was the dignified air she held in her lady's presence; now, her expression was rather unrefined.

She held the cup close to her face, her mouth slightly open, eyes glazed with a mix of reverence and... something slightly unsettling.

She whispered to herself, "My lady's teacup..."

Edward, still watching Amelia and Beatrice through the window, didn't even look her way as he extended his empty cup toward her.

"Ann, more tea," he ordered, pushing his cup against her face to break her trance.

She blinked, momentarily snapped from her creepy reverie, and scowled at him.

"Pour it yourself," she muttered, reluctantly pulling her gaze from the cherished teacup.

"I'm not a maid."

"Yes, you are," Edward replied, still watching the scene outside with hawkish intensity.

Despite her grumbling, Ann poured the tea.

Her hand was shaky and distracted, barely paying attention to her brother's cup as her focus remained entirely on the precious teacup in her own hand.

A fair amount of tea splashed onto the tray below, but neither seemed to care, both too absorbed in their peculiar preoccupations.

Edward took a sip of his tea, sighing with satisfaction.

"Do you think it'd work for me if I disappeared for three days, then came back with some grand gift?" he mused, half-serious.

Ann smirked, raising her cup in mock salute.

"Three days? Try three years, maybe thirty. I'm sure Lady Beatrice would be heartbroken in your absence and might even shed a tear when she sees you again."

She took a long sip, then added, "And don't worry; I'd be here every single day, keeping her company without fail."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Edward grumbled, "Tempting... but I'd die without my lady's attention.

Besides, she needs my company far more than she needs yours."

As they bickered, a soft, measured voice interrupted them.

"Perfect timing. Edward, please inform Lady Beatrice that the carriage is ready and accompany her to school."

They both froze, glancing over to see Ophelia standing nearby, a kindly, unassuming smile on her face.

She looked every bit the picture of a head maid: her small, round glasses perched low on her nose, her gray hair swept into a neat bun.

Her maid uniform was more modest than Ann's, with a long skirt that nearly brushed the floor.

Despite her quiet demeanor, she had a knack for appearing without warning—a skill that often left the twins uneasy.

The moment they realized she was there, any further argument ceased.

Ophelia's calm yet commanding presence had that effect.

Ann's eyes darted toward her brother, her posture shifting in a flash.

Before Ophelia could blink, she'd grabbed a butter knife from the tray.

"Edward seems a bit... unwell, ma'am," Ann said smoothly, her voice dripping with fake concern.

"Allow me to substitute for him."

And with that, she lunged.

In an instant, her arm shot out, aiming the knife at Edward's neck, her movements so swift it seemed impossible to follow.

The knife glinted in the morning light, slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Edward barely had time to react; his hand instinctively grabbed the tray from the cart, lifting it as a makeshift shield just in time.

The butter knife slammed into the tray, piercing straight through its surface and stopping mere inches from his throat.

Edward blinked in surprise, his hand still clutching the teacup even as he held the tray to block the attack.

Ophelia cleared her throat, unfazed by the skirmish.

"Now, now, no need for quarrels with tableware," she chided, a gentle smile on her face.

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of authority that even the twins couldn't ignore.

Edward exhaled, regaining his composure.

"Yes, especially not with sharp objects," he muttered, lowering the tray and casting a wary glance at his sister.

Ann snorted, tapping the knife still embedded in the tray.

"Butter knives aren't sharp," she argued.

"They're blunt, for safety reasons."

Edward raised an eyebrow, pointing to the tray where the knife had punctured cleanly through.

"Blunt, huh?"

Ophelia clapped her hands gently, reclaiming their attention.

"Chop, chop, Edward. Mr. Albert is already outside with the carriage, and it's Lady Beatrice's first day of school.

We wouldn't want her to be late."

She gestured toward the door, the slight twinkle in her eye betraying her amusement at their antics.

With an eager grin, Edward straightened and nodded enthusiastically.

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" he replied, almost as if he'd been given a mission of utmost importance.

He turned and strode toward the large doors, ready to fetch Beatrice.

Just before reaching the door, however, he cast a sly glance back at Ann and, with a playful flick of his wrist, casually tossed the tray with the embedded butter knife toward her like a projectile.

Ann ducked, scowling as the tray whizzed by, barely missing her head by a few inches.

Ophelia caught the tray mid-air with a graceful swipe, her expression unfazed.

"Now, Ann," she said, her tone gentler but firm, "you're the elder sibling.

It's unbecoming to sulk and act like a child."

Ann huffed, her cheeks coloring slightly.

She brought her teacup back to her lips, muttering, "I am not sulking."

She lingered over the rim of the cup, savoring each sip as though she were trying to capture every trace left by her lady's lips.

A blissful expression settled over her face, her eyes half-closed in quiet reverie.

Ophelia sighed softly, though her smile remained.

"Let's clean up the mess, shall we?

The day has only just begun, and there are plenty of tasks ahead."

Her tone was light, understanding well the quirks and antics of the twins.

Ann gave a lazy salute with her free hand, her mouth still pressed to the cup.

"Aye, aye, ma'am," she mumbled, barely coherent, utterly absorbed in her devotion to her lady's teacup.

As Edward stepped out into the garden, the distance from the parlor to the door stretched out before him, the morning light casting a soft glow over the lush grounds.

From this vantage point, he could see Beatrice and Amelia still chatting, unaware of the chaos unfolding inside.

Beatrice's laughter drifted toward him, her delight at Amelia's gift evident in her radiant expression.

He straightened his posture, smoothed down his jacket, and cleared his throat.

This was his moment—his chance to escort his lady on her first venture to school, to be by her side as the loyal protector she deserved.

As he walked the length of the hall, the slight pang of jealousy he felt toward Amelia faded, replaced by a quiet pride.

Reaching the door, he took a deep breath, placed his hand on the handle, and opened it.

Beatrice turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Edward!" she greeted warmly.

"Are we ready?"

Edward nodded, stepping forward with a flourish.

"The carriage awaits, my lady."

He offered his arm, and Beatrice slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her confidence bolstered by his steady presence.

As they made their way to the carriage, Edward cast a final glance back toward the mansion.

On the second floor, Ann stood by the window, watching them leave with her half-hidden longing.

She was now dusting the window with a small feather duster, both hands occupied with her task.

However, clamped firmly between her teeth was the very same teacup her lady had used earlier, her expression a mix of intense focus and quiet obsession.

Ophelia, catching sight of Ann's forlorn expression, patted her gently on the shoulder.

"There will be plenty of time to accompany her, dear," she reassured.

"Now, let's get back to work."

Ann grumbled but dutifully followed Ophelia's lead, her eyes lingering on the distant carriage carrying her beloved lady away.

She let out a small sigh, murmuring around the teacup still clamped between her teeth, "One day, my lady... one day," her words muffled but filled with dramatic longing.

The two women busied themselves with the morning's chores, their quiet diligence a stark contrast to the spirited bickering of earlier.

And as the mansion settled into its daily rhythm, the scent of roses drifted in from the garden, a reminder of the world that waited beyond the walls for young Lady Beatrice.