"Now that Viscount William is gone, there is something I wanted to tell you, Claire." Earl Windsor stood up and walked to the desk behind me, where a scattering of picture frames sat. I turned in my chair, resting my arm on the back of it, and looked at him as he picked up one of the frames. The back of it faced me, hiding whatever image was inside.

"As you know, Viscount William is not your typical viscount," he said, his eyes lingering on the frame for a moment before setting it back down. He seemed lost in thought for a second, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze.

"I am well aware of that, my lord," I replied, keeping my tone steady. "Viscount William uses a wheelchair."

"Yes, of course," Lord Windsor agreed, placing the frame on the desk with a soft clink. "That's one reason we hired you—to care for him. But his disability isn't the main reason we sought out a caregiver."

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "What do you mean?"

Earl Windsor sighed deeply, as though the weight of his thoughts had finally become too much to carry. "Well, you see... or rather, I suppose you might not be able to see it, but I believe Viscount William is depressed." He paused, looking at me as though searching for a response. "He's been withdrawing even more than usual. He's always been withdrawn—being disabled and all—but recently... something feels off. He's been sleeping more, but his eyes... they're so tired as if he hasn't slept at all. And then, there's something that worries me the most... He's suddenly shown interest in hunting with me."

I felt a chill settle over me as I absorbed his words. A depressed viscount? That was something I hadn't expected.

Lord Windsor continued, his voice strained. "Claire, I don't know what to do. I don't want my only son to die."

His voice cracked on the last word, and I couldn't help but feel the weight of his fear. He moved toward me and put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me slightly as he spoke again, desperation creeping into his voice.

"I don't know what to do," he repeated, his hands trembling.

I gently pried his hands from my shoulders, my voice calm but firm. "My lord, I promise that I will take care of Viscount William to the best of my ability. I will make sure your son lives."

Earl Windsor wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I reached into his pocket and handed him a handkerchief, the fabric soft against his rough skin as he took it from me with a nod.

"Thank you, Miss Becker. Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Of course, my lord. Of course," I replied absently, already lost in thought, the weight of my responsibility sinking in. Not only would I be caring for a man in a wheelchair, but a man on the brink of despair. It was a daunting task, but I was determined. I had to be. I had to protect him.

Before I could dwell further on this new, unsettling revelation, the door slammed open, and Countess Windsor stormed in. "Girl, I've been calling for you! You don't get to serve us and ignore your duties!" Her voice was harsh, like the crack of a whip. She scanned the room and, upon seeing her husband's tear-streaked face, honed in on him. "What did she do?!" she demanded, rushing to his side and shoving me aside with a force that nearly made me stumble.

"I knew this girl was bad news," she spat, glaring at me. "She's made you cry! Just fire her, Lord Marcus. Viscount William is fine."

Earl Windsor shook his head, a soft but firm motion. "Dearest, you have it all wrong. Miss Becker did nothing wrong. I've been worried for a while, that's all."

"What worries?" Countess Windsor snapped, spinning around to face me, her silver curls bouncing violently. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender, not wanting to provoke her further.

"Did she bring you these worries?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

"No, no," Earl Windsor interjected, touching his wife's hand gently, trying to calm her. "I've had these worries for a while. What is it you wanted to speak with Miss Becker about?"

Countess Windsor seemed to forget about me completely as she tossed my presence aside like a discarded piece of clothing. She turned back to Earl Windsor, her tone shifting to something sharp and entitled. "It's breakfast time, Miss Becker. I expected you to have started breakfast by now. You're late."

I felt the heat of her glare on my back. Every part of me wanted to lash out, but I held my ground.

"Now, now, Dearest," Earl Windsor interjected, grabbing his wife's hand and gently redirecting her attention. "Miss Becker has just started. We must go over her responsibilities before we penalize her."

"Penalize her? What a wonderful idea, Darling," Countess Windsor sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "You get three chances before I kick you out of my house."

The coldness in her words cut through the air. I met Earl Windsor's gaze, and for a moment, the sorrow in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He was sorry—sorry for the strain he was putting me through, but powerless to do anything about it. I tried to convey that I was okay with it, though I wasn't sure I succeeded.

Countess Windsor glanced toward me one last time, her lips curling in disgust as she muttered, "Follow me, girl. You're already late."

She swept out of the room, and I followed her down the hallway, my feet dragging with each step. As we moved toward the kitchen, she continued to mutter under her breath, slinging insults in my direction. I had been prepared for her coldness, but the sting of her words still cut deep.