“Besides, I’m the last D’Claire on this estate even if I don’t carry the name, I do still carry the blood of that bloodline. I cannot let this entire estate eat itself to stay alive. If I don’t get dirt under my nails, who will?”

    “Old Man Richardson hasn’t done his nightly walks for three days straight.”

    Clara, a scullery maid, leaned in with wide eyes.

    The flickering lamp danced in his spectacles as he leaned back and rubbed his weary eyes.

    It had been taken down after her passing, at the request of her son.

    Author’s Note:

    I just wanted to say the old butler is secretly one of my favorite characters to write.


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