Rose's belongings were moved to his room. She received a trunk and a place in the wardrobe, much larger than needed. Mr Carvalho vowed he would hold the ceremony as soon as he had a proper wedding dress. As her position as his bride was settled, she began having dinner downstairs, seated at the long table, holding polished silverware, under the light of the flickering candles. Rose at Mr Carvalho's left, Gabriela at his right.
After weeks without seeing her friend, Rose was surprised by the lack of warmth. Beneath her trained countenance, there was a hint of exhaustion. Gabriela avoided her gaze, even as she spoke her polite good evening.
Murilo and Alvaro brought the dishes and served wine, pure for Marcus and diluted for the women. Marcus didn't call prayers, but ate first, giving permission for both to follow.
He asked Gabriela, then, what she had practised that day.
"Mr Moraes went through the rules of moving about a room when in the presence of my Master, sir. When one should crawl and when one should walk, where to stand and how to. This sort of daily etiquettes."
Rose felt her cheeks burn as she imagined such a torment. Her fork hovered mid-air, and heat crept up her neck.
She tried not to imagine it, but the image came anyway--Gabriela on her hands and knees, moving slowly across polished floors while Thomas watched. Correcting her posture, her speed, the position of her head. Rose felt her cheeks burn with shame, not just for Gabriela, but for the quiet part of herself that was relieved not to be in her place.
Marcus took another sip of wine. "And how did you do?"
"Mr Moraes said I am progressing," she replied. "There are still corrections to be made. He says my hesitation before commands are too obvious, and I still carry too much tension in my shoulders."
Marcus smiled faintly. "That's true. You've always had a tendency to hold yourself too tightly. It will make you clumsy in the long run."
Gabriela nodded once. "Yes, sir."
Marcus turned his gaze to Rose then, his fingers absently circling the rim of his wine goblet. "And what about you, dove?" he asked. "How is your reading?"
The sting of shame cut through her heart. While her friend suffered, she lounged and waited for her Master.
"I'm halfway through the book. The French is a bit more advanced than I can read comfortably."
"That's how it should be; you'll improve as you go," he said, and the approval in his voice made Rose's stomach tighten in a way she couldn't control. "Good girl."
Rose and Gabriela exchanged glances, then, in quiet complicity. That made relief take her heart -- something of her friend remained. It was later that week when Rose managed to sneak a note to her friend as she ran her duties around the house.
"
Gabi, are you well? You looked thinner. Please write back if you can. I miss you. I'm at Mr Carvalho's mercy all the time now, but It's become bearable. I can even say he's been kind. I think of you often. Tell me how your days are. If I can make anything easier, I'll try. I am so sorry. I wish I could help you more.
"
One night, after dinner, after they returned to the bedroom, Marcus let Rose take his hand and guide him to his armchair.
(Once their relationship was established, Marcus had a small sitting area set up so he and Rose could spend time together, each with a book in hand. He chose the armchair for himself, while Rose received a sculpted settee, just like the one she'd seen in an illustration of a French painting. When the fireplace managed to heat the room, Marcus liked to have her lay naked, just to admire her reclined form.
The maid quickly learned that he liked to relax in that space after work, drinking watered-down wine, his legs stretched out in front of him. Nightfall seemed to awaken something in his spirit, but as winter dragged on, his body only seemed to grow heavier. He looked like a man waiting for some sort of sustenance only spring might bring back. So Rose would make him sit, and then she knelt to remove his boots and settled at his feet, resting against his leg. )
"I have a question," she said that night, looking up at him.
He arched his brow, but his mouth curved faintly. "Do you remember what I said to you about disrespectful language?"
Rose pressed her lips tight for a second. "Ah... yes. I'm sorry, Master." She drew in a slow breath, then met his eyes again. "May I ask you something?"
She always got him to smile. His thumb brushed along the line of her jaw, as if rewarding her for the correction. "Ask away, dove."
"I've been thinking about what we talked about," she said. "About the house. About my place in it. I believe I can take the place of the housekeeper. After we marry, it will make even more sense that I take that responsibility. I will relieve you and Mr Moraes to actually take care of the business."
Marcus tilted his head, studying her. "And you believe you can balance that with being my wife?"
"Yes, Master. I can organize my hours. I'll be your dutiful wife in the morning and at night. I'll serve you, pleasure you, and sleep beside you." Her fingers flexed slightly in his thighs, but she didn't look away. "And while you deal with letters and pupils, I'll be tending to your house."
He unlaced his pants. Rose let out an anxious breath and straightened her posture between his legs. Her hands rested lightly on his thighs, waiting for his command, though she already knew what he wanted. She obediently opened her lips and let her tongue stick out so Marcus could rub the tip against the warm, moist skin.
Marcus's hand found her chin, tilting her face down slightly, his thumb brushing over her lower lip before he guided her forward. She took him all in her mouth, pumping his erection with her moisture. Marcus exhaled slowly, satisfied, trembling with pleasure.
He wondered what Belisario would say.
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, there was no version he could present that wouldn't make him look pathetically weak. A Master of his standing wasn't supposed to give in to the demands of a submissive. He wasn't supposed to be cornered into marriage. And above all, he wasn't supposed to
fall
. For the maid, which was worse.
When he was alone in his office, answering letters, he vowed he wouldn't give into temptation. But the moment he entered his room for dinner and Rose welcomed him with her kisses and soft arms, he forgot all his vows.
He was her Master, and he would provide what she needed for her happiness.
***
Coming back to work, Rose found very little to be done, but a lot to be maintained. Mr Moraes was glad to relinquish responsibilities back to her, as he was busy for most of the afternoons with Gabriela.
The household bustled with more urgency than Rose had come to expect. She learned that Mr Carvalho was arranging for the arrival of visitors. The maids were repeatedly coming and going from the third floor, their arms full of linens. They stripped the beds bare, scrubbed the floors, and opened every window to let in the faint breeze. Rose watched them carry bundles of sheets down to the laundry, where they were boiled, beaten clean, and hung to dry. She saw them re-stuff the mattresses with fresh feathers and fluff the pillows until they looked as if they'd never been slept on.
The kitchens were constantly alight, preparing meals not just for the staff but for the pupils. And the poor Mrs Silva was taken by deep anxiety.
"He's ordered me to prepare a meal plan for two weeks," Mrs Silva told her in a hushed tone. Her hands didn't stop working even as she spoke, her knife slicing vegetables. "Every dish, every course. He wants them all planned and practiced before the guests arrive."
Rose wiped her hands on her apron. "I wonder who they could be, these visitors."
