The Millionaire’s Bride Mocked a Poor Maid—She Never Expected What Happened Next
Chapter 2
Anna’s father had been dead for twelve years.
At least, that was what she had always believed.
She remembered little of him.
A warm hand.
A rough coat.
The smell of rain and horse leather.
And one sentence he had repeated whenever she was frightened.
“Never let another person’s opinion decide what you are worth.”
After his death, Anna and her mother had lost everything.
Their small farm had been taken for debt.
Her mother died several years later.
Anna had entered service because there was nowhere else to go.
No inheritance.
No influential relatives.
No fine education.
No respectable family name.
Only work.
And she had never complained.
That afternoon, while the manor celebrated Beatrice’s marriage, Anna was carrying folded linens through a corridor when Mrs. Whitmore stopped her.
“Come with me.”
Anna looked around.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
The housekeeper lowered her voice.
“Something has happened.”
She led Anna into a small room beside the old library.
On the table lay a sealed letter.
The black wax bore a symbol Anna recognized immediately.
A hawk with its wings spread over a crown.
Anna’s breath caught.
“That belonged to my father.”
Mrs. Whitmore nodded.
“It did.”
Anna stared at the letter.
“Where did you find it?”
“In the study.”
“Why was it there?”
“I don’t know.”
The housekeeper hesitated.
“Your father once worked for the Hawthorne family.”
Anna looked up sharply.
“No. He was a tenant farmer.”
“That is what you were told.”
Mrs. Whitmore placed a hand on the letter.
“But your father was more than that.”
Before Anna could ask another question, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Both women fell silent.
Beatrice entered.
Her expression immediately hardened when she saw Anna.
“You again.”
Mrs. Whitmore stepped forward.
“She is here because I asked her to come.”
Beatrice glanced at the letter.
“What is that?”
“Nothing concerning you,” Mrs. Whitmore replied.
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed.
“In my husband’s house, everything concerns me.”
She reached for the letter.
Anna instinctively stepped forward.
“Please don’t.”
Beatrice laughed.
“You?”
The bride looked Anna up and down.
“You are a servant.”
Anna’s hands curled into fists.
Beatrice took another step.
“Remember your place.”
Anna looked at the sealed letter.
Then at Beatrice.
For the first time in her life, something inside her refused to bow.
“My place,” Anna said quietly, “may not be what you think.”
Beatrice stared at her.
Then she smiled.
“We shall see.”
She left.
Mrs. Whitmore waited until the footsteps disappeared.
Then she whispered:
“Anna, you must open that letter tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if I am right…”
She looked toward the closed door.
“…the woman who mocked you this morning may soon discover that this house does not belong to her husband nearly as much as she believes.”
