Chapter 7 - A Seat at the Table
Two weeks later.
The dark clouds that had hung over Blackmere House for months had finally parted, leaving a brilliant blue sky above the Atlantic coast. The ocean glided peacefully below the cliffs, sparkling like diamonds under the bright morning sun.
Inside the grand dining room, the heavy velvet drapes had been pulled back completely, flooding the massive oak table with natural light.
Nora sat at the head of the table, dressed in a stunning tailored emerald-green dress that showcased her warm skin and dark, lustrous hair. She no longer wore her hair pinned back tightly in a servant's bun; it fell in soft, elegant waves down her back.
Beside her sat Roman, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, reviewing a stack of financial reports for Blackmere Shipping.
Ruth entered the room carrying a silver tray with fresh coffee, warm croissants, and a vase of freshly cut white roses. She set the tray down beside Nora, her face illuminated by a broad, affectionate smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackmere,” Ruth said warmly.
Nora smiled back—a genuine, radiant smile that reached her hazel eyes. The staff had transitioned seamlessly from viewing her as a fellow housekeeper to respecting her as the lady of the estate, largely because Nora treated every servant with the same kindness and dignity she had always possessed.
“Thank you, Ruth,” Nora said softly. “Please tell chef the breakfast was wonderful.”
“I will, ma'am,” Ruth bowed slightly and stepped back out into the hall.
Roman set his documents aside, turning his full attention to his wife. He reached across the table, taking her soft hand in his, his large thumb stroking her knuckles gently. On her ring finger sat a breathtaking solitaire emerald ring, custom-crafted to match her eyes.
“The federal prosecutor called this morning,” Roman said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Julian’s trial has been waived. He accepted a plea bargain to avoid the death penalty on federal racketeering charges. He was sentenced to thirty-five years at ADX Florence in Colorado.”
Nora took a slow, deep breath, feeling the last lingering ghost of her past vanish into thin air. “Thirty-five years.”
“He will never see the light of day again, Eleanor,” Roman assured her, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a warm kiss against her skin. “Your name has been completely cleared by the Justice Department. A formal public apology will be issued in the Philadelphia newspapers by the end of the week.”
Nora looked out through the tall arched windows at the vast blue ocean.
Three weeks ago, she was a terrified woman crouching on a marble floor in a housekeeper's uniform, waiting for a blow to fall from above. Today, she was the co-owner of an empire, loved by a man who would burn the world to keep her safe.
“What are you thinking about, my love?” Roman asked, watching her face with deep affection.
Nora turned back to him, her hazel eyes bright with happiness.
“I’m thinking about the service cart,” she said with a soft chuckle.
Roman raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk touching his lips. “The service cart?”
“If I hadn't tripped over that Persian rug,” Nora said, leaning forward to press her forehead against his, “I might still be hiding in the attic.”
May you like
Roman wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against his chest. “If you hadn't tripped, Eleanor, I would have found another excuse to crash into you by Friday.”
Nora laughed—a rich, beautiful sound that echoed through the high-ceilinged room, filling Blackmere House with a joy it had not known for a hundred years.
