Sebastian moved to the desk and lifted a folded paper. I need a maid who sees too much, speaks too much, and is underestimated by nearly everyone.
I looked at the note. "That is a specific vacancy."
Sebastian tapped the slate: You are available.
I gestured at my apron. "I already have employment."
Sebastian wrote: This pays more.
I answered, "So does theft, Your Grace."
His shoulders moved with silent amusement. I need you to watch Lady Portia and Lord Edmund quietly. Report what you see. Write if speaking is unsafe.
I lowered my voice. "Why me?"
Sebastian turned the slate toward me: Because you already suspect them. Because servants become invisible around people who think rank is eyesight. Because you are brave enough to insult me within range of reflective surfaces.
I looked at the folded paper. "And because you can read lips far better than anyone knows."
His face stilled. I lowered my voice, then remembered that volume did not matter, and faced him clearly. "Why hide it?"
Sebastian's eyes moved to the window. "Because people reveal themselves when they believe me sealed away from them."
I read his face before I answered: "That sounds lonely."
He looked back at me. I wished I had not said it—not because it was rude, but because it was true. And truth in a quiet room can behave like a hand on skin.
His answer came after a pause: "Yes."
That single word changed him for me. Until then, he had been a mystery, a handsome tyrant, a still figure around whom others performed pity. In that "yes," I heard exhaustion: not with deafness, but with being treated as a locked door.
I asked, "What are they trying to do?"
Sebastian handed me the paper. It was a physician's letter: the language was long and oily, full of concern, incapacity, instability, and protection. Dr. Mowbray recommended that the Duke of Ravensmere be placed under temporary family guardianship due to profound communicative withdrawal and diminished capacity.
I looked from the papers to Sebastian. "Can they do that?"
Sebastian wrote: If enough men agree that silence means absence.
I pushed the slate back. "But you are not absent."
His gaze held mine. "No."
I folded the letter carefully. "Then we shall be very present."
He blinked. Sebastian looked at me. "We?"
I tapped my own chest. "You need someone underestimated. I am magnificent at it."
Sebastian looked amused. "Magnificent?"