The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 80: A Spy In Prison

"You sent for me, Your Lordship?" Martha bowed her head respectfully as she stepped into the study, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her.

"Yes, Martha, I did," Vincent replied, already settled back into his leather chair, the previous warmth in his demeanor completely replaced by the cool, collected aura of the Marquis. "The Marchioness and I shall be departing for the imperial capital tomorrow morning. As I cannot be entirely certain of our exact date of return, you and Francis will be responsible for overseeing the estate in our absence."

Martha raised her head, her gaze sharp and perceptive as she looked at him. "You mean—"

"Yes," he affirmed quietly. Before diving into the logistics, Vincent paused, studying the loyal woman before him. "Tell me, how does it feel? Truly adjusting to the role of a personal maid after everything?"

Martha blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the personal turn of the conversation. "Am I permitted to be entirely candid, Your Lordship?"

A faint, knowing smile touched Vincent’s lips. "When are you ever anything but honest with me, Martha?"

"I fiercely disliked the idea at first," she admitted, her posture straightening. "The sole reason I volunteered to serve as the Marchioness’s personal maid in the first place was because I feared she might pose a threat to you and the house of Devereux. But my perception of her now is entirely different from those early days. Over time... I find I have grown quite fond of serving her. She treats me with kindness, and has my full loyalty."

Vincent let out a short, quiet laugh, the tension that had lingered in his shoulders finally dissipating. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing one leg over the other as he studied Martha’s earnest expression.

"A threat," he repeated softly, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips. "I suppose I cannot blame your initial caution. The Marchioness certainly possesses a sharpness that could catch anyone off guard. But I am glad to hear your loyalty has shifted to encompass her as well. It appeases me, truly."

His expression sobered, the amusement fading into a look of quiet command.

"That is precisely why I am leaving the estate’s affairs in your hands, Martha. While we are away at court, I need you to coordinate with Francis. Watch the estate’s borders, and keep a close eye on any unusual correspondence or unexpected visitors, particularly anyone linked to the barony or the capital. If anything seems amiss or out of place, have Francis send word to me immediately. Can I trust you with this mission while we are gone?"

Martha bowed her head slightly. "I won’t disappoint your faith in me, Your Lordship. I will keep a close eye in your absence."

Vincent knew he had nothing to worry about. Before Martha became a personal maid to his wife, she had been one of his most loyal confidantes and a highly skilled shadow guard. She had operated right by his side for years before she chose to step down into the shadows of domestic service to watch over his wife.

She was the only one who he could trust around Penelope as well, so he had agreed to it.

"Wait, does that mean I am permitted to wear my old uniform again?" Martha asked suddenly, a brief, sharp glint returning to her eyes as she looked at Vincent.

Vincent merely waved his hand dismissively, but a faint smirk played on his lips. "Do whatever you deem necessary, but only after we have departed."

Martha bowed once more, her posture instantly shifting back to that of a disciplined soldier. "Then I shall take my leave and assist the Marchioness with her preparations for tomorrow."

Vincent simply nodded once, and with practiced, silent steps, Martha exited the study, leaving the Marquis alone.

*****

At the barony later that night, Lady Genevieve found herself confined to a desolate room, isolated from the rest of her family.

She sat rigid on a cold stone bench, a splintered wooden table before her, her eyes darting frantically around the dark corners of the cell as though she were still struggling to accept the reality of her downfall.

The woman no longer bore any sane resemblance to the proud, untouchable Baroness of Rosehill. Her once-elegant gown was tattered and stained, her hair disheveled into a wild nest, but the visceral hunger for revenge had not yet faded from her gaze. If anything, her hatred for Penelope had only ripened within these suffocating walls, and she regretted having underestimated the wretched girl’s extent. She would never bring herself to forgive or forget the ultimate humiliation Penelope had subjected her to.

Uttering vengeful promises to herself, Genevieve only looked up when the heavy iron latch clicked, the harsh metallic sound signaling the approach of a servant carrying a tray of meager rations.

Under the strict terms of their confinement, the only time a servant was ever permitted to see them was during these brief meal deliveries. For Genevieve, that was the true height of her torment. To have the very servants who used to bow to her now looking down at her in a prison cell, witnessing her absolute helplessness, was a bitter, soul-crushing degradation that fueled the fire in her veins.

The guard stationed at the door thoroughly inspected the tray first, poking roughly through the meager contents to ensure it was actual food and nothing more, before grunting in dissatisfaction and stepping aside to let the woman through.

The servant kept her head bowed exceptionally low, stepping into the dim, damp room with a quiet, subservient grace. She crouched down, placing the tray on the splintered table directly in front of Genevieve, whose piercing, venomous stare never once wavered from her face.

"Tell me," Genevieve commanded, her voice a low, gravelly rasp that scraped against the silence of the cell.

The servant slowly lifted her head, her gaze locking onto Genevieve’s. Before uttering a single syllable, she cast a cautious, deliberate look over her shoulder, ensuring the guard’s attention had drifted back down the hallway and that they were entirely out of earshot.

"The Marchioness arrived at the barony earlier today," the servant whispered hurriedly, her hands moving mechanically to set the bowls aside to maintain the illusion of a normal delivery. "She bypassed everyone and went straight to your private chambers. When she stepped out minutes later, she was carrying a set of papers. Forgive me, My Lady, for I could not see the exact document she left with."

"Documents?"

Genevieve’s brows furrowed deeply as the maid, or rather, her most loyal spy remaining in the manor, dropped the crucial update on the Marchioness’s movements. Even stripped of her title and locked in a desolate cell, Genevieve had ensured her eyes and ears remained active. She refused to be left in the dark regarding Penelope’s actions.

She wanted to know exactly what that wretched girl had been up to, and it seemed Penelope was already scheming again. But what could she have possibly taken from those private chambers? Genevieve racked her brain; she hadn’t been hiding anything overtly damning there, so what could it be?

Frustration boiling over, she glared venomously at the maid. "What use is this information to me if you cannot figure out the exact document she took from my chambers? Figure it out and get back to me!"

"Hey!"

The guard, as if sensing the quiet movement of their lips, snapped his head toward the cell, his eyes narrowing at Genevieve and the servant.

"Does this place look like a communication center to you?" he barked, stepping toward the iron threshold before glaring directly at the trembling maid. "Take your tray and leave if you are done here. Move it!"

The maid immediately scrambled out of the cell, keeping her head low. Left behind, Genevieve rose to her feet, her hands clenching into fists as she glared at the guard who was already turning the heavy key in the lock.

"Am I not even allowed to speak anymore around here?" she spat, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and wounded pride. "Mind you, I am still the Baroness of Rosehill, and you are severely crossing your limits. Once I am out of here, I will see to it that you face the ultimate consequences for your disrespect towards me!"

The guard didn’t even look up from the lock, letting out a dry, irritating scoff. "Talk to me if you actually make it out of here. For now, you’re just another prisoner, so sit down."

He turned his head slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The cold threat in his hardened gaze made it perfectly clear that there would be immediate, physical consequences if she did not comply. Losing her remaining composure under his stare, Genevieve’s bravado crumbled, and she sank back down onto the cold stone bench.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," the guard sneered at her before turning his back to resume his duty.

Left in the dim silence, Genevieve began to frantically rack her brain.

This useless, arrogant guard likely wouldn’t even accept a bribe if she tried to offer one, ruling out any easy path to freedom. But time was running out. She absolutely needed to find a way to see her daughter, if only to share the intricate details of the escape plan she had been brewing. Together, they had to strike back before Penelope dismantled what was left of their lives.