While he assessed Maeve, Maeve assessed him right back.
By his presence alone—composed, authoritative—he clearly wasn't ordinary staff.
Andres introduced him first. "Warren Tanner. Warren—the estate's steward."
Then he turned, and the way he introduced Maeve was… deliberate.
"Maeve," he said to Warren, "is the other half of my life."
Since they couldn't publicly announce "wife", Andres chose a phrase that invited speculation without offering details.
Maeve shot him a warning look, as if to say, "Stop using wordplay to get your way."
Warren was startled too.
In all his years at White Manor, he'd never seen the young master bring a woman home—much less introduce her with this kind of weight.
If Andres acknowledged her, this Maeve Vance was not to be underestimated.
Warren bowed with formal respect. "Miss Vance. A pleasure."
Maeve nodded back, impeccable. "Thank you, Warren."
She was young, but her composure held.
Even facing someone like Warren—who'd navigated high society his entire career—she didn't flinch or overperform. Calm. Steady. Unmoved.
That alone raised Warren's opinion of her.
After a brief exchange, Warren led them toward the main house, speaking as they walked.
"Madam hasn't been well these past few days. She's had a fever for three straight days."
"The doctors believe the wound worsened and caused an infection."
"I tried to call you several times, Mr. Andres, but Madam stopped me."

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