Oscar watched, with amazement, as a long line of carriages waited to be greeted outside the Seymour stables. Stables that, at most, would be able to safeguard a maximum of four cars with their corresponding horses.

What was it that Sarah Cornell said the day before? Oh, yes. Come early so the Tanners don't steal the limelight... Shit! It had barely struck eight in the morning and this place was already packed. If it weren't for the lack of music from inside Lilac Hall, anyone would have thought the new neighbors had thrown a party, given the number of people who decided to invade their domains.

The truth is that one should not be surprised. In other words, after almost two months there, if Oscar had learned something, that was the instinct for acquiring money and power of those two-legged rats -who were called noblemen, for some reason that he did not quite understand- should not be underrated.

So he just thanked heaven that, even though the place was pretty crowded, the Seymours had enough farms and staff to cater for a large crowd. That is, despite the fact that there was no room in the stables, the carriage would be well cared for and he would not have to worry about it. Thus, freed from being busy, he lingered for a moment to watch the Cornell girls and their mother being greeted at the entrance to Lilac Hall by a butler.

In the end, both Theresa and Mr. Cornell managed to get away with it.

With the excuse of work and studies, neither of them went to someone else's house. As for the Mrs. and the rest of her daughters, there they were, at the foot of the canyon. The day before they sent a note advising they would come and hoped that, not being an impromptu visit, they would be treated almost as if they were members of royalty. And perhaps —just perhaps— they would have been, had it not been for the fact that they arrived at a time when the male lead was still busy with Morpheus.

In other words, the Cornells waited for about twenty minutes. First on the porch and then in the living room, as more neighbors continued to arrive. As Patrick deliberately decided if it would be a good time to get up in bed, answer the servant who had already knocked on his door half a dozen times, get dressed, and go down to the drawing room without bothering to hide his bad mood for having woken up two hours earlier than usual, being forced to attend to some guests before having breakfast.

Of course, Oscar was oblivious to all the inconveniences of being the master of such a great place. At best, he could imagine the arduous process Patrick would have had to go through before setting foot on the carpet, already psyched up for another grueling day.

With his low social status, he couldn't even dream of joining the Cornells as they had tea and pastries at Mr. Hundred Thousand Pound's home. But it was not like Oscar was a sucker either. The Seymour servants had just offered him a drink in the kitchens while he waited for the Cornells to decide to take the carriage back to Rose Cottage. And Oscar did not decline the offer, on the contrary, he happily agreed!

What better opportunity than this could there be to meet who would, if all went well, be his future co-workers?

When he was about to walk towards the mansion, already with the idea of ​​asking someone to tell him where the service wing was, they stopped him. It wasn't that they had regretted giving him permission to enter Lilac Hall. Far from it, it was obvious that he would not be the only servant of other masters who would have been granted such a privilege! No, what was happening was that the main entrance was still collapsed. And Seymour's servants were, as best they could, trying to act as a kind of filter on the people they let into the building from there.

In short, Oscar would be allowed to pass, not through the front door but through the service door. And to get there he would have to go around the mansion, avoiding a good part of that noble crowd that continued to plan the place as if they were hungry vultures.

Not that he minded taking this detour, anyway. He even preferred it.

Having rounded a corner, he ended up alone. The noise of the carriages gliding across the roads faded, as did the voices of the people, as he drove away. As if after walking a few meters he had left the bustle behind, countless miles away.

Fortunately, the back of the property was not as chaotic as the front. On the contrary, hardly anyone stopped by those parts. And, with the people secluded in the halls, there was no danger of bumping into guests either.

Enjoying a solitude he had not had since he transmigrated, Oscar took it easy on to appear in the kitchens. What rush was there? Given the fact that the Cornells took a long time to attend to the house and that they were so desperate to beat their neighbors in this vulgar competition to find a husband, he did not consider they were going to retire soon.

He hadn't planned on taking a walk in the Lilac Hall gardens, that would be too cheeky, even if he had obtained permission to stay in the area. But he certainly slowed down., not in a hurry to reach the area that was indicated, he took his time to observe both the fields and the facade of that mansion that, with its three floors and its ostentatious stone decorations, looked like a small palace compared to the property of the Cornells, which was up to three times smaller and which ornamentation was the simplest.

After a couple of minutes looking around the building, Oscar turned around. Not only was the house huge, so were the gardens. Before him, after about twenty meters of terrain in which there was nothing to note, some stairs welcomed him to a well done labyrinth made up of perfectly pruned hedges, statues of Greek gods and a fountain that stood right in the middle. Beyond that labyrinth, a group of trees made it impossible to see how far the farm extended. But, it was quite plausible the property spanned a few acres, perhaps even a couple of hills beyond, where Snodland's first houses were visible.

"I wonder if it's customary for Seymour employees to spend their days in white, gazing at the scenery, with so many guests to attend to inside," someone said casually. “They may still believe they don't have much to do and can afford to waste time. Considering the character of your employer, I wouldn't be surprised.”

"I work for the Cornells," Oscar said quickly, unwilling to receive a scolding that was not his due.

Perhaps it was his imagination, because it could not be said the man who approached him was very expressive, but when he turned to answer him and they were looking at each other, for an instant, he thought he saw a tinge of surprise on his face. This lasted only a second, long enough for Oscar to doubt if he had perceived things correctly.

"True, I hadn't recognized you," this stranger murmured; his reproachful tone had changed to one of sincere regret in a matter of seconds, and the demands he might have made quickly morphed into what seemed like a timid casual comment. “So for the Cornells, huh? With them it must also be difficult.”

After a pause that seemed eternal, and that Oscar used to scrutinize the face of an individual who was somehow familiar, he continued:

"I heard they were at a certain end-of-season dance in the capital, and it seemed a bit strange. I didn't know they knew the Summerfields.”

"I don't know, sir." Oscar chose to feign ignorance, maintaining his education at all costs; He didn't know who the guy was, but what was clear was that he was another of the visitors. “I was commissioned to take the patron's daughters to that event, but I am not aware of everything they did there. As you understand, I am not in the habit of harassing my employers”

"I thought the trips to London were handled by Bannister."

This guy... was he a neighbor? Only Mr. Cornell's neighbors and friends knew that Bannister still worked for him.

"By any chance, aren´t you the stable boy?" I don't remember your name...”

How the fuck did he know?

—Oscar Gladwin.

"Ah, I see now. Your uncles still work for the Cornells, right?”

Just a moment. In this novel only two were the male characters described in great detail. One was, of course, the male lead. The hormonal teenagers who read that slop could not be left without a detailed description of each mole, each hair on the body, possessed by that god of toxicity the author intended to sell them.

"I hope that at least the fact that Edmund Cornell is on the verge of bankruptcy will help you reflect and find another job now that you still can. That family doesn´t value a second of the time invested in them”

The other man the author did describe was Albert Northrop, the villain. A young man with a tendency not to control what his fiery tongue released, who bore a grudge against the Cornell family —for some reason never specified within the manuscript— and whose description matched that of this individual.

Oscar felt a chill run down his spine and he suddenly wanted to run. Run as fast as possible and without turning back. It was him! It was the murderer who had ended his life a few chapters later!

"Hey, are you okay? You look a little pale”

"Y-yes, I'm fine."

There was no doubt about it. Oscar had planned to avoid this fatal human being, so that the aforementioned would not have a chance to begin to hold a grudge against him. In the worst case, he thought he could greet him, if he had no other choice and could not help speaking to him, and then continue on his way, before the villain had time to realize he was a good friend in Madeleine's eyes.

Now, however, not only had Albert remembered who he worked for, he had also gotten his name and the fact that he had been in London. Going to warn him even about the dubious morality of the Cornells, it really seemed like he was looking to take someone off, even out of a scare!

"Well, well, I was going to ask you something else. During the Summerfield ball, did you go into the venue?”

What the fuck with this? Was he looking for an excuse to scold him? It would make sense, considering that he had flagrantly breached the rules of etiquette by walking in and sitting idly chatting with some of the guests. Of course, in theory, it was Madeleine who urged him inside. If she hadn't sent for him, he would never have dared to set foot in that building. Well, not only would he not have dared, but he would not have seen the need!

So he could confess about Madeleine and let her take the blame. But Oscar didn't want to get into that mess. What kind of servant would he be if, at the slightest problem, he charged his masters with the dead, however abnormal and guilty they might be? Therefore, he preferred to opt for the diplomatic exit:

“It was not allowed that people outside the organization entered the premises”

"I know the rules, I was asking you because…”

"Excuse me, but I have to withdraw now," Oscar said hastily: the other's tone was still kind to him, but he didn't know how long he would be able to contain his anger. “If I may give you some advice, you should also return to the living room. I think Mr. Seymour is receiving his guests there”

After apologizing once more, and without waiting for a response from him, Oscar returned to the path towards the entrance of the back door, trying to make his pathing seem as safe as possible in the eyes of someone who did not take his eyes off his back.

Perhaps, in his outburst of panic, Oscar believed that this sordid villain might already be having a bad impression of him, beginning to conspire against him as well. An absurd idea, as he would later think coldly. Because, well, although it was wrong for him to interrupt his speech, why should Albert hold a grudge based on this fleeting encounter? It was not as if the villain was his master to reproach him for anything and, in any case, if he had been angry he would not have let him go so easily either.

Anyway, this was like making a mountain out of a molehill. It was not so bad! Oscar was convinced that within ten or fifteen minutes they would both have forgotten about the incident. And with this reassuring thought in mind, he finally entered the kitchens. Staying there, socializing and waiting, until the Cornell women sent for him to go home.

It turned out that Patrick Seymour took longer to get up from the cot and decide to attend to his guests than to dispatch them.

So the Cornells didn't stay in the living room, talking to the aforementioned, for more than three-quarters of an hour. Time in which they could not reserve the owner and lord of those lands for themselves, but had to share it with more than two dozen young ladies who must have had the same idea as them when they presented themselves at Lilac Hall. As expected, therefore, when they returned to the carriage the disgust could be read on the faces of the Cornell girls.

"We should have come yesterday afternoon," Eleonore lamented as Oscar helped her into the car. “What does it matter to be impatient? It would have been better than this!”

"It is true that I underestimated the fortune hunting skills of our dear neighbors," Mrs. Cornell pointed out. “They should be ashamed to teach their daughters to crawl past any redneck with quarters on the bench. They have no dignity, no decency. And no, Eleonore, we did the right thing to come today, that's why we sent you the note. The others, it is likely, will not bother to warn, eager as they are to get a little of your attention.”

"I think we shouldn't have come so early, Mr. Seymour was falling asleep," Madeleine commented. At first she would only respond in monosyllables, and then it didn't matter what was spoken to her. She always gave vague and concise answers, as if she had no idea what we were saying.

"That's because he's a busy man, he can't be at everything. Plus, with so many people going to invade your mansion, who would be in the mood to entertain your main guests? It is normal that it was like this, don´t take it to heart.”

This statement managed to appease both Eleonore and Madeleine, but Beverley was still downcast. Since the day before, she had been in excellent spirits, dreaming of her reunion with young Seymour. Imagining how he would confirm to his mother and sisters the story she had told about dancing in London and then begin the courtship, choosing her over Madeleine or anyone else. But all that illusion had collapsed as soon as she saw a protagonist again who, not only did not recognize her, but asked her not to address him with such familiarity. So she, aside from having to give up on her fantasy, had to stop calling him Patrick.

"Isn't Mr. Seymour a great person?"

Hearing this question, Ms. Cornell turned to look disdainfully towards Sophia Tanner, who had come over to greet Madeleine, having asked this question right after introducing herself.

“It's great! How come you came? Making a surprise visit, perhaps?”

"Oh no, mother would have a fit," laughed Rowena, Sophia's younger sister, who had also gone in search of the Cornells. “Yesterday we sent a note advising that we would come”

“You too?”

"Everyone, Maddie! My maid was talking to the Seymour staff, and it seems like they were full of invitations yesterday. It´s normal that poor Mr. Seymour felt it was too much trouble getting out of bed! I mean, think about it, so many people and it's not a holiday or anything like that”

"Well, you have to be hospitable…”

"Yes, that's why we had our cook prepare a kidney cake," Rowena said, with evident pride, "which we presented to the newcomer in person today. You should have seen her face, he was delighted with the detail!”

Madeleine's face clouded at this, while Oscar narrowly failed to hold back his laughter; Kidney pie was the same thing the Cornells had made for Patrick. Not only that, when Oscar had stayed in the service area, the main topic of conversation was food. And that was because the servants were upset since all the guests brought an equal cake, with the result that now they had a full cupboard, and so many cakes they could last for weeks.

"Madeleine, let's go," Mrs. Cornell snapped curtly; She must have heard about the cake disaster too.

And Madeleine obeyed, coming out of shock and saying goodbye to her friends. Was it Oscar's thing, or had Mrs. Cornell looked down on those neighbors of hers? The only thing she needed was to call them ragble and forbid her daughter to speak to them again!

When they had all climbed into the carriage and the door closed, Oscar prepared to take the reins and set out for Rose Cottage. But he had not yet left the Seymour property when he thought he saw someone he knew. A girl in a wheelchair, to be exact. And the teenager seemed to see him too, because as he passed her with the carriage she smiled at him.

Oscar made a slight gesture with his hat to greet her as he passed, and it was then that he noticed: that guy with a hand on the handles of the chair and who, just now, had given him a threatening look, wasn't he Albert Northrop? It couldn't be, and yet it was! And if this was so, then the identity of the girl… Damn! Why of all the girls that existed in that garbage had he had to go look at the villain's sister who would kill him afterwards?

That scared Oscar more than his previous encounter with the villain. Whereas before he would only have suspicions, now Albert would have a real and tangible reason for wanting to slice the neck of that insolent young man who dared to speak to his beloved younger sister without first asking permission.

So Oscar, as if it were a reflex action, spurred on the horses - not caring that due to the sudden change in speed one of the Cornells almost flew out of his seat - and returned to the protection of his home as quickly as he could.