Meredith's POV.
The moment the doctor left, Madame Beatrice turned her sharp gaze on me. "It's time for breakfast," she announced, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I rose from my seat and followed the servants to the small dining area in my room. As I settled into the chair one of them pulled out for me, another carefully draped a napkin over my lap. Their movements were precise, practiced, as if they had done this a thousand times before.
The table had already been set, the empty dinner plates from last night replaced with a fresh spread. Various dishes sat before me—golden pancakes, crisp toast, fresh fruit, and a steaming pot of tea.
I shut my eyes for a moment, muttering a silent prayer before reaching for a slice of toasted bread. Just as one of the servants stepped forward to serve me, I lifted a hand to stop her.
"I can serve myself," I said.
The servant hesitated but obeyed, taking several steps back.
