My First Noble Secret Love

The rain had just started when Adrian Welles stepped into the solarium. Gentle, like a whisper. It tapped the glass roof with a steady rhythm, wrapping the old manor in a cocoon of quiet.

He liked this part of the house - untouched by footsteps, overlooked by guests. It was the one place he could breathe without expectation.

Adrian was the only heir of the Welles family, a name that carried weight in political circles and dusty aristocratic registries. His life was a string of rules wrapped in ribbon - polished shoes, proper smiles, and conversations he never started.

He was used to loneliness. But not this kind.

Not since Elias.

Elias had joined the estate six months ago, assigned quietly through the family's private hiring agency. He was efficient, neat, and quiet - almost to a fault. But it wasn't his service that caught Adrian's attention.

It was his silence. And the way it spoke louder than anything else in Adrian's life.

"Sir," came the calm voice behind him.

Adrian didn't flinch. He turned slightly to find Elias holding a silver tray with his morning tea. He wore the navy-blue uniform, pressed to perfection, but his hair curled slightly at the edges from the damp air outside.

"Thank you," Adrian said, voice low.

Elias placed the tray down on the nearby table, careful, deliberate.

"Will you be having lunch in the east room today, sir?"

Adrian hesitated. "I haven't decided."

Elias nodded once, not pressing further.

Most people filled silence with noise - Elias left space for it.

Adrian almost hated how much he craved that quiet.

---

Later that day, Adrian sat alone in the library, watching rain paint streaks on the tall windows. A book rested open on his lap, unread. His thoughts tangled around the morning - Elias's quiet footsteps, the way he never looked directly into Adrian's eyes unless necessary, the way he always smelled faintly of citrus and something darker. Leather, maybe. Or ink.

It was absurd, this fixation. Inappropriate, even. Elias was staff. He was just doing his job.

And yet...

Every time Elias passed by - tray in hand, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the bend of his wrist - something in Adrian's chest twisted, tight and unspeakable.

He didn't want to name it. Because naming it would make it real.

---

Dinner that night was a family affair. Adrian's aunt and her daughter, Clarissa, had arrived that afternoon. They filled the dining room with conversation, laughter, and too many questions about Adrian's future.

He answered politely, sipping wine and nodding at all the appropriate moments.

But his gaze kept drifting to the doorway, hoping Elias would appear. He didn't. Another staff member served the evening meal.

Clarissa leaned in at one point and whispered something about marriage prospects, her tone teasing, but Adrian barely heard her. His thoughts were elsewhere. They were always elsewhere lately.

After dinner, Adrian retreated to the solarium. The rain had returned - stronger now, beating against the glass like a memory refusing to fade.

Elias was already there, tending to the ivy along the west wall.

"You're still working?" Adrian asked.

Elias turned, pruning shears in hand. "Only finishing up, sir. The ivy was beginning to climb into the wrong frame."

Adrian stepped closer, hands behind his back. "You take pride in your work."

"I respect the space I work in," Elias replied, his tone even.

There was something in the way he said it - not arrogance, not flattery. Just truth.

Adrian watched him for a moment, letting silence settle between them.

"Do you like it here?" he asked quietly.

Elias looked up. His expression remained unreadable. "I'm content, sir."

Adrian wasn't sure why that disappointed him.

"You don't miss anything?" he pressed.

Elias paused. "I miss places. But people... not often."

Adrian nodded slowly, unsure how to respond.

"You ask unusual questions for a master of the house," Elias added after a beat, not unkindly.

Adrian gave a small, tired smile. "And you give unusual answers for a housekeeper."

That made Elias lift one corner of his mouth - not quite a smile, but something close.

Adrian left the solarium soon after, but the conversation lingered.

---

Later that night, in the quiet of his study, Adrian opened the drawer where he kept a small leather-bound journal. He flipped to a fresh page and stared at the blank space for a long while.

Finally, he wrote:

He doesn't smile unless it's necessary. But when he does, it feels like the first warmth after a bitter winter.

Then, after a pause:

I think I'm in trouble.

He closed the journal and slid it back into the drawer.

But he didn't move.

His eyes lingered on the wood grain of the desk, his fingers idly tapping a rhythm that matched the rain against the windows. Every word he'd written felt risky. Vulnerable.

And yet, strangely freeing.

He'd never allowed himself the luxury of wanting. Not like this. Not someone like Elias. Someone who had no idea the master of the house thought about his hands, his quiet strength, his voice that never raised above necessity.

Adrian stood and walked slowly to the fireplace. The flames danced low, casting soft gold shadows across the carpet. He wondered what Elias did when he wasn't working. Did he read? Write? Dream?

Or was he the kind of man who kept his heart sealed, too?

A log crackled in the hearth. The storm outside deepened.

Adrian exhaled and returned to his desk. He opened the drawer again, pulled out the journal, and added one last line beneath his scribbled confession:

I wonder if he suspects.

He paused. Then crossed it out.

Not yet.

He closed the journal gently this time, as though it held something alive, and returned it to its place.

For a moment, he sat in the silence, the only sound the faint ticking of the old clock by the fireplace.

And then, slowly, he allowed himself to whisper a name he'd never dared to say aloud before now.

"Elias."