The scandal didn’t arrive loudly.
It arrived wearing silk.
Afonso received a formal notice: His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Dom Pedro II, would visit Santa Amélia for a holiday dinner, a gesture of favor to the House of Valença after Helena’s death.
The mansion exploded into preparation.
Silver polished. Curtains washed. Menus revised. Every servant turned into a moving piece of precision.
And Maria?
Maria was told to disappear.
The head housekeeper came to her room with a stiff expression. “You will remain out of sight tonight.”
Maria’s eyes didn’t change. “Dom Pedro will cry,” she said.
“That is not your concern.”
Maria glanced toward the nursery where the heir slept. “It is my concern if he is hungry.”
The housekeeper’s mouth tightened. “That is not your place.”
Maria didn’t argue.
She simply said, “Then you will see.”
The dinner began with laughter and clinking glasses.
The court spoke of politics and railroads and the “future” as if the future didn’t run on forced labor.
Afonso sat at the head of the table like the man he was expected to be—perfect posture, controlled face, grief worn like a tasteful pin.
Then, from above, came a sound that cut through every conversation:
Dom Pedro’s cry.
Not a soft fuss.
A desperate wail.
Nurses rushed up.
Minutes passed.
The crying grew worse.
Afonso’s fingers tightened around his fork.
He knew what the baby wanted. Everyone in the house knew.
But no one wanted to say it in front of the Emperor.
Finally, the Emperor tilted his head. “Is the child unwell?”
The entire table froze.
Afonso stood.
His heart hammered so loudly he feared it would show in his voice. But when he spoke, he spoke clearly:
“My son is healthy, Majesty. He simply misses his nurse.”
“Bring her,” the Emperor said, casual. “Let the child be soothed.”
Afonso inhaled.
And then he did something that would change his life.
He told the truth.
“She is an enslaved woman,” Afonso said, staring straight ahead as the room swallowed its shock. “Her name is Maria das Dores. She saved his life when no one else could.”
The aristocracy stiffened like statues.
Afonso’s mother’s friends stared as if he’d insulted them personally.
Afonso felt the social knife hovering.
The Emperor’s gaze held steady.
Then, to everyone’s horror, he said:
“Then bring her here.”
A Woman Walks Into a Room That Was Never Meant for Her
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