Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“But I don’t want to!” Arthur’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs. “I want Aunt Imogen!”
“It’s all right, Arthur!” Philip said to his brother.
Eliza was polishing candlesticks in the dining room when she heard the boys again.
“Arthur, please.” Miss Winslow’s voice was patient but strained. “You need to put on your coat. We’re going for a walk.”
“I don’t want a walk! I want to go home!”
Eliza paused, the candlestick forgotten in her hands. Her heart ached for the boy. She knew that feeling. That desperate, hopeless longing for something or someone you’d lost. Mourning what could or should have been.
She thought of Abigail. Of home. Of everything she’d left behind. And she thought of the boys, so small and so sad, trying to be brave in a world that didn’t feel safe anymore.
She set down the candlestick and returned to her work, blinking back tears. She couldn’t help them. She couldn’t even help herself. All she could do was survive. One day at a time.
Hopefully, one day that will be enough…
Eliza was on her hands and knees in the corridor, scrubbing at a stubborn scuff mark on the marble floor, when she heard the thunder of small feet once more. She looked up just in time to see two identical figures barreling toward her.
“Look out!” she called, but it was too late.
Arthur crashed into her bucket, sending soapy water sloshing across the slick floor. Philip, unable to stop his momentum, skidded through the puddle and landed on his backside with a wet thump.
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then Philip started laughing wildly like a hyena.
“I’m so sorry!” Eliza scrambled to her feet, grabbing a cloth. “Are you hurt? Let me—”
“Oh, I’m fine, Miss!” Philip giggled, wiping water from his face. “That was fun!”
Arthur, meanwhile, was staring at the overturned bucket with wide eyes.
“Oh no. We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Phillip asked suddenly, the laughter gone from his voice.
“No, no, it’s all right,” Eliza said quickly, kneeling to help Philip up. “Accidents happen. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m sure,” Philip said as he beamed at her.
“You’re the new maid, aren’t you? Mary said you just started,” Arthur said.
“That’s right, Lords Arthur and Philip. My name is Ellie.”
“I’m Philip. And that’s Arthur.” Philip pointed at his brother, who was still eyeing the puddle a bit nervously. “We’re twins.”
“I can see that,” Eliza said, smiling despite herself. “You’re very much alike.”
“Everyone says that,” Arthur said. He crouched down and peered at her curiously.
“Where are you from?”
“The north,” Eliza said, wringing out her cloth into the bucket.
“That’s far away,” Philip said.
“Why did you come here?”
“I needed work.”
“Do you like it here?” Arthur asked.
Eliza paused, considering. “I do. It’s very beautiful. And everyone has been kind.”
“Uncle Morgan’s nice,” Philip offered. “But he doesn’t know how to play very well.”
Arthur nodded seriously. “He’s trying, though. Yesterday he played with us for almost fifteen minutes before he got distracted.”
“Fifteen whole minutes,” Eliza said, her lips twitching.
“That’s not very long,” Philip explained. “It was probably ten, actually.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t terribly long, then.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Arthur asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor as though settling in for a long conversation.
“I don’t,” Eliza said. “It was just me and my mother…” she added, careful to continue the story she had told His Grace.
“And your parents?” the boy asked.
Eliza shook her head, “They’re, um… not with me anymore.”
“We don’t have a mama or papa anymore,” Philip said matter-of-factly.
“They died,” Arthur finished.
Eliza’s chest tightened, even though she knew it. It was a different thing altogether to hear the words.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said solemnly.
“It’s all right,” Arthur said, though his voice had gone quieter. “We have Uncle Ambrose and Aunt Imogen now. They’re on their honeymoon.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“We wanted to go too, but Uncle Morgan said we’d just get in the way of romance.” Philip wrinkled his nose. “What’s romance?”
“It’s when people are very fond of each other,” Eliza said carefully, though her tone grew light at such a question.
“Like how Arthur and I are fond of each other?”
“Similar, but different.”
“Well, that doesn’t make sense,” Arthur said.
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Arthur grumbled.
“Arthur! Philip!” A familiar woman’s voice called from down the corridor. “Where have you gotten to?” The boys exchanged guilty looks.
“That’s Miss Winslow,” Philip whispered.
“We should probably go,” Arthur added.
But before they could move, Miss Winslow appeared around the corner. She took in the scene—the overturned bucket, the puddle, the two soaking wet boys sitting on the floor, and sighed.
“I turned my back for two minutes,” she said, though there was no real anger in her voice. “Two minutes.”
“It was an accident!” Philip said quickly.
“We didn’t mean to knock over Miss Ellie’s bucket,” Arthur added. “She said it was all right!”
Miss Winslow’s gaze shifted to Eliza, who had risen to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. They’re supposed to be in the nursery doing their lessons.”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Winslow,” Eliza said, offering a reassuring smile. “No harm done. Just a bit of water. I suppose in a way, they helped.”
“You’re very kind.” Miss Winslow gave her a grateful look. “Most people aren’t nearly so patient with them.”
“They’re lovely boys,” Eliza said, and meant it.
Miss Winslow’s expression softened. “They are, aren’t they? Even when they’re causing chaos.” She held out her hands to the twins. “Come along, you two chaos demons. Let’s get you into dry clothes.”
“Do we have to finish our arithmetic?” Arthur asked reluctantly.
“Yes.”
“But it’s boring.”
“It’s also necessary. Come on.”
The boys groaned but obeyed, allowing Miss Winslow to shepherd them down the corridor. Philip waved at Eliza over his shoulder.
“Bye, Ellie!”
“Goodbye, Philip. Goodbye, Arthur.”
When they were gone, Eliza knelt back down and began mopping up the water. She was smiling, she realized. It had been a long time since she’d smiled like this, genuine and unforced, almost hurting her cheeks.
The boys reminded her of simpler times; laughter and innocence, the life she’d had before everything fell apart.
She thought of Abigail again, as she always did.
I wonder what Abigail would have thought of Arthur and Philip. She would have adored them, Eliza thought. She always loved children.
The longing ache returned, sharp and familiar. Eliza pushed it down and kept scrubbing.
Later that afternoon, Eliza was sent to the servants’ corridor to fetch fresh linens from the storage cupboard.
As she approached, she heard voices drifting from the small sitting room the staff used during their breaks to enjoy a cigarette or a pipe, read the newspaper, or share a cup of tea.
She slowed, not wanting to interrupt but couldn’t help but lean in to listen.
“It’s quite a turn in character for him, isn’t it?” one voice said.
Eliza realized quickly was Mary, the cheerful maid who’d shown Eliza the ropes her first day.
“Two weeks without a single party. It’s unnatural for His Grace!”
“Don’t get used to it,” a deeper woman’s voice replied, thick with smoke. “The moment those boys leave, he’ll be back to his old ways. He’s on his best behavior for the boys’ sake.”
Eliza recognized that was Jane, one of the senior housemaids. She was older, more cynical than Mary.
“What do you mean?” A younger voice, Lizzie, the scullery maid asked.
Jane snorted. “You’re green, so you wouldn’t know. But His Grace has quite a reputation. Parties every other week, sometimes. Music, dancing, drinking till dawn. And the women!”
“Jane,” Mary said, her tone cautioning.
“What? It’s true. He’s had half the eligible ladies in London here at one point or another. And some not-so-eligible ones, if you know what I mean.”
Lizzie gasped. “Really?”
“Really. I once had to clean wine stains out of the drawing room carpet at three in the morning because someone decided it would be amusing to juggle bottles.”
“That’s terrible,” Lizzie breathed.
“That’s His Grace,” Jane said dryly. “Charming, generous, intelligent… and completely incapable of taking anything seriously. He’ll never change.”
“He seems different now,” Mary said thoughtfully. “With the boys here, I mean. More… responsible.”
“Give it time,” Jane said. “Leopards don’t change their spots. The boys will be gone within the month.”
Eliza stood frozen outside the door, her hands clutching the linen basket.
The Duke of Kirkhammer is… a rake.
Eliza realized that he was a man who threw lavish parties and entertained women and lived as though nothing mattered. It shouldn’t have surprised her. Men of his class often lived that way, taking what they wanted, answering to no one.
Somehow, it did surprise her. He’d been kind to her.
Generous. He’d hired her without references, paid her more than she deserved, and hadn’t asked questions he must have known she wouldn’t answer honestly.
And yet, according to his own staff, he was reckless.
Irresponsible. A man who treated life like a game.
Eliza forced herself to move, slipping past the sitting room before anyone noticed her. She was used to moving quietly. She retrieved the linens and hurried back to her duties, her thoughts churning.
It doesn’t matter what kind of man the Duke is.
She was here to work. To stay hidden. To survive.
Like a mantra. His personal life was none of her concern.
But as she climbed the stairs, she couldn’t quite shake the image of him with his young nephews.
Perhaps there was more to His Grace than his reputation suggested.
Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
That evening, Eliza was in the linen room, folding sheets, when Miss Winslow appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, good. I was hoping I’d find you here.”
Eliza looked up. “Is everything all right, Miss Winslow?”
“Yes, perfectly fine. I just wanted to thank you again for being so gracious with the boys earlier. They’ve been rather out of sorts lately, and it was nice to see them laughing. Even if it was over a puddle.”
“They’re sweet,” Eliza said. “It was no trouble at all.”
Miss Winslow stepped into the room and lowered her voice.
“Between you and me, I think they’re struggling more than they let on. They miss their uncle and aunt terribly, and His Grace, for all his good intentions, is rather… inexperienced with children.”
Eliza smiled faintly, as she set down a sheet. “I gathered as much.”
“He’s trying, though. I’ll give him that,” Miss Winslow sighed. “It’s just difficult. Arthur, especially, has been asking when they can go back to France, to see familiar places and faces. And I don’t know what to tell him.”
“It must be hard for them,” Eliza said quietly. “Losing their parents. Being uprooted from their home.”
“It is. But they’re resilient. Children often are.” Miss Winslow paused. “You’re very good with them, you know. If you ever have a spare moment and want to help out in the nursery, I wouldn’t say no. It may give you a break from this as well. I am sure Mrs. Dawson wouldn’t mind.”
Eliza’s heart warmed at the invitation. “I’d like that. If Mrs. Dawson allows it.”
“Leave that to me, I’ll speak to her.” Miss Winslow smiled. “I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends, Ellie.”
“I do hope so,” Eliza said.
And she meant it. It had been so long since she’d had a friend. Since Abigail.
Something like hope bloomed in her chest. A hope she knew Abigail would want her to be reminded of. Maybe, just maybe, she could build a new life here. A different life. A life where she didn’t have to be afraid.
Late that night, Eliza lay in her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the small cracks to pass the time. Her thoughts drifted to the boys. Then Miss Winslow. Then to the gossip she’d overheard about His Grace.
And, despite herself, she thought about the Duke more.
A man with secrets of his own…
A man who could be kind one moment and reckless the next apparently. A man she absolutely should not be thinking about at all.
Eliza rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. Tomorrow would bring new work. New challenges. New opportunities to prove herself. And if she was lucky, fewer thoughts of the enigmatic Duke of Kirkhammer.
Though, somehow, she doubted it would work out that way.