Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows as Eliza polished the glass, her cloth moving in steady circles.
From her vantage point, she had a perfect view of the beach and was overwhelmed by the cerulean waves as they crested on the sand.
Arthur and Philip were racing along the shore, their laughter carrying on the wind.
Miss Winslow stood nearby, her skirts lifted slightly to keep them from the surf, watching the boys with patient amusement.
It was unusually warm for autumn, and Eliza was glad they were taking advantage of it.
Eliza smiled. The boys had been in much better spirits in the last few days. They surely still missed their uncle and aunt, but the sea air and freedom seemed to be helping.
She watched as Philip waded into the shallows, the water lapping at his ankles and throwing stones. Arthur followed, splashing his brother. Miss Winslow called something, probably a warning not to go too deep and especially in the cold, but the wind carried her words away.
Philip went deeper. Up to his waist now.
Eliza’s smile faded. “He should come out of those waters soon,” she murmured to herself.
The wind picked up suddenly, stronger than before. The waves, which had been gentle, grew choppier. A large swell rolled in, and Philip’s small frame suddenly disappeared beneath it.
Eliza’s heart stopped. “No!” she gasped.
Philip surfaced, coughing and spluttering. Arthur immediately ran toward him, shouting something. Miss Winslow was already moving, wading into the water.
Another wave crashed over Philip. Then another.
Arthur reached his brother and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him toward shore. But the current was stronger than either of them had anticipated.
Miss Winslow reached the boys and wrapped her arms around them, trying to guide them back. But the waves were relentless, and Eliza could see her struggling, her movements becoming more frantic.
Eliza didn’t think. She dropped the cloth and ran.
“Help!” she shouted as she tore through the hallway. “The beach! Someone get help to the beach, now!”
She heard startled voices behind her, but she didn’t stop sprinting. She burst through the back door and raced across the lawn, her skirts tangling around her legs.
The beach seemed impossibly far away, yet she pushed. Finally, she reached the sand and kicked off her shoes, not breaking stride.
The water was freezing when she plunged in, but she barely felt it as adrenaline coursed through her veins.
“Hold on!” she screamed. “I’m coming!”
Miss Winslow had managed to get Arthur closer to shore, but Philip was still struggling, the waves pulling him farther out. The governess was trying to reach him again, but her sodden skirts were weighing her down.
Eliza swam hard, her arms cutting through the water. She reached Philip just as another wave crashed over him.
“I’ve got you!” She wrapped one arm around his small body and started pulling him toward shore.
Philip coughed and clutched at her. “Ellie…” he whispered, his eyes wet with salt water and tears.
“Don’t talk. Just hold on, dear.”
She kicked hard, fighting the current. Every muscle in her body screamed, but she kept moving. Suddenly, strong arms appeared beside her, reaching out and solid in the swirling sea.
Thank Heavens, His Grace is here! My hero.
He’d stripped off his coat and boots and had swam toward them with powerful strokes, his muscled body a formidable beast against the waves.
“Give him to me,” the Duke commanded, his voice low and strong.
Eliza passed Philip over, and he immediately began swimming back to shore, the boy secure in his arms. Eliza made her way out of the water and turned to help Miss Winslow, who was still struggling with Arthur at the shoreline.
Between the two of them, they managed to get the boy moving toward the beach and seated on the sand.
A crowd of servants had gathered with blankets and worried faces. The Duke sat in the middle of them, Philip safe in his arms, coughing up seawater but alive.
Eliza collapsed onto the beach, flat on her back and her chest heaving. Miss Winslow fell beside her, sobbing with relief.
“What on earth came over all of you?” the Duke demanded.
Arthur crawled over to Philip and threw his arms around his brother. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I told you to go deeper and you almost…”
“It’s all right,” Philip wheezed. “I’m all right.”
The Duke knelt beside them, his face grim. “Are you both all right?”
The boys nodded, still clinging to each other.
The Duke looked at Miss Winslow, who was shaking violently. “Miss Winslow?”
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she gasped. “I should have…I wasn’t watching closely enough… It all happened so fast… I t-t-tried to-to…”
“She was watching them,” Eliza cut in, struggling to her feet. Her legs felt like ice, but she forced herself upright. “I saw the whole thing from the window. The wind picked up suddenly. The waves came out of nowhere. They couldn’t have known it would become so dangerous.”
His gaze shifted to her, sharp and assessing.
“Miss Winslow did everything right,” Eliza continued. “She went in immediately. She got Arthur to safety. She was trying to reach Philip when I arrived.”
“It was all my fault, Uncle,” Arthur said, his voice small. “I told Philip to go deeper. I dared him. And when he got in trouble, I went after him, but I couldn’t… I tried to save him.”
The Duke’s expression softened slightly. He placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You tried to help your brother. That took courage. But you both could have drowned.”
“I know,” Arthur whispered.
The Duke looked at both boys, his voice firm but not harsh. “Do you understand how dangerous that was? Do you understand that you could have died?”
They nodded, wide-eyed and solemn.
“I need you to promise me, both of you, that you will never swim that deep without an adult who knows how to swim properly. Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Arthur said immediately.
“Me too,” Philip added.
“Good.” Morgan stood. “Miss Winslow, take the boys inside. Get them warm and dry. Cook can make them some hot cocoa.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Winslow scrambled to her feet, her relief a palpable thing. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am so, so sorry—”
“We’ll discuss this later. For now, just see to the boys. Make sure you have some cocoa as well.”
She curtsied and ushered Arthur and Philip toward the house. The other servants followed, murmuring amongst themselves.
Eliza turned to leave as well, but a deep voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Miss Graham. A moment.”
She turned back slowly. They were almost alone now, the other servants far enough away that they wouldn’t be overheard with the swirling wind.
“Your Grace?” She asked as she pulled the blanket a servant had given her tight around her shoulders.
“I want to apologize for my directness earlier,” Eliza said quickly.
“I only wanted to make sure you understood what actually happened. I didn’t mean to insert myself in any way that would be unfit—”
“You endangered yourself without a second thought,” he interrupted, his emerald eyes stared intensely at her, sparkling with something Eliza could not place. “You could have drowned. You could have died trying to save them.”
“The boys were in danger.”
“You don’t know how to swim that well. I could see it. You were struggling.”
“I had to try.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, quietly, he whispered, “Thank you.”
Eliza blinked. “Your Grace?” She asked, sensing there was something still unsaid, and so desperately wanting to hear it.
“For running to save them. For defending Miss Winslow. For being brave. And fair.” He paused, then took a step closer to her. “You could have stayed inside. Waited for someone else to help. But you didn’t.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“No,” the Duke said, closing the distance between them. “They wouldn’t have.”
Eliza felt her cheeks warm. She was suddenly, acutely aware of how close they were standing, only inches away now. Her eyes were drawn to the way his wet shirt clung to his chest, outlining the muscles beneath. Of the intensity in his gaze.
She looked away quickly, her pulse racing.
“We should get back to the house,” the Duke said, his voice slightly rough. “Before we catch a chill.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“You go ahead. I’ll follow in a moment.”
Eliza understood. If they walked back together, the servants would talk. She curtsied and hurried toward the house, her wet dress heavy and cold against her skin.
She didn’t look back. She wouldn’t.
Yet something in the marrow of her cold bones told her he was still watching her. She could feel it as surely as if a hand rested between her shoulders, or on the curve of her hip. The heat of his gaze followed her the entire way across the grounds.
Even as she approached the entrance, the memory flashed through her mind again.
His hand closing around her wrist, the strength of it.
The closeness between them. The deepness of his voice when he spoke her name.
Even now, after she had pulled away, the ghost of that touch lingered hot on her skin. Her heart stumbled in her chest.
It is ridiculous, she chastised herself. It is nothing more than adrenaline. Anyone would feel unsettled after such a moment, the shock of the cold water, the fear, the rush of being pulled to safety.
Yet, she closed her eyes and could still picture him standing there behind her when she turned away.
Tall and commanding, the lines of his shoulders stark against the shore.
There had been something in his expression she had not dared linger on, something intense enough to send warmth through her even now.
A duke.
The thought alone should have been enough to steady her.
Instead, it made her pulse race all over again.
Eliza tightened her grip on the folds of her soaked skirt and walked faster.
The servants’ entrance door would be just around the corner now, and once she was inside, she could change, compose herself, and pretend none of it had happened.
But no matter how quickly she walked, she could not quite shake the feeling of his eyes on her, or the unsettling realization that, after the rush of fear and cold and pounding blood in her ears, what remained was something far more dangerous.
Attraction.