Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The month had passed, and Morgan found himself standing on the front steps of Kirkhammer Hall.
He looked down and watched as his staff loaded trunks and cases onto carriages bound for London.
The Sussex air was crisp, tinged with salt from the nearby sea, and the estate felt strangely quiet despite the bustle of departure.
A skeleton crew would remain behind to maintain the property, a handful of servants who preferred the country to the city, but most of his household was returning with him to London.
Including Miss Ellie Graham.
He caught sight of her near the servants’ entrance, bundled in her dark cloak, speaking with Mrs. Dawson.
Morgan had observed her from a careful distance over the past month.
Miss Graham had proven herself to be everything he had suspected during their first encounter in the carriage.
She was intelligent, capable, and utterly determined to remain invisible.
She had kept to herself, performed her duties without complaint, and managed to avoid drawing undue attention despite being the newest addition to his staff.
The boys have no such talent for invisibility.
“Uncle Morgan!” Philip’s voice rang out from somewhere inside the house, followed immediately by Arthur’s laughter.
Morgan smiled despite himself. The twins had spent the month running wild along the beach, exploring tide pools, building elaborate sandcastles that were inevitably destroyed by the cool, crushing waves, and generally exhausting Miss Winslow at every opportunity.
They had also, much to Morgan’s surprise, become utterly devoted to Miss Graham.
And she, to her credit, never turned them away.
Morgan had observed this growing attachment with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. Miss Graham was patient with the boys in a way that went beyond simple kindness. She listened when they spoke, answered their questions thoughtfully, and never treated them as though they were nuisances.
When Arthur had scraped his knee on the rocks one day, she had cleaned and bandaged it with gentle hands, murmuring reassurances until his tears stopped.
When Philip had lost his favorite toy soldier in the parlor, she had spent an hour helping him search until they found it.
Even Miss Winslow had remarked on it one evening, her tone warm with gratitude.
“I don’t know what I would have done without Miss Graham this month, Your Grace,” she had said. “The boys adore her, and she’s wonderful with them. She has a way of calming them that I confess I sometimes lack.”
Morgan had simply nodded, but inwardly, he agreed wholeheartedly.
There was something about the way Miss Graham interacted with Arthur and Philip that suggested she was more than just a maid or being kind to children.
It was another piece of the puzzle that was Ellie Graham, a clue to a past she refused to share.
“Your Grace!”
Morgan turned to see a footman approaching. “The Duke and Duchess of Welton’s carriage has been spotted on the road.”
“Excellent,” Morgan said, straightening his coat. “Have tea prepared in the drawing room. And inform Miss Winslow that the boys’ guardians have arrived.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Within minutes, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house. Ambrose emerged first, offering his hand to Imogen, who stepped down with a radiant smile. Both looked tanned and relaxed, their honeymoon clearly having done them good.
“Morgan,” Ambrose said warmly, clasping his hand. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” Morgan replied. “You both look well. The change of scenery agreed with you, I take it?”
“It was wonderful,” Imogen said, her eyes bright. “Though I confess, we missed the boys terribly. Where are they?”
As if on cue, twin shouts of “Aunt Imogen! Uncle Ambrose!” echoed from inside, and moments later, Arthur and Philip came barreling down the front steps to greet them. They flung themselves at Imogen, who laughed and knelt to embrace them both.
“We missed you!” Philip declared, squeezing her tightly. “So much!”
“We saw a crab this big!” Arthur added, holding his hands comically wide apart.
Ambrose ruffled their hair affectionately, his expression soft and warm. “We missed you too, boys. I trust you behaved yourselves for your Uncle Morgan?”
“Mostly,” Arthur said with a grin.
“We tried our best, Uncle Ambrose,” Philip added.
Morgan laughed. “They were perfect. Come, let’s have tea.”
The drawing room was warm and inviting, the fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth. Tea had been laid out on a low table, along with finger sandwiches, fresh scones, and an assortment of cakes that made the boys’ eyes widen.
“Before we begin,” Ambrose said, reaching into his coat pocket, “we brought you something from France.”
He handed Morgan a small, elegantly wrapped package. Morgan raised an eyebrow and opened it carefully. Inside was a leather-bound journal, beautifully crafted, with his initials embossed in gold on the cover.
“It’s exquisite,” Morgan said, running his fingers over the smooth leather, flipping through the parchment pages. “Thank you, both of you.”
“We thought you might enjoy it,” Imogen said warmly. “For your Parliamentary notes, or perhaps something more personal.”
Morgan smiled. “I shall treasure it.”
Ambrose leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on the boys, who were already reaching for the cakes. “Now then, tell us. How was your month with Uncle Morgan? Did you enjoy yourselves?”
The question unleashed a torrent of excitement.
“It was the best!” Philip exclaimed, his mouth half-full of cake. “We went to the beach every day, and we found shells, and crabs, and—”
“And Miss Graham showed us how to build a sandcastle that wouldn’t fall down!” Arthur interrupted, bouncing in his seat.
“Miss Graham helped us catch a fish in a tide pool,” Philip added. “She wasn’t even scared of it!”
“And when I hurt my knee, Miss Graham fixed it and made it stop hurting,” Arthur said earnestly.
“Miss Graham tells the best stories,” Philip declared. “Better than Miss Winslow’s, even.”
Morgan noticed the slight pause in the conversation. Ambrose and Imogen exchanged a glance, curiosity flickering across their faces.
“Miss Graham?” Imogen asked gently. “Who is Miss Graham?”
“She’s the nicest person in the whole house, Aunt Imogen!” Philip said matter-of-factly. “She works here, but she’s really our friend.”
“She saved me when I tried to get to Philip out of the water,” Arthur added, his tone reverent. “I almost went under, but she grabbed me just in time.”
Morgan’s jaw tightened slightly at the memory, not knowing the timing of it all.
Ambrose looked at Morgan, one eyebrow raised. “Miss Graham?”
“Yes, Miss Ellie Graham,” Morgan said evenly. “One of the newer maids. She’s been… helpful with the boys.”
“Helpful is an understatement,” Miss Winslow interjected, entering the room with a warm smile.
She curtsied deeply to Ambrose and Imogen.
“Your Graces, it’s so wonderful to see you again.
I must say, Miss Graham has been invaluable this past month.
The boys adore her, and she has a natural way with children that has made my job considerably easier. ”
At that moment, the door opened, and a maid entered with a fresh pot of tea.
Miss Ellie Graham…
She moved with her usual quiet efficiency, her hazel eyes downcast, her posture careful. Her dark blonde hair was back in a neat bun, though a few stray curls framed her delicate face. She set the teapot on the table and stepped back, preparing to leave.
“MISS ELLIE!” both boys cried in unison, their faces lighting up.
She froze. Her hands tightened slightly at her sides, but she kept her gaze lowered.
“Hello there, Lords Arthur and Philip,” she said softly with a small smile.
Morgan watched her carefully. There was tension in her shoulders, a wariness that hadn’t been there moments ago.
She didn’t look at Ambrose. Didn’t look at Imogen.
She kept her eyes firmly on the floor. Imogen, however, was watching her.
Morgan noticed the Duchess’s gaze linger on Ellie’s face, her expression thoughtful. Curious.
“Thank you for the tea, Miss Graham,” Morgan said, his tone polite but firm. A dismissal.
“Your Grace.” Then she turned and left the room with a curtsy, her movements swift but controlled.
The boys, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, continued their excited chatter and consumption of sweets.
“She’s so nice,” Philip said to Imogen. “You’d like her. Everyone likes her.”
“I’m sure I would,” Imogen said gently, though her gaze drifted to the door through which Ellie had disappeared.
Morgan couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just shifted in the room. Something he couldn’t quite name.
After tea, as the afternoon sun began to slant through the windows, the boys reluctantly began gathering their belongings under Miss Winslow’s supervision. Morgan stood with Ambrose and Imogen in the entrance hall, watching as the final trunks were loaded into the carriage.
“Thank you again, Morgan,” Ambrose said, clasping his shoulder. “Truly. I know it was an imposition.”
“It was no imposition,” Morgan replied honestly. “The boys are delightful. You’re welcome to leave them with me anytime. Although… perhaps not too soon.”
Imogen smiled, but her expression was distant, thoughtful. Morgan wondered what she was thinking.
“Uncle Morgan!” Arthur’s voice called from the top of the stairs. “We’re ready!”
The boys descended the stairs, Miss Winslow following behind them. But before they reached the bottom, they suddenly veered off toward the servants’ hallway.
“Arthur! Philip!” Miss Winslow called. “Where are you going?”
“We have to say goodbye to Miss Ellie!” Philip shouted over his shoulder.
Morgan exchanged a glance with Ambrose, who looked both amused and bewildered. A moment later, the boys reappeared, dragging a startled Ellie by the hands.
“There you are!” Arthur said triumphantly.
Her face was pale, her hazel eyes wide with alarm. She tried to gently disentangle herself from the boys’ grip, but they held on tightly.
“Young masters, please,” she said softly. “I really must insist that—”
“We’re leaving,” Philip said, his voice suddenly wobbling. “And we don’t know when we’ll see you again.”
Arthur’s lower lip jutted out in a pout. “Uncle Morgan, can’t Miss Ellie ride with us to London? Please?”
Morgan blinked. “I…I…”
“Please, Uncle Morgan!” Philip joined in, his eyes pleading. “We want her to come with us!”
Morgan noticed immediately that Ellie looked mortified at their words, as sweet and harmless as the children’s intentions were.
“That’s very kind, of you both, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. I am employed by His Grace and his household and… and I…”
Before she could finish, both boys threw their arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. Ellie’s hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before she gently placed them on their heads, her expression softening.
“Oh, you know I’ll miss you too,” she said finally. “But you’ll visit Kirkhammer House once His Grace is in London, I am sure. And when you do, I surely hope to see you again.”
“Promise?” Arthur asked, looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.
“I promise,” Ellie said, her voice thick.
The boys finally released her, though they looked thoroughly unhappy about it. Miss Winslow stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Ellie’s arm.
“Thank you, Miss Graham,” she said warmly. “For everything. You’ve been a godsend this month. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Winslow. Truly,” she replied as her cheeks turned pink.
Morgan watched the two women exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them.
There was warmth there, a mutual respect that hadn’t existed a month ago.
Miss Winslow smiled in kind, then gently ushered the boys toward the door.
Ellie curtsied quickly to Morgan, Ambrose, and Imogen, then turned to leave.
As she moved toward the servants’ hallway, Morgan saw Imogen watching her once more, her gaze sharp. Assessing.
And then, just before Ellie disappeared from view, their eyes met.
Imogen’s expression was unreadable, but there was something there.
Recognition? Suspicion?
Morgan couldn’t be sure. But whatever it was, it made his pulse quicken and Ellie’s face went pale as alabaster. She lowered her gaze immediately and hurried out of sight like a scared mouse.
Morgan turned to Imogen, searching her face for answers. But she simply smiled politely, and said nothing.
“Well then,” Ambrose said, oblivious to the silent exchange that had passed. “We should be off. The boys need their rest, and it’s a long journey back to London. Hopefully they sleep all the way home.”
“Of course,” Morgan said, forcing a smile. “I won’t be far behind you. See you in town.”
The remaining farewells were warm, the boys waving enthusiastically from the carriage windows as it rolled down the drive. Morgan stood on the steps, watching until they disappeared.
But his mind wasn’t on the boys. It was on the way Imogen had looked at Ellie.
And the way Ellie had looked back.