Chapter 2 #2
Morgan did not correct her address as he approached the horse, a gentle mare, and crouched to examine the hoof. The problem was exactly as she’d described. The shoe was gone, and the hoof would need protection before the horse could walk any significant distance.
“You’re right, Miss,” he said, straightening. “She’s lost the shoe entirely. Where are you headed?”
The woman paused, just long enough for Morgan to notice.
“Kirkhammer Hall,” she said finally. “I’m answering an advertisement for a position as a maid.”
Morgan kept his expression neutral.
“Kirkhammer Hall? Well, that is on my way,” he said smoothly. “I can offer you and your horse passage. My driver can pad the hoof so she can walk, and we’ll tie her behind the carriage. You won’t reach the estate on foot before dark, and it would be unwise to try.”
He presented it as fact, not charity. A sensible solution to a practical problem.
She studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. Morgan could see the debate playing out behind her hazel eyes, her lashes long and black as night. She had to realize the risk of accepting help from a stranger versus the risk of being stranded alone as night approached.
Finally, she nodded. “Thank you sir. That’s very kind of you.”
She’s sensible enough, then.
“Not at all.” Morgan turned to his driver. “Pad the mare’s hoof and secure her to the back of the carriage, please.”
“Yes, Your G—”
“That will do, thank you,” Morgan interrupted smoothly.
The driver caught himself and nodded, climbing down to tend to the horse.
Morgan turned back to the woman. “Pardon my manners. May I have your name, Miss?”
Another pause.
“Ellie… Ellie Graham,” she answered slowly.
“A pleasure, Miss Graham. I’m Mr. Sedgewick,” he introduced himself with a bow.
“Mr. Sedgewick.” She inclined her head back politely. “Thank you again for your assistance.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss Graham.”
Within a few minutes, the mare was secured, and Morgan offered his hand to help Miss Graham into the carriage. She took it briefly, her fingers smooth and delicate, then climbed in and immediately positioned herself in the far corner, as far from him as the space allowed.
Morgan settled into his own seat, noting the way she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the window, her soft hands folded tightly in her lap.
She is wary. Cautious. Understandable, given the circumstances. Yet there is a lingering confidence underneath I cannot put my finger on, no doubt a result of her remarkable beauty.
The carriage lurched into motion. For a few moments, they rode in silence. Morgan watched her from the corner of his eye, as he could not keep his gaze averted for long.
She was somehow younger than he’d first thought.
In her early twenties, perhaps. Her features were delicate, dark blonde locks pinned neatly beneath her bonnet.
There was something guarded about her, something that suggested she was used to keeping secrets, though Morgan couldn’t put his finger on how he knew such things about a perfect stranger.
“Tell me, Miss Graham,” Morgan said. “Have you heard much about your perspective employer, the Duke of Kirkhammer?”
She glanced at him, her expression carefully neutral. “I’ve heard of the title.”
“And what do people say about him?”
“I don’t put much stock in gossip, Mr. Sedgewick.” Her tone was polite but firm. “I believe it’s not my place to judge a man I’ve never met.”
Morgan blinked.
That is… unexpected. And refreshing.
“A wise philosophy,” he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Not many share it.”
“People enjoy speculation,” she said simply. “It doesn’t mean their speculation is accurate, or interesting.”
Morgan leaned back in his seat, intrigued. “Fair enough. And you? Are you from Sussex originally?”
“No.”
“London?”
“I’ve, erm, spent time there.”
“And before that?”
“Various places. Nowhere of consequence,” she shrugged, yet Morgan could pick the slightest bit of tension on her shoulders.
He raised an eyebrow. She was giving him nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he was hanging on like a fish on a hook.
“You’re not much for conversation, are you, Miss Graham?”
A flicker of something, amusement, perhaps, rose in her high cheekbones. Morgan felt himself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. “I find it prudent to be cautious when traveling alone, Mr. Sedgewick. Surely you can understand that.”
“I can. Though I assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Her tone was polite, but there was steel beneath it.
A warning. Morgan found himself smirking at her subtle confidence.
“What brought you to seek employment at Kirkhammer Hall?” he asked.
“I need work. The advertisement seemed promising.”
“You’re qualified for domestic service?”
She inhaled slowly and his eyes were drawn down to her generous breasts that heaved beneath her coat. “I’m a quick learner.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, too quickly. “And you’re comfortable working for a duke?”
“I daresay, I feel as though I am being interviewed. But I will say, a position is a position, Mr. Sedgewick. I don’t imagine the Duke of Kirkhammer is fundamentally different from any other employer.”
If only she knew, thought as he bit back a laugh.
“You might be surprised,” he said.
She looked at him directly for the first time, her gaze sharp and assessing. “Are you acquainted with him, Mr. Sedgewick?”
“You could say that.”
“Then perhaps you could tell me what he’s like. Since you seem so interested in my opinion of him.”
Morgan considered her. She was clever. Turning the question back on him. She would make a good barrister.
“He’s… a complicated man,” Morgan said finally. “Not given to following society’s expectations. Some find that charming. Others find it frustrating.”
“And you?”
“I find it useful.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. For a moment, Morgan wondered if she’d somehow guessed. But then, she simply nodded and turned back to the window.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence once more. Morgan watched the countryside roll past, but his thoughts stayed on the woman across from him.
Ellie Graham.
If that was even her real name. Refined accent. Guarded demeanor. Traveling alone to a remote estate to take a position that didn’t exist. She was running from something. Or someone.
And despite himself, Morgan wanted to know what.
The carriage finally turned onto the long drive, and Kirkhammer Hall came into view.
It was, Morgan had to admit, an impressive sight.
The house sprawled across the verdant green landscape, all pale stone and tall windows, framed by manicured gardens on one side and the wild expanse of the beach on the other.
The sea glittered in the distance, endless and hopeful and blue.
He glanced at Miss Graham. Her eyes had widened slightly, and she leaned closer to the window.
“It’s… very large,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” Morgan agreed. “I hear that the Duke is fond of space.”
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the main entrance, where a line of servants stood waiting. Morgan’s butler, housekeeper, and several footmen, all perfectly arranged and perfectly punctual.
Morgan stepped down first, then turned to offer his hand.
Miss Graham hesitated, then took it, allowing him to help her down.
Her touch was warm and soft, the delicate skin of her fingers making his pulse quicken.
She looked up at him for a moment and her cheeks grew red.
She moved a few steps away and stood on the gravel drive, staring up at the house, clearly trying to mask her awe.
“Thank you again, Mr. Sedgewick,” she said, turning to him. “I cannot tell you how much I—”
“Your Grace!” Morgan’s butler, Mr. Jenkins, approached quickly, bowing. “Your Grace, welcome home. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, but everything is prepared and the boys have arrived.”
Miss Graham froze. Morgan saw the exact moment understanding dawned. Her face went from pale to alabaster. Her hazel eyes snapped to him, wide and horrified.
Morgan turned to her, his expression calm. “Well then, now that the cat is finally out of the bag,” he said quietly. “Allow me to introduce myself properly: Morgan Sedgewick, the Duke of Kirkhammer.”