Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The words came out in a fever before Eliza could stop them. Her heart was hammering so hard she was certain everyone could hear it. First she had to temper her feelings with the most attractive man she had seen in a long time, perhaps ever, in a small, confined carriage ride-
No, not a man. A duke! That scoundrel!
She’d banished every unsavory thought of the handsome, traveling stranger.
Now she knew the truth, that she been alone in a carriage with the Duke of Kirkhammer.
Had he recognized her? Had he seen her at some ball, some dinner, some event where she’d been paraded about by her mother?
They’d never been introduced, she was certain of that.
Yet that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed her at some point or other.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t piecing together who she really was right now.
Mr. Sedgewick—now the Duke—regarded her with those same calm, assessing emerald eyes that had set her heart aflutter. It infuriated her, yet she knew she had no grounds for such feelings. She was deceiving him as well.
“I do apologize for the deception, Miss Graham. I simply wanted to get a sense of you before… well, before all of this.” He gestured vaguely at the house, the servants, the grand spectacle of his position.
“You’re coming to work for me, after all.
I thought it prudent to form my own impression first.”
Eliza’s mind raced. That was reasonable. Perfectly reasonable. And yet, something seemed awry in his response.
“Your Grace!” A stern-looking woman in her fifties, swept forward with a curtsy. “We had not expected you until tomorrow. Everything is in order, but—”
Her eyes flicked to Eliza, curiosity and confusion mingling on her face.
The Duke raised a hand, cutting her off gently but firmly.
“Mrs. Dawson, this is Miss Graham. Miss Graham, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Dawson,” he introduced them, and after Eliza exchanged a polite greeting with the older woman, the Duke spoke once more.
“Miss Graham’s horse needs immediate attention.
Please have one of the grooms see to it.
As for Miss Graham herself, she’s to be given tea and refreshments in the parlor.
No one is to question her yet. I’ll be conducting the interview myself. ”
Mrs. Dawson’s eyebrows rose fractionally, but she nodded, clearly a bit confused. “Of course, Your Grace.”
The Duke turned back to Eliza and bowed, actually bowed, as though she were a lady and not a woman seeking employment as a maid. The gesture made her cheeks heat as they turned pink.
“Miss Graham, I’ll see you shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable in my home.”
Then he was gone, striding into the house with the easy confidence of a man who owned everything in sight.
Eliza stood frozen on the gravel drive, her thoughts spinning.
“Miss Graham?” Mrs. Dawson’s voice called, which was not unkind, with a note of expectation in it. “If you’ll follow me.”
Eliza forced herself to nod and move.
Here goes nothing.
The inside of Kirkhammer Hall was even more magnificent than the exterior, which Eliza thought was impossible.
She tried not to gape as Mrs. Dawson led her through a vast entrance hall with soaring ceilings, marble floors, delicate tapestries, and portraits lining the walls.
Everything gleamed like it had been freshly wiped, polished wood, crystal chandeliers, silver sconces.
It was the kind of house Eliza had visited before, in her old life.
The kind of house where she’d been a guest, not a servant.
She swallowed hard and kept her eyes forward.
The parlor was a smaller room, though small was relative at Kirkhammer.
It was decorated in shades of tasteful cream and gold, a far cry from the ostentatious gowns her mother had paraded her around in.
She reveled in the neutral tones and looked about as sunlight streamed through tall windows.
She took a few steps toward them and admired how they overlooked the gardens and, beyond them, the sapphire sea.
A fire crackled in the hearth and a plush settee faced it.
“Please, sit,” Mrs. Dawson said, her tone softening slightly. “I’ll have tea brought in.”
“Thank you,” Eliza murmured.
Mrs. Dawson left, and Eliza sank onto the settee, her legs suddenly weak when met with such a comfortable seat. She pressed her hands together to stop them from shaking.
She was safe. For now, at least. The Duke hadn’t recognized her.
He’d hired her… or was going to hire her.
She had a place to stay, away from London, away from her parents, away from Lord Whitfield.
She just had to keep her head down, keep her secrets, and hope that no one looked too closely at her.
A maid arrived with tea and a tray of sandwiches, biscuits, and small cakes with jam.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, then poured herself a cup with trembling hands.
The tea was excellent, far better than anything she’d had at the inn, and she drank it slowly, letting the warmth settle her cool nerves. She was just reaching for a biscuit when a burst of laughter echoed from the hallway.
“Come on, faster!”
Two small figures darted past the open parlor door to reveal two identical boys, with dark curls and bright, mischievous blue eyes. They skidded to a halt when they saw her, staring with open curiosity.
Eliza blinked. Then, hesitantly, she raised her hand and waved. Both boys grinned and waved back enthusiastically.
“You’re really pretty,” the bolder of the two boys said. “We heard all about the mysterious new maid that came with Uncle Morgan in the carriage.”
“The other servants were talking about it,” the shyer boy said.
“Oh goodness,” Eliza said, stifling a laugh.
“Lord Arthur! Lord Philip!” A woman’s voice called from somewhere down the hall. “Come back here at once!”
A moment later, a woman in a sensible gray dress appeared, slightly breathless. She took in the scene, the boys, Eliza, the open door, and her expression shifted to one of mortification.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, hurrying forward to herd the boys away from the door. “They’re supposed to be upstairs. Come along, you two. Leave the poor woman in peace.”
The boys giggled but obeyed, allowing themselves to be shepherded back down the hallway. Their voices faded, along with the woman’s gentle scolding.
Eliza stared after them, a strange pang of disappointment settling in her chest.
The Duke has children. Of course he does. Surely a man as rich and handsome as him is married.
He had a wife, a family, a life that didn’t involve whatever curiosity he’d shown her in the carriage.
Not that it mattered. She was here to work. To hide. To survive. Nothing more. She turned back to her tea and forced herself to drink.
A short while later, Mrs. Dawson returned. “Miss Graham, His Grace will see you now.”
Eliza set down her cup and stood, smoothing her skirts. Her heart was racing again.
This was it. The interview. If she failed, if he saw through her lies, she’d be back on the road with nowhere to go.
She followed Mrs. Dawson through the house, down another long corridor, until they stopped before a heavy oak door. Mrs. Dawson knocked once, then opened it.
“Miss Graham, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dawson. That will be all.”
Eliza stepped inside. The door closed behind her gently, leaning against it for a moment as she looked around.
The Duke’s study was spacious, but less ornate than the rest of the house.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes.
A large desk dominated the center of the room, and behind it sat the Duke, looking far more relaxed than any peer, she had ever met.
He’d even removed his coat and loosened his cravat, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
He looked younger like this. Less imposing. Though no less unsettling as she took in the cut lines of his strong forearms. He was so muscled, so strong, so tall.
“Miss Graham,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk and bringing her back to reality. “Please, sit.”
Eliza hesitated, wanting to admire him for a moment more, then obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, folding her hands in her lap and kept her gaze lowered.
“Look at me, please.”
She raised her eyes reluctantly. He was watching her with that same steady, unreadable gaze he had held her in earlier that day. She took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to regain her composure.
“Let us begin, then,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”
Eliza swallowed.
Just as you practiced… keep it light, keep it short.
“There’s not much to tell, Your Grace,” she replied softly. “I’m seeking employment, and I heard that Kirkhammer Hall might have a position available.”
“From whom?”
“I saw it in the local paper, Your Grace.”
“And before? Where were you employed?”
“I haven’t been in formal service before, Your Grace. But I’m a quick learner, and I’m willing to work hard.”
“No references, then?”
She shifted in her seat, rubbing her hands in her lap together as she kept her eyes focused on the ground. “No, Your Grace.”
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Where are you from?”
“The north, Your Grace.”
He arched an eyebrow. “The north? You don’t have a northern accent.”
Eliza’s pulse spiked. She’d prepared for this. “I learned to speak properly through books, Your Grace. My mother worked at a merchant’s house, and they were kind enough to lend me their library. I suppose that is where I picked up his accent, his manner of speaking.”
“A merchant generous enough to lend books to a servant’s daughter.” His tone was neutral, but his emerald eyes were sharp. “That’s unusual.”
“They were kind people, Your Grace.”
“And where is your mother now?”
“I am all alone now, Your Grace.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His expression softened fractionally.