Chapter 8 #2
With one last glance at the sleeping child, Thelma slipped from the nursery and made her way downstairs.
Her stomach had begun to protest the long morning, a hollow ache that reminded her she had eaten little at breakfast. The kitchen, with its constant warmth and Patricia’s quiet competence, seemed the safest place to steady herself.
The corridors felt longer than usual, the polished floors echoing her footsteps in a way that set her nerves further on edge. She kept her expression composed, nodding politely to a passing maid, but inside her thoughts churned.
The duke’s hands were so gentle with her today. The way Liliana rested against him, as if she belonged there. And that brush of his fingers when he handed her back.
Heat rose in her cheeks at the memory. She could not afford such distractions. Not when every additional day there tightened the web of her lies around her.
She had nearly reached the servants’ entrance corridor when a sharp knock echoed through the quiet space.
Thelma paused, glancing around. No maids in sight.
No footmen. Only the faint clatter of pots from the kitchen beyond.
Her pulse quickened. She hesitated, then approached the side door and opened it cautiously.
An older woman stood on the threshold; travel bag clutched in one hand and a sealed letter in the other. She appeared travel-worn, her practical cloak dusty from the road, but her posture was straight and her eyes bright with expectation.
“Good morning,” The woman's voice was breathless, her composure clearly cost her something.
“I am Eliza Hartley. I am so dreadfully sorry to arrive like this, I was meant to come ten days ago, but there was a flood at Taunton that blocked the road entirely, and then my trunk was lost at the coaching inn at Wells, and by the time everything was sorted I had missed two coaches. I have a letter from the agency confirming my appointment, and one from my previous employer with a character reference, I can show you both immediately.”
Thelma’s world tilted. For several agonizing heartbeats, she simply stared at the real Miss Hartley.
This cannot be happening. Not now. Not when I have already gone so far.
Her throat tightened, and she felt a cold sweat prickle at the back of her neck. She forced her expression to remain neutral, though her fingers gripped the doorframe hard enough to ache.
Stepping quickly outside, Thelma pulled the door almost closed behind her, shielding the interior of the house. The autumn air suddenly felt sharper against her skin. “There has been a misunderstanding,” she said, her voice lower than she intended, steady only through sheer force of will.
“The position was filled several days ago. There appears to have been a scheduling error with the agency. Another candidate arrived earlier and was engaged immediately.”
Miss Hartley’s brow furrowed. She glanced down at the letter in her hand. “But this confirmation came only yesterday. They were quite clear that the duke required someone with experience in infant care.”
Thelma’s heart hammered so loudly she feared the other woman could hear it. Her palms had grown damp. She clasped them together in front of her skirts to hide the tremor.
Think. Speak carefully. Do not let her see how terrified you are.
“I am truly sorry for the inconvenience,” she continued, injecting what she hoped was professional regret into her tone. “Such errors do happen, though they are unfortunate. The household has been rather overwhelmed with the recent arrival of the child.”
The real Miss Hartley shifted her weight, clearly disappointed but not yet suspicious. “I traveled quite a distance. If there is any possibility...”
Thelma reached into her pocket and withdrew several coins, nearly half of what remained from her wages. The metal felt heavy in her palm. “Please accept this for your trouble and the cost of your return journey. It is the least I can do on behalf of the household.”
Miss Hartley accepted the money after a moment’s hesitation, her fingers brushing Thelma’s. “Well. That is... kind of you. Unexpected, but kind. I suppose these things cannot be helped.”
Thelma managed a small, tight smile. “Safe travels to you.”
She watched as the woman turned and walked back down the path toward the main drive, her figure growing smaller with each step. Only when Miss Hartley had disappeared around the corner did Thelma allow herself to lean heavily against the closed door.
Her legs felt unsteady beneath her.
What have I done? I have sent her away with my own money and another lie. If anyone discovers this...
Her breathing came shallow and quick. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pulse to slow. The deception that had begun as a desperate impulse at the front door now felt like a living thing, growing heavier with every passing day.
After several long minutes, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed her skirts, and slipped back inside. She moved toward the kitchen on legs that still threatened to betray her.
No one must see. I cannot afford to look shaken.
Patricia was already there when Thelma entered, standing at the large wooden table with her sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with strong, practiced hands.
The cook’s dark brown hair had escaped its cap in several places, and her hazel eyes lifted at the sound of footsteps.
The kitchen smelled of herbs and fresh bread, warm and inviting in a way that made Thelma’s guilt twist sharper.
“You look a bit pale, Miss Hartley,” Patricia said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come sit down. There is fresh tea steeping, and I have some cold meat and bread if you are hungry.”
Thelma forced a smile as she took a seat at the table, though her hands trembled slightly as she folded them in her lap. She kept her posture straight, chin lifted, the picture of composure. But inside, her thoughts spiraled.
Did she hear the knock? Did she see the woman through the window? How much does she suspect?
“Thank you, Patricia. That would be most welcome. The morning air gave me quite an appetite.”
Patricia poured tea into two cups without asking, placing one before Thelma with a quiet clink. She set out a plate of simple fare as well, then settled into the chair across from her. For a moment, the only sounds were the distant hum of the household and the soft crackle of the fire.
“You have been here over a week now,” Patricia said after a time, her tone conversational but her gaze steady. “Yet I have not seen you write any letters. No word sent home to family, no friends inquiring after you. That seems rather lonely, if you do not mind me saying.”
Thelma lifted her cup, using the motion to steady her still-shaking hands. The tea was warm against her palms, but it did little to ease the chill of fear that had settled in her chest.
Does she know something? Or suspect?
“There is no one to write to,” she replied quietly, choosing her words with care. “Not anymore. My circumstances... they changed rather suddenly before I came here.”
Patricia studied her across the table for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
She took a slow sip of her own tea, then set the cup down.
Whatever thoughts moved behind those hazel eyes remained hidden.
She simply reached out and gave Thelma’s wrist a brief, firm squeeze before returning to her work.
“Then it is fortunate you have found yourself here for the present,” Patricia said simply. “The tea will help. It always does.”
Thelma nodded, murmuring her thanks, but her mind continued to race even as she sipped the hot liquid.
Kindness or patience? Or something else entirely?
She could not tell. The uncertainty only deepened the knot of anxiety in her stomach. Every kindness here made her deception feel more unforgivable. And yet, with Liliana sleeping peacefully upstairs and the memory of the duke’s gentle hands still fresh, leaving felt less and less like salvation.