Chapter 10
Estelle
It is true that I am prone to nighttime wanderings on occasion. At Norwood Hall, I was the matron of the house, and since it was only me and the servants, I had no qualms with donning my wrapper and pilfering the kitchens. At night, I could be unpolished, imperfect—blessedly normal.
At the Radley’s, I had tried to kill the unseemly habit.
It seemed I had not quite accomplished it.
At least, this time, my walk to the servants’ quarters at Rosemont just after midnight was not for a bedtime morsel.
I dearly wanted to make certain Nora’s new quarters were properly arranged.
I had forgotten to ask when she had helped me dress for bed.
Our conversation then had primarily consisted of lectures about the adoption of another new name for myself.
Her words still rang in my mind: Ye chose to call yerself after that madwoman Mrs. Lewis from back home? That stooped creature who’s a better pickpocket than the street urchins in London? Why, she’s not even a lady!
My only argument was that she never got caught—leastwise, not in the act.
Nora had not found that amusing. We had both grown accustomed to Palmer, and it was entirely my own fault for slipping and nearly revealing my real surname of Lowry during introductions.
I had been forced to come up with Lewis on the spot.
Fortunately, it seemed Lady Camden had not remembered my name from my letter of inquiry or from my references.
She had seemed frazzled, but even now I stood the risk of her discovering my lies.
Poor Nora had been beside herself with my news.
I was a trial to her, and I hated how I made her fret over me.
After she’d retired to bed, it had been my turn to worry about her.
Was her new room comfortable? Had she had dinner?
Was she settled? The guilt and concern had kept me wide awake.
Somehow, I managed to navigate the large manor house with my small candle lighting the way.
After only two wrong turns, I made it to the deserted kitchen.
A line of pots hung from a beam in the ceiling above a long counter.
I slipped past the table and the sleeping coals in the fireplace, toward another door that I hoped led to the servants’ corridor.
I was right, but unfortunately, every door in the dark corridor was shut.
I could not begin to guess which one was Nora’s.
Sighing over my foolish plan, I made my way back to the kitchen.
I would have to inquire after Nora’s situation in the morning and trust that Lord Camden had instructed the housekeeper properly.
As I passed the larder in the kitchen, I hesitated.
I suppose I was a little hungry. Besides, eating something might help me sleep better.
Cracking the door open, I slipped inside.
A window, high on the far wall, filtered moonlight into the small rectangular room.
I found the bread box and opened it. A slice of bread was my usual midnight fare, and I was in luck.
I reached for a bread knife and cut myself a slice.
I shut the bread box and glanced around for a jar of preserves.
Bread was decent alone, but jam transformed it into a treat.
A noise came from the kitchen—a door shutting.
I sucked in a startled breath, my body panicking.
What to do? What to do? It was my first day, and as heaven as my witness, I would not let myself get caught nosing around and eating all the food.
Behind me was a long cupboard. I opened it and spied two brooms and a mop bucket.
A small person could fit in there too . .
. if they squeezed. Without another thought I blew out my candle and climbed inside.
It was a tight fit. I never would have managed with all my petticoats and was grateful for my nightclothes.
Though, I suppose I would not be grateful for them if I was caught.
With my heart racing, I tried to shut the cupboard door.
Mercy, it was difficult. With my slice of bread in one hand and my candle in the other, I could barely hold the door with one finger.
And worse—my foot had to go inside the mop bucket.
Not seconds later, the larder door swung open. My finger was still looped around the cupboard door in an attempt to shut it, and I could see through the crack that it was Lord Camden. I grimaced, praying he would not look at the broom cupboard and the suspicious single appendage hanging out of it.
With his back to me, he set his own candle down and opened the bread box. He reached for the same knife and sliced into it. My stomach started to growl, and I clenched my muscles there as tightly as I could, cutting it short.
Lord Camden’s head turned, as if searching for the source of the noise.
Please, let him think it’s a mouse!
A moment later, he moved back to his bread.
I closed my eyes with relief. When I opened them again, he had stowed the rest of the loaf back in the box and was proceeding to unwrap a wheel of cheese.
I could not help but take a moment to observe him.
He was tall and blonde—but nothing like my Mr. Long.
No, my Mr. Long was no baron. He was rougher around the edges, while Lord Camden was immaculately put together—from the way he held himself, to his trim haircut.
Though, with his necktie missing and the top of his shirt unbuttoned, he did appear less intimidating than this morning.
Once Lord Camden removed a wedge of cheese for himself, he covered the remainder with a cloth.
Then he leaned his hip against the small larder counter and began to eat.
A chunk of bread, followed by a bite of cheese.
His angular jaw clenching and his perfectly shaped mouth molding in thought.
Slowly, he repeated the process. Bread then cheese, bread then cheese. I was mesmerized by it. By him.
I had barely been hungry before, but now I was absolutely famished.
Watching Lord Camden eat was sheer torture.
My own slice of bread was held by the same hand that kept the cupboard door closed.
I leaned forward and ripped off a bite. Too much came off in my mouth, and I instinctively reached for it—my finger slipping from my hold on the door.
My eyes widened with horror as I watched the door slowly swing open. Lord Camden did not hesitate to react. There was a whirl of motion, and in less time than it took me to blink, he held a bread knife to my throat. I peered down the blade’s handle to meet Lord Camden’s steely glare.
Atlas
My heart pounded against my ribs as I stared into Miss Lewis’s terrified eyes.
My gaze raked over her blue wrapper, loosely tied at the waist—parted just enough to reveal her white nightgown beneath—to her long black hair braided over her shoulder.
The casual disarray softened her appearance, lending her an air of vulnerability that I dared not trust. Then my gaze settled on her mouth.
Something tan and soft hung from it. Was that . . . ?
It was. It was bread. She had come to the larder to satisfy her hunger, not to attack me from behind. I hastily pulled back the bread knife from her throat.
What if I had killed her?
I mentally shook myself. Even after six months of relative silence and guards hired to watch the perimeter of the grounds at night, my irrational fear that I would be attacked again had almost caused a death tonight.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, reaching up to wipe a sheen of sweat from the back of my neck.
She lifted her hand to her mouth and removed the bread. “Eating?”
Her movement revealed a shadow on her neck.
Blast! Casting the knife onto the counter, my hands flew to the sides of her ivory collarbone to assess the damage I had done.
My thumbs gently stroked the soft flesh of her neck where the blade had touched.
In the dim lighting, it was hard to be certain, but I did not feel any marks or scratches.
Warmth skittered across my skin as I grazed her throat one last time.
Her breath shuddered, and I raised my eyes to meet her surprised gaze. In my desperate concern for her, I had acted hastily yet again. This time with a much too familiar touch. I cleared my throat. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she swallowed.
My hands fell awkwardly to my side. Angry with myself, I took a step back. Folding my arms, I leaned back against the counter, forcing a calm tone. “So, you were eating in the cupboard?”
She reached for her neck—the same soft part I had just run my finger over, clearly flustered. “Well, I was certainly not playing hide-and-seek.”
I did not blame the bite in her voice. I had been rash and foolish. “Forgive me. I thought you were an intruder.”
“That much is obvious.” She stepped out of the cupboard, and the mop bucket came out with her—stuck to her foot. Eyes wide, she tried to shake it free, but it stayed put.
“Here. Let me help you,” I offered.
Her hand flew up to stop me. “I don’t need help from someone who tried to kill me.
” She speared me with a piercing glare and jerked out of my reach.
She bumped into the cupboard behind her, and her foot with the bucket on it slid out from under her.
I threw both my hands on either side of her arms, steadying her.
I stared down at her, both of us breathing fast. Much too close—again. “I’m sorry I scared you.” When she said nothing, I had to ask again. “Are you certain I did not hurt you?”
She shook her head.
Her defenseless brown eyes blinked rapidly, but there were no tears. When I was sure she was telling the truth, I slowly released her and hunched down on my knees. I set one hand on the bucket. “May I?”
After a quick nod, I reached in and placed my hand on her small ankle. With the slightest lift of her heel, the bucket loosened, and I slipped it off.
“What a relief,” she stammered.
I picked up what was left of her piece of bread. She must have dropped it when she stumbled. “It seems we both favor bread at night. Let me cut you a fresh slice.”
I thought she would argue again, but she remained silent while I dug out the loaf from the box and cut her another portion.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the bread. “I was hungry.”
“It’s the munching hour,” I offered. “That’s what my father used to call it, anyway.”
She tore off a little piece and put it into her mouth.
After she swallowed, she said, “For the record, I don’t normally hide in cupboards.
” Those velvet brown eyes, rimmed with sincerity, met mine once more.
“I was scared when I heard someone coming and clearly did not act rationally. I do not blame you for thinking I was an intruder.”
Her apology surprised me. It was rare to find someone who admitted to their mistakes. I was still learning to do so myself. “I don’t blame you for hiding. I am sorry for frightening you. You should feel safe to come to the kitchen at any time. This home is yours for the time being.”
“I appreciate your generosity.” She lifted her bread. “I will eat this in my room. Goodnight, Lord Camden.”
“Here.” I grabbed my candle and lit hers with it. Then I stepped out of her way so she could pass. “Goodnight, Miss Lewis.”
She hesitated. “The next time the munching hour comes, you really ought to try jam. It is far better than cheese.”
A smile pulled at the side of my mouth. “You are wrong. Cheese is far more filling.”
Her smile came easier. “We will have to agree to disagree.”
A waft of lilac followed her from the larder.
I frowned, staring after her. We did not have lilacs in our garden, and yet, there was something familiar about that scent.
I shook my head. First I attacked her, then I touched her throat, and now I was curious how Augusta’s new companion smelled.
My priority was protecting my family and making the most of my second chance—not concerning myself with the hired help.
Without cards, which I vehemently refused to play, and a decent night’s sleep, it often felt like there was no escaping myself.