Miss Lewis gave a delightful little laugh of surprise. It was neither annoying nor pretentious. “I am far from perfect, I assure you.”
Augusta rolled her eyes. “No one else would have dared suggest I need a companion to Mama, even though everyone in England knows I’m much too old for a governess. She is terrified I will humiliate her in public, but if anyone hears I still have a governess, the humiliation will happen all the same. How did you do it?”
Miss Lewis set her hand lightly on Augusta’s arm. “I work as much for you as I do for your mother. I will do my best to see right by you both while I am here.”
Augusta’s grin widened ever more. “The moment you rescued Gingersnaps, I knew I would like you. I promise to be the very best pupil.”
I shook my head and folded my arms across my chest. “This I cannot wait to see.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Augusta said. “Come, let me show you to your room. You have an excellent view of the grounds.”
I watched them go, suddenly in no hurry to return to my long list of tasks. It was not every day one advocated for one’s maid as Miss Lewis had. And how had she suddenly won over my sister, where so many others had failed after months of effort? I had a strange feeling that the dynamic of our household was about to shift, and I was not certain yet if it would be favorable.
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 openedit 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. Thecasual 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,notto attack me from behind. I hastily pulled back the bread knife from her throat.
What if I had killed her?
