Cassie, who had dozed fitfully against Augusta’s shoulder for most of the journey, jerked upright at the change in motion.
“We’re here!” she exclaimed, pressing her nose to the glass. “That’s Mrs. Beale in the doorway, see? She’s the housekeeper.”
Across from them, Hudson straightened, his expression giving nothing away. “Cassie,” he said, his tone making the single name both a warning and an endearment. “Remember what we discussed.”
Cassie nodded, suddenly serious. “Not a word about where we’ve been,” she whispered, eyes darting to the driver’s box. “Not to anyone.”
The driver swung down and opened the carriage door, lowering the step with practiced ease.
Hudson descended first, then turned to offer his hand to Augusta. She took it—a simple courtesy, nothing more—but couldn’t help noticing the warmth of his palm, the slight roughness of his skin against hers.
The housekeeper was indeed waiting in the entrance hall, her back straight as a yardstick, her expression composed. Behind her stretched a line of staff: footmen in spotless livery, housemaids with pressed aprons, a cook wiping flour-dusted hands on her skirts.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Beale greeted, dropping into a perfect curtsy. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“We made better time than anticipated,” Hudson said, his tone clipped. “This is Miss Augusta Norton. She will be acting as governess to Cassie.”
Augusta stood straight, meeting each pair of eyes with a polite nod, though her fingers curled slightly at her sides. She had no trunk, no valise, nothing but the clothes on her back and the pouch Hudson had pressed into her palm at the Nightingale.
The pouch suddenly felt heavy in her pocket, a reminder of how completely her circumstances had changed in a single night.
“Very good, Your Grace,” Mrs. Beale said, nodding at the servants who all looked aware of something interesting taking place at the estate. “We shall make preparations for her stay at once.”
“The guest wing will do for tonight,” Hudson said. “The governess’s quarters can be prepared tomorrow.”
Mrs. Beale nodded, already moving. “Shall I have a tray sent up to Miss Norton? I assume she’ll wish to retire after her journey.”
“Oh, but she has to see my room first,” Cassie protested. “And the schoolroom, and the library, and?—”
“Miss Norton will see her own room first,” Hudson cut in firmly. “And you will have plenty of time to show her everything tomorrow. For now, you will go with Mrs. Beale and have Cook prepare you a proper supper.”
Cassie’s face fell. “But?—”
“No buts,” Hudson said. “It’s well past your bedtime, and you’ve had quite enough excitement for one evening.”
Cassie opened her mouth to argue, then caught the look on her brother’s face and closed it again. “Fine,” she mumbled,the word heavy with resignation. She turned to Augusta. “You’ll really be here tomorrow? You promise?”
Augusta could not help but smile gently at the girl. “I promise,” she said. “And I look forward to seeing your room, and the schoolroom, and the library, and all the rest.”
That earned her a brilliant smile, before Cassie allowed herself to be led away by Mrs. Beale, though not without several backward glances to confirm that Augusta was still there.
Hudson watched his sister go, something softening in his expression before he turned back to Augusta.
“This way,” he said, gesturing toward a corridor that branched off the main hall. “We have matters to discuss.”
He led her away from the grand staircase and the watching portraits, his stride long enough that she had to quicken her pace to keep up. They passed a series of closed doors, the carpet beneath their feet muffling their footsteps, until they reached a room at the end of the corridor.
His study was a testament to masculine practicality, all dark wood and leather, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining one wall and a wide mahogany desk dominating the center of the room.
“Sit,” he said, the single word neither an invitation nor a request.
Augusta sat, keeping her spine straight and her chin level.
Hudson did not take his own seat. Instead, he remained standing, his arms loosely crossed as he regarded her with a gaze that cataloged every detail of her appearance.
“Do you understand the duties of a governess?” he asked. “The schedule, the standard of conduct I require for anyone caring for my sister?”
“I believe so,” Augusta replied, her voice steady despite the way his eyes moved over her face, making her suddenly aware of the smudge of dirt on her cuff, the single curl that had escaped her hastily arranged coiffure. She smoothed her skirts, needing something to do with her hands. “Though I would welcome clarification of any particulars.”
