Before Hudson could reply, a new party drew near, Lady Falstone and her two constant satellites, now arrayed in evening finery and armed with social venom.
“Your Grace,” Lady Falstone greeted, her voice sugar-dipped. “How splendid to see you. We so enjoyed our chat with your sister this morning.”
“Cassie enjoys intelligent conversation,” Hudson replied. “Though it’s a rare commodity.”
Lady Falstone’s eyes narrowed, but she pressed on. “We were just saying how fortunate she is to have such an attentive governess.”
Hudson’s smile was glacial. “Miss Norton is exemplary. She is to be commended.”
“She seems… unusually familiar with your household,” noted the woman in blue, her lips pursed. “Some say she was engaged with remarkable haste.”
“Her references were impeccable,” Hudson said. “As was her performance upon arrival.”
Lady Falstone’s mask slipped, just for an instant. “Ah. Of course, Your Grace. I’ve always sensed that you possess a discerning eye.”
There was a brittle silence, broken only by the strained laughter of a nearby dowager.
The trio withdrew, but not before exchanging glances that promised the conversation was far from over.
James watched them go, then turned to Hudson. “You’ve made enemies tonight.”
“I have enough friends.”
James’s eyes sparkled. “What is this sudden chivalry? You used to relish these games.”
Hudson scanned the room, every instinct alert for the next approach. “Cassie deserves to grow up without being a pawn in their games. She deserves a proper childhood.”
“Unlike yours?” James raised an eyebrow.
Hudson looked away, his jaw tensing. “That’s not a subject I prefer to talk about.”
James was silent for a moment, studying Hudson’s face. “You never talk about your childhood.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
James tilted his head. “You’re different lately. More… aloof, I suppose. Less inclined to indulge the ton.”
“I’ve always detested them.”
“But you used to hide it better.”
Hudson did not respond.
James let the silence stretch, then asked, “Is this about the governess?”
Hudson turned sharply. “Keep your voice down. She is a member of my household. Nothing more.”
James clicked his tongue. “You keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
The house was a tomb when Hudson returned, the only sound the echo of his footsteps in the front hall. He shrugged off his greatcoat and walked the familiar path toward his study, the events of the night pricking at him like a shirt with a thousand hidden pins.
He was halfway down the corridor when he noticed it: a thin line of gold spilling from beneath the library door, flickering as if it were alive. Everything else was dark.
He paused, listening. The house was otherwise silent, with servants abed, Cassie long asleep, even Pippin snoring somewhere in the depths of the nursery wing.
He walked toward the library, his footsteps muffled on the runner, and nudged the door open.
Augusta sat on the floor before the fire, her back to the room, a book open in her lap. She wore a nightgown of pale blue and a heavy shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. She had not heard him enter.
