Page 8 of Hooked

“My pleasure,” I said, and I meant it. As Falstone went off with the children, I was left standing there in awe, wondering what it was that I’d just witnessed. He’d so easily drawn me into the fun of his training session, as though it was the most natural thing to interact with me in such a way. And it had been. It was easy and fun and I wished for more. Yet I was having a difficult time reconciling this Falstone with the one who had guarded Marilee with such dedication and single-mindedness.

***

The next morning, after sending Marilee down to breakfast, I fell into the lone work of tidying her dressing room, putting away the clothing that had been brought up by the laundress, and mending loose hems.

Then I moved on to the task of brushing off Marilee’s clothes, the steady rhythm and shushing of the work lulling me into a mindless stupor.

“You’ve been here a long time.”

I started and spun at the sound of Falstone’s voice, knocking my hand into a table as I turned. The thimble I’d been using for mending fell to the ground and skittered across the floor.

Falstone stooped to retrieve it then straightened, standing tall in the doorway, shoulders back, head high—strength incarnate.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been here a long time. Working.” He rocked back on his heels and then rolled up onto his toes.

“Have I?” What an odd observation. “I didn’t think my chore was taking me an inordinate amount of time.”

“No.” He shook his head, looking frustrated and so different from the confident, teasing man of yesterday. “Not here in this room. I mean here in this position. You were with the princess before, and I believe you worked for Lord Rockwell even before the princess became Lady Rockwell.”

“Yes. I was.” Those years had not been what I would term pleasant, but neither had they been unbearable.

“I did not know him,” he said as he took a hesitant step into the room. “Lord Rockwell, I mean.”

“Yes, I know,” I commented, wondering where exactly this conversation was headed. “And you were lucky for it.”

He nodded. “That much is clear.” He was so stiff and formal, much the way I’d always seen him. But it seemed strange now, after I’d seen him playacting with his little warriors. After he’d declared he would kidnap me and force me to make his floors sparkle and shine. His return to professionalism made me miss the other side of him that I’d seen.

I waited for him to say more. Why was he asking about Master Damian now? It had been months since he’d started working for Her Highness, and even longer since Lord Rockwell had died. If he was looking for some sort of insight to help with his job, his questions would have been better asked when he first arrived. Not now that the princess was remarried and settled in a new home.

“How did you come to be in his employ?” he finally asked.

I blew out a breath and cast my eyes toward the ceiling. How, indeed. I supposed this was his way of getting to know me better as he’d mentioned two weeks ago. But I still couldn’t decide if that prospect was exciting or terrifying.

“Did you grow up in service?” he asked.

No. But if I said no, then he would wonder why not. The poor had to work, and unless I claimed to have grown up in the country, working a farm with my family, then the simplest answer to his question was the easy lie. “Yes.”

“Did you always work for the Rockwells?”

“No.” I turned back to the gowns hanging before me and continued to brush them out. “I, uh…I started at a small estate in Tethurn.” Which was true, though I hadn’t been a child. “I was lucky enough to make the acquaintance of another maid there, Annabelle. She had much more experience than I did, and she taught me everything that she could.”

The truth was that she hadn’t needed to teach me how to work. I’d learned that by obeying the barked orders of my uncle and the passive-aggressive comments of my aunt. But Annabelle had taught me how to run. How to survive. She had helped me in so many ways and never asked me for anything. She had a good heart. She cared for people.

“Why did you leave that position?”

“I had my reasons.” And they were not reasons I wished to discuss with him.

“Did someone there hurt you?”

My head snapped up to look at him. “What?” It was such an abrupt change of topic. “Why would you ask that?” A bit of defensiveness crept into my voice, because yes, someone had. But how could he know that? And why would he ask such a strangely personal question at this moment?

He looked down, a veil of uncertainty that I’d never seen before clouding his features. “I apologize, but I…I’ve always had a sort of gift, I suppose you’d call it.”

“A gift?” What did that have to do with his question?

“A discernment. It’s what makes me good at what I do—and yes, I’m arrogant enough to say that I’m very good at what I do.” A hint of a smile peeked out but was quickly gone. “That’s because I can sense when people are frightened as opposed to nervous. I know when someone is lying. I can pick up on a lot of things so long as I am paying attention.”