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"Yes, my lady?" I murmur to Madeline as I appear at her side. She gives me a relieved look.
"I'm tired, if I can be excused?" She asks her father, gaze sliding between me and him. The duke gives me a glance and nods.
"Of course," he says, getting up. The gentlemen rise, in deference to her position in the household. Even she outranks them here, daughter to a duke, and not even six-years-old. She curtseys to her father and I take her hand, leading her away. The trees, white blossoms sweet-scented, line the path back to the house as we put the party of loud diners behind us.
"They were getting drunk," she says with a wrinkle of her nose as we get far enough away that they won't hear us.
"Smart of you to retreat," I tell her and she gives me a sleepy smile.
"I felt like a princess tonight," she says, her voice hushed. "Father says I might be one, one day." She covers a yawn with her free hand.
"Mmm, maybe, if you want to," I tell her, although there's princes in the White House, my heart hurts to think her being locked into something so big and heavy. She needs, no, deserves, freedom in whatever love she finds. The world is determined to grind her down as it is. Being on the international-stage like that is enough to break even the most resilient young woman.
Not even fifteen minutes later, sheets rustle around her small form, tucked into a nightgown and even more layers of comforters and quilts, and her eyes are drooping shut.
"You don't want a story?" I ask her in the quiet of her room, enjoying the stillness. She sinks beneath the sheets, burrowing up to her nose in them with a slow shake of her head.
"No, nanny," she mumbles, forgetting to use my name in her exhaustion. Tonight's done her in. It's like the whole world is organized around running her ragged. This country, this life, is not meant to nurture a young child the way they need to be.
I hold her hand until her breathing steadies, and then for a few minutes more, the cool air raising the hair on the back of my neck. She's good and asleep when I slip from the room, locking the door as I go.
Drunk adults make for endangered children, and I'm not forgetting Mr. Matthews's words from earlier any time soon.
I'll grab my dinner fast, and get myself into my own room in case Maddie needs anything—
I'm sleep walking, practically anyway, down the stairs. Watching Benedict and Mason fight each other is going to be the end of me. How am I supposed to save them from themselves when they do everything they can to hurt each other at every turn?
"Oh good, you're here," Mrs. Harris says as I enter the dining hall. There's a few drooping maids, nearly falling asleep over their plates, and Mr. Matthews is holding court with the valets, giving them the instructions for the following day.
"Mmm, yes," I say, willing some energy into my wrung out body, as I sit across from Mrs. Harris. A kitchen girl sets a wide, low bowl in front of me, the colors of radishes and kale glowing quietly next to a pile of raw tuna and a half of avocado. I raise an eyebrow at her and she blushes briefly.
"With all the extra mouths, there wasn't time to do more than this," she says, before disappearing into the kitchen in a flutter of her white apron.
"The wealthy in the city call them poké bowls," Mrs. Harris says, with a look that seems to disapprove of the fashion.
"I call it lazy," Mr. Matthews interrupt his speech to the valets to tell us his opinions before turning back to them.
"Yes, well," Mrs. Harris sighs with an uncharacteristic roll of her eyes. "How was the day for you?"
"Busy but not unmanageable," I reply carefully, picking at my bowl. I've never been a big fan of seafood, but if this is dinner, this is theonlydinner, and I'm too hungry to turn down calories. Mrs. Harris is fidgety, something I've never seen in her before, and she reaches across the table, to grab my wrist. I stare at her in surprise. Her touch is gentle.
"I must say," her voice is low, "that the duke is pleased with you, girl, though for what I cannot say. He says that you brought a matter of great importance to his attention, and he wants to see you thanked."
My eyes widen, and she lets go of my hand. My cheeks warm. She's giving me a look that tells me she doesn't quite believe that I did something good, and perhaps I'd done somethingelselike a personal favor to his grace.
"I told him I felt Lady Madeline was being overworked," I say carefully and quietly, because it's personal and Maddie doesn't deserve the servants to know her own business. But I need to tell her the truth. Mrs. Harris is on Madeline's side more than not. I know she's loyal to the family to a fault. You don't rise to the position of head housekeeper without being die-by-the-sword faithful. Mrs. Harris is staring at me like I've just laid an egg in the middle of the servant's dining table. "She is. She's exhausted every day, and she's a child. No little girl can learn like that."
"And what did—"Mrs. Harris croaks, and takes a sip of her tea before continuing to speak. "And I suppose he was pleased with this… this…"
"Well obviously he was, since he told you that I'd done a good job," I reply, and fork up the last bit of food on my plate. I'm starting to feel full. Mrs. Harris is still looking shocked, but is calming slowly. "I know that this is a great house, and there are things that we can and cannot do, but you didn't hire me to run Lady Madeline into the ground. I'm here to take care of her. And I will." I set my fork down. One of the kitchen maids grabs it before I can blink.
"Right you are to have done so," Mrs. Harris says, somewhat weakly, but I'll take it. I smile and get to my feet.
"And I'll take whatever the duke has in mind for a thank you," I finish. She nods.
"An extra day off, perhaps," she murmurs, more to herself as I leave the room, ready for bed. That was a small heart attack and a defense of my choices I didn't need tonight, but Mrs. Harris means well. I know she does.
The stairs seem to grow exponentially in front of me, and I'm barely on the third floor when a hand reaches out and grabs me by the back of the neck.
