“Miss Lewis, wait?—”
“Please,” she whispered, her voice finally breaking. She didn’t look at him; her gaze fixed on his bruised knuckles. “Please, I just need to be alone. I promise I am all right.”
The agony in her tone was more than she could bear. She ascended the stairs with a frantic grace as she vanished into the upper shadows of the nursery wing and into her quarters.
Arthur and Philip watched her go, then turned their twin gazes toward their uncle.
“Is Miss Lewis sad?” Arthur asked, stepping down one stair. “Did that mean lady make her cry?”
“We don’t like her,” Philip added, sticking out his tongue in disgust. “She’s so terrible.”
Ambrose took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force the primitive rage back into its cage for the sake of his wards. He knelt on the cold marble, heedless of the rainwater soaking into his trousers, so he could look them in the eye.
“Miss Lewis has had a very long, very difficult day, boys,” Ambrose said, his voice gravelly but soft. He reached out and squeezed Philip’s shoulder. “Sometimes, adults say things that are very unkind to further their own gain. It is abhorrent. Youshould always seek to be kind, and if you cannot be kind, be prudent and truthful. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Uncle,” they said in unison.
“Please do not worry about Miss Lewis. I am going to speak with her in a moment. I promise you, I will make it right.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” they said in unison.
“We care so much about Miss Lewis,” Philip said. “She is lucky to have you to protect her.”
Ambrose sighed.
He looked up as Mrs. Higgins appeared at the edge of the foyer, her face a mask of quiet, observant concern. She had clearly heard enough to understand the gravity of the shift in the house, and like any dutiful servant, she waited her turn.
“Mrs. Higgins,” Ambrose said, standing up. “Excellent timing.”
“How may I be of service, Your Grace?”
“Would you mind taking the boys to the nursery? They need their supper, and perhaps a bit of extra honey in their tea.”
“Thank you, Uncle!” Arthur said with a wide smile.
“Of course, Your Grace,” the woman answered, her eyes lingering on his bloodied hand before she ushered the boys away. “Come along, my Lords. Let’s see what the cook has for us today.”
Ambrose stood alone in the empty foyer, the silence absolute. He looked down at his right hand, the skin split and swelling, the blood of a man who had insulted the woman he… he couldn’t even name the feeling yet. He looked up at the empty landing where she had disappeared.
He knew he could not stay away. The secrets were out, blood was spilled, and the walls of propriety were lying in ruins on his marble floor.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The kitchen was a cavern of cooling copper and fading embers. The air smelled of toasted flour and the sharp, medicinal herbs as the sun began to set. Ambrose stood in the center of the flagstone floor, looking entirely out of place in his evening finery, his bruised knuckles still throbbing a dull rhythm.
Mrs. Higgins was already there, moving with the quiet efficiency of a woman who had spent forty years anticipating the needs of a great house. She did not look up as he entered, her focus on a cast-iron griddle.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said softly.
“I need something for her,” Ambrose said, his voice hollow against the high, vaulted ceiling.
“I am already on it, Your Grace,” Mrs. Higgins replied. She flipped a crumpet with a deft flick of her wrist. “The girl has beenhollowed out today. Hunger of the stomach is one thing, but it is the cold in the bones that’ll do for her if we aren’t careful.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Higgins. Are the boys well?”
“Yes, Your Grace. They had a lovely supper and were happy to enjoy the extra honey.”
“I am glad. They have been so well-behaved. A small treat now and then is good for their spirits.”
