Rachel let out a slow breath, forcing a small smile.Anything to make her worry less and leave me alone to my ruminations.“I will eat later,” she promised, crossing her fingers behind the embroidery hoop.
“It has beendays,Your Grace. No, I cannot see this. You must eatnow.”
Rachel looked up then, startled by the firm edge in Agnes’ voice. The housekeeper had always carried herself with a mostly unassuming presence, but now, she stood tall, her lips pressed in a tight line. Agnes was scolding her like a mother would.
The realization struck her with an odd sort of ache. Rachel had not had anyone fuss over her like this in years. She had learned long ago to take care of herself, to guard her emotions, to bear things alone.
Dare she admit thatit felt niceto be looked after?
“Agnes, truly. I am fine.” Rachel’s voice was softer this time. She did not need to punish Agnes over something that she played no part in.
“No, you are not,” Agnes countered, shaking her head. “You are hurting.”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Rachel let out a laugh.
“Oh, I am not the one being ridiculous, Your Grace,” Agnes continued. “You think I do not see what you are doing? Pretending as if nothing has changed? As if your days have not been a quiet torment since the duke left?”
“I do not need to discuss this.” Rachel shook her head.
“You need to eat.Please.” The housemaid was pleading now, and it killed Rachel to deny her like this. But truthfully, a bite of food was not going to fix the ache in Rachel’s chest, and she was not about to try either.
She set the embroidery hoop aside, rising to her feet. “Enough, Agnes.”
Agnes did not move, nor did she back down. “Then tell me this, Your Grace—how much longer will you punish yourself like this?”
When she did not respond, Agnes continued, “I know you are hurting, but starving yourself will not bring him back any faster.”
“Agnes.” Rachel’s voice was sharp, more so than she had ever spoken to the maid before. “You are dismissed.”
“You are my responsibility,” Agnes shot back. “I have taken care of you since the moment you arrived in this house, and I will not stand by and watch you waste away over something you will not even name.
“I am not wasting away.”
“You have not eaten. You do not sleep. You do not speak to anyone unless forced to,” Agnes continued. “This is not living, Your Grace.”
“Agnes, you are to do as I say,” Rachel asserted, leaving no room for argument. “You are dismissed until further notice. Now please, leave me be.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Go away.”
Rachel didn’t bother raising her voice. She was curled up on the sofa, staring at the wall with a glazed-over look in her eyes. Whoever it was would eventually take the hint and leave her in peace.
But the knock came again. Her fingers clenched against the fabric of her gown. “I said, go away.”
The door opened anyway. Rachel sat up sharply, ready to snap at whoever dared to ignore her, but she stilled the moment she saw who it was.
“Marina?”
Her sister stood in the doorway, a basket in her hands.
“What brings you here?” Rachel blinked, suspicion creeping in. “Is something wrong at home?”
“Must you jump to conclusions like this?” Marina shrugged, stepping inside with an air of nonchalance that did not fool Rachel in the slightest. “Can I not visit my sister?”
“You can, but you usually do not. So, I ask again—what brings you here?” Rachel’s eyes narrowed.
“Well, if you must know,” Marina sighed, setting the basket down on the nearby table, “Agnes wrote to me.”
