“His Grace said your favorite flower was roses, told me to be sure to have them for you,” Nelly stated, a smile in her voice as she busied herself pouring tea. “I hope you like them.”
“They’re lovely,” I sighed, unable to keep my lips from turning up faintly as I accepted the dainty cup from her.
I sipped it leisurely as I turned to take in the rest of the room. Warm sweetness with the faintest hint of honey and something floral coated my throat, then sank deep into my chilled bones.
“Nelly?”
She turned at once, her warm eyes wide in the firelight. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“You said you’ve been here a year?”
She nodded, smoothing her apron as she moved toward the wardrobe and began unpacking my things. “Just over, ma’am.”
I watched her for a moment, then crossed the room to sit in a high-back chair before the hearth. “Then perhaps you can tell me something about Blackthorn Manor. Something I should know.”
At that, she faltered. Her foot slipped slightly before she recovered, keeping her eyes downcast.
“What would you like to know, Your Grace?” she murmured, her voice small and uncertain.
“Everything,” I replied. “Tell me about Mrs. Ashby. She doesn’t seem to care for me.”
That made her glance up at last. A faint flush crept into her cheeks. Her fingers began to twist nervously in the pile of dresses draped over her arm. “Oh, no, I’m sure she likes you,” she said quickly, though her tone lacked conviction.
I smiled faintly, leaning forward, lowering my voice. “Nelly, if you are to be my maid, I want you to feel comfortable with me. I’ve no friends here yet. If you help me understand the household, I promise I won’t betray your trust.”
Her eyes darted toward the door, then back to me, as if she feared the very walls might be listening.
“I suppose there’s no harm in it,” she relented after a moment. “Mrs. Ashby is not unkind, but she is very… particular. She’s been here for many years. Since the late Duke even, and she’s used to things being done her way.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “She’s fond of His Grace, though. Very fond. Thinks the world of him, truly.”
I tilted my head, studying her. “And the rest of the staff?”
“They’re loyal,” she acknowledged after a pause, the words landing heavily between us. “They’ve all been here longer than me. Most of them don’t speak much of what happens above stairs. Or below.”
“Below?” I echoed.
Nelly froze. “Oh, just… the old servants’ corridors,” she stammered, color flooding her face. “Some say they run all through the manor, but no one uses them now. They’re dangerous. Crumbling.”
A faint draft swept through the room, stirring the flame in the hearth. Shadows danced along the walls, stretching across the portraits that lined the far end of the chamber.
Nelly swallowed, lowering her voice. “Mrs. Ashby says they should stay closed.”
I smiled thinly. “And do you listen to everything Mrs. Ashby says?”
Her eyes flicked toward the door again, and for a moment, I thought she might refuse to answer. Then, in a tone barely audible, “it’s better that way, Your Grace.”
She offered nothing more as she refilled my cup, then hovered as if reluctant to leave. When I told her I would be fine, she hesitated once more, her small hands worrying the apron at her waist.
“If you need anything, Your Grace,” she said softly, “pull the bell cord by the bed. Someone will come.”
“Thank you, Nelly. I’ll manage.”
She gave a shallow curtsy and slipped out, closing the door with a soft click. The latch caught with a sound far louder than it should have, and the silence that followed was so complete it pressed against my ears.
I drained the second cup of tea without realizing I’d lifted it, the warmth sliding down my throat like a comfort I hadn’t known I needed. I ate mechanically—three, perhaps four of the delicate sandwiches, and several slices of sugaredfruit that tasted of summer despite the cold pressing in from the windows.
My limbs grew heavy, my eyelids heavier still, as though an unseen hand was pressing me gently, insistently, toward the bed.
