That evening, after one more hour of paperwork and business transactions, he did exactly that. He sat alone in the smoky tavern, nursing a pint, determined not to think about blonde maids with secrets in their eyes.
Don’t think about her. Don’t think about those hazel eyes.
Chapter Seven
The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows as Eliza polished the glass, her cloth moving in steady circles.
From her vantage point, she had a perfect view of the beach and was overwhelmed by the cerulean waves as they crested on the sand. Arthur and Philip were racing along the shore, their laughter carrying on the wind. Miss Winslow stood nearby, her skirts lifted slightly to keep them from the surf, watching the boys with patient amusement.
It was unusually warm for autumn, and Eliza was glad they were taking advantage of it.
Eliza smiled. The boys had been in much better spirits in the last few days. They surely still missed their uncle and aunt, but the sea air and freedom seemed to be helping.
She watched as Philip waded into the shallows, the water lapping at his ankles and throwing stones. Arthur followed, splashing his brother. Miss Winslow called something, probably a warning not to go too deep and especially in the cold, but the wind carried her words away.
Philip went deeper. Up to his waist now.
Eliza’s smile faded. “He should come out of those waters soon,” she murmured to herself.
The wind picked up suddenly, stronger than before. The waves, which had been gentle, grew choppier. A large swell rolled in, and Philip’s small frame suddenly disappeared beneath it.
Eliza’s heart stopped. “No!” she gasped.
Philip surfaced, coughing and spluttering. Arthur immediately ran toward him, shouting something. Miss Winslow was already moving, wading into the water.
Another wave crashed over Philip. Then another.
Arthur reached his brother and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him toward shore. But the current was stronger than either of them had anticipated.
Miss Winslow reached the boys and wrapped her arms around them, trying to guide them back. But the waves were relentless,and Eliza could see her struggling, her movements becoming more frantic.
Eliza didn’t think. She dropped the cloth and ran.
“Help!” she shouted as she tore through the hallway. “The beach! Someone get help to the beach, now!”
She heard startled voices behind her, but she didn’t stop sprinting. She burst through the back door and raced across the lawn, her skirts tangling around her legs.
The beach seemed impossibly far away, yet she pushed. Finally, she reached the sand and kicked off her shoes, not breaking stride.
The water was freezing when she plunged in, but she barely felt it as adrenaline coursed through her veins.
“Hold on!” she screamed. “I’m coming!”
Miss Winslow had managed to get Arthur closer to shore, but Philip was still struggling, the waves pulling him farther out. The governess was trying to reach him again, but her sodden skirts were weighing her down.
Eliza swam hard, her arms cutting through the water. She reached Philip just as another wave crashed over him.
“I’ve got you!” She wrapped one arm around his small body and started pulling him toward shore.
Philip coughed and clutched at her. “Ellie…” he whispered, his eyes wet with salt water and tears.
“Don’t talk. Just hold on, dear.”
She kicked hard, fighting the current. Every muscle in her body screamed, but she kept moving. Suddenly, strong arms appeared beside her, reaching out and solid in the swirling sea.
Thank Heavens, His Grace is here! My hero.
He’d stripped off his coat and boots and had swam toward them with powerful strokes, his muscled body a formidable beast against the waves.
