And how will I ever be able to forget something that feels so desperately, impossibly right?
Chapter Ten
The month had passed, and Morgan found himself standing on the front steps of Kirkhammer Hall. He looked down and watched as his staff loaded trunks and cases onto carriages bound for London. The Sussex air was crisp, tinged with salt from the nearby sea, and the estate felt strangely quiet despite the bustle of departure.
A skeleton crew would remain behind to maintain the property, a handful of servants who preferred the country to the city, but most of his household was returning with him to London.
Including Miss Ellie Graham.
He caught sight of her near the servants’ entrance, bundled in her dark cloak, speaking with Mrs. Dawson. Morgan had observed her from a careful distance over the past month. Miss Graham had proven herself to be everything he had suspected during their first encounter in the carriage. She was intelligent, capable, and utterly determined to remain invisible. She hadkept to herself, performed her duties without complaint, and managed to avoid drawing undue attention despite being the newest addition to his staff.
The boys have no such talent for invisibility.
“Uncle Morgan!” Philip’s voice rang out from somewhere inside the house, followed immediately by Arthur’s laughter.
Morgan smiled despite himself. The twins had spent the month running wild along the beach, exploring tide pools, building elaborate sandcastles that were inevitably destroyed by the cool, crushing waves, and generally exhausting Miss Winslow at every opportunity. They had also, much to Morgan’s surprise, become utterly devoted to Miss Graham.
And she, to her credit, never turned them away.
Morgan had observed this growing attachment with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. Miss Graham was patient with the boys in a way that went beyond simple kindness. She listened when they spoke, answered their questions thoughtfully, and never treated them as though they were nuisances.
When Arthur had scraped his knee on the rocks one day, she had cleaned and bandaged it with gentle hands, murmuring reassurances until his tears stopped. When Philip had lost his favorite toy soldier in the parlor, she had spent an hour helping him search until they found it. Even Miss Winslow had remarked on it one evening, her tone warm with gratitude.
“I don’t know what I would have done without Miss Graham this month, Your Grace,” she had said. “The boys adore her, and she’s wonderful with them. She has a way of calming them that I confess I sometimes lack.”
Morgan had simply nodded, but inwardly, he agreed wholeheartedly. There was something about the way Miss Graham interacted with Arthur and Philip that suggested she was more than just a maid or being kind to children. It was another piece of the puzzle that was Ellie Graham, a clue to a past she refused to share.
“Your Grace!”
Morgan turned to see a footman approaching. “The Duke and Duchess of Welton’s carriage has been spotted on the road.”
“Excellent,” Morgan said, straightening his coat. “Have tea prepared in the drawing room. And inform Miss Winslow that the boys’ guardians have arrived.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Within minutes, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house. Ambrose emerged first, offering his hand to Imogen, who stepped down with a radiant smile. Both looked tanned and relaxed, their honeymoon clearly having done them good.
“Morgan,” Ambrose said warmly, clasping his hand. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” Morgan replied. “You both look well. The change of scenery agreed with you, I take it?”
“It was wonderful,” Imogen said, her eyes bright. “Though I confess, we missed the boys terribly. Where are they?”
As if on cue, twin shouts of “Aunt Imogen! Uncle Ambrose!” echoed from inside, and moments later, Arthur and Philip came barreling down the front steps to greet them. They flung themselves at Imogen, who laughed and knelt to embrace them both.
“We missed you!” Philip declared, squeezing her tightly. “So much!”
“We saw a crab this big!” Arthur added, holding his hands comically wide apart.
Ambrose ruffled their hair affectionately, his expression soft and warm. “We missed you too, boys. I trust you behaved yourselves for your Uncle Morgan?”
“Mostly,” Arthur said with a grin.
“We tried our best, Uncle Ambrose,” Philip added.
Morgan laughed. “They were perfect. Come, let’s have tea.”
The drawing room was warm and inviting, the fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth. Tea had been laid out on a low table, along with finger sandwiches, fresh scones, and an assortment of cakes that made the boys’ eyes widen.
