Lizzie drew back in surprise at that bit of news. “Work for me?” she repeated. “N-no, you must have misunderstood.”
“Did I?” he asked, stepping a long stride closer. “You don’t have things you need?”
Her lips parted in surprise. He was being playful, teasing. Flirting with her. And part of her was drawn to that fact. Drawn to this handsome man’s charm. Just as she had been to another man. One who had lied so prettily and played her for the worst kind of fool.
She folded her arms and glared at Mr. Banfield, hoping he would see that she was not to be trifled with. “You forget yourself,” she whispered, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “Good day.”
She pivoted away from him before he could respond and stalked from the room. But the moment she was out of his line of sight, she ran. Away from the library, away from the man so invading her space.
And away from the unwanted flutter this conversation had put in her belly. She would do well not to feel such a thing. There was no good that could come of it.
Morgan lay in the narrow bed in his small but serviceable chamber that night. It had been hours since his unexpected encounter with Lady Elizabeth. He should have been able to chalk that up entirely to being busy. After all, he’d had a household to meet and share a meal with. The servants had all been friendly—a little guarded, perhaps, but welcoming. Afterward, he’d busied unpacking and settling into his room. It was a huge estate—it was very likely one could go days without seeing the other inhabitants, and that wouldn’t be because anyone was avoiding anyone else.
Except he had the distinct impression Elizabeth was avoiding him after their encounter in the library. He’d spent the remainder of his afternoon and evening watching Brighthollow every time they were in the same room, waiting for the moment when he would be sacked. It was clear the duke was protective of his sister, and if she said the word, Morgan would be gone.
But it never happened, and so he had to assume Elizabeth hadn’t gone to her family and said the same words that she had left ringing in his ears in the library.
You forget yourself.
That was the story of his life, really. Forgetting himself. Suffering the consequences. Wallowing in them. Sometimes reveling in them.
But this time he couldn’t. If he wanted to keep this position—and for the moment he did—he was going to have to charm the duke’s sister by being polite when he encountered her, not chase her off by going too far. By being himself. Now he just had to figure out how, exactly, to be someone else.
Chapter 4
Lizzie sat on the window seat in her study, feet tucked up beneath her as she stared out at the garden below. The garden that was accusing her because she had not done a single thing to improve it, not even in the two days since Hugh and Mr. Banfield had returned to the estate.
She could have lied and told herself that it was the excitement of the new arrival that had kept her from the work. Except that Mr. Banfield had not come around since that first day when she found him in the library. He’d been busy, settling in with the servants, learning about new duties with her brother. She’d only seen him once or twice in passing, and though she’d felt him watching her from time to time, he hadn’t bothered her.
No, her own thoughts were guilty of that, but not the man, himself. But now the other guests had arrived. Lizzie had watched their carriages roll onto the drive that afternoon and the friends tumble out. She’d watched the usual warmth and brotherhood between Hugh and Robert and Ewan. Observed the laughter between the couples and the true friendship and bond. And then she’d sat up just a little higher and watched as Morgan shook his brother’s hand with no more connection than he had with Ewan or Hugh. They weren’t close, that was clear.
She jerked her head up at the memory and got to her feet. It was none of her business what the situation was between Banfield and Robert. Or Banfield and anyone else, for that matter. He was her brother’s employee, nothing more.
She walked toward her escritoire in the corner of the room, ready to write down a list of things to do for the garden, when there was a light knock on her door.
Amelia ducked her head into the room. “There you are!” she said, face bright with pleasure.
Lizzie shrugged her thoughts away and forced a smile in return. “Were you looking for me?”
Amelia worried her lip a moment, and then stepped into the study and shut the door behind herself. She leaned against the barrier a moment and Lizzie felt her sizing her up. Fretting over her. The focused attention was uncomfortable and she shifted beneath it.
“Are you well?” Amelia asked at last and with great care to her voice, as if she thought just the question would shatter Lizzie.
Lizzie fought the urge to sigh. She wasn’t glass, no matter what her family thought. “Of course,” she said, and broadened her false smile a fraction.
Amelia’s brow wrinkled. “It is just that you have been so quiet since our arrival in Brighthollow.”
“I’m always quiet,” Lizzie said, clenching a fist at her side gently and trying to maintain eye contact when what she wanted to do was run away.
“So you aren’t…troubled?” Amelia pressed.
“No!” Lizzie burst out, a little too loudly, a little too quickly. She ducked her head and repeated it, this time with more control. “No. Not at all. There has been so much excitement with all the newcomers, I’m sure it’s just that.”
Amelia nodded slowly, but from her expression, Lizzie wasn’t certain her sister-in-law believed her explanation. But she didn’t pursue it and instead smiled brightly. “Speaking of newcomers, I’m sure you heard that Robert and Katherine and Ewan and Charlotte have arrived.”
“Yes,” Lizzie said, and now she could breathe again, for this topic was far less fraught. “I saw from my window a short while ago.”
“Well, we were about to have tea once the ladies settled in. Won’t you come join us?”
Lizzie nodded and linked her arm through Amelia’s without hesitation. “Of course.”
Amelia led her out of her study and down the hall toward the parlor. As they entered, Lizzie smiled. It was all laid out perfectly, but of course it would be. Amelia had taken to her duties as duchess with enthusiasm in the three years she and Hugh had been married. It was as if she were born for the role…and for the man. Despite a difficult beginning, now it felt like everything was in place for the pair.
“Later I want to talk to you about something,” Amelia said. “Hugh and I wish to discuss it with you together.”
Lizzie’s goodwill fled as she pivoted to face her friend. “What is it about?”
Before Amelia could answer, the door to the parlor opened and Katherine, the Duchess of Roseford, and Charlotte, the Duchess of Donburrow, entered together, laughing at once. Whatever Amelia was going to say was lost as the two women rushed forward, greeting Lizzie and talking about what they wanted in their tea.
Although Lizzie felt anxious as she glanced at Amelia and wondered what in the world she could want to discuss with her, it was impossible not to feel comfortable in the room with the three women. All of Hugh’s friends had married exceedingly well, to women who were perfectly matched to them. Katherine and Charlotte were no exceptions. Katherine kept the once-wild Duke of Roseford in line, and the man seemed to adore her for it. And Charlotte had developed an intricate hand language with the Duke of Donburrow, who had been unable to speak since birth.