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A sudden clatter in the hallway forced them apart. Footsteps—small, hurried ones—thundered toward the drawing room.Graham's hands fell away, though reluctantly, as Abigail straightened her skirts and pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks.

"Uncle Graham! Aunt Abigail!" Heather careened into the room like a cannonball fired from a ship's broadside. Her dark curls bounced, half-escaped from their ribbons as she flung herself onto the sofa between them, shaking the entire piece of furniture with her enthusiasm.

"We missed you terribly!" She squirmed into the space, elbows and knees seemingly everywhere at once. "Did you have a grand adventure? Where did you go? Did you bring presents?"

“Heather, you were supposed to walk,” Mary Ann said, her entrance a study in contrasts—measured, calm, and perfectly composed. She crossed to Abigail, climbing wordlessly onto her lap with careful dignity. Only the way she clutched at Abigail's sleeve betrayed her need for reassurance.

"Hello, my darling," Abigail murmured, pressing a kiss to Mary Ann's temple.

Ms. Norwood appeared at the doorway, her posture as rigid as ever, though something in her expression seemed slightly off. "Miss Heather, one does not demand presents at every turn," she admonished, though her heart didn't seem fully in the reprimand. "Your aunt and uncle have had a trying day."

Heather deflated slightly. "Yes, Ms. Norwood."

"The girls have had their supper and are ready for bed whenever you wish," Ms. Norwood said, her voice carrying an undercurrent that Abigail couldn't quite identify. "I'll be retiring to my room, unless you need anything further."

Graham shook his head. "Thank you, Ms. Norwood. We'll see to the girls from here."

Ms. Norwood nodded and turned to leave, but not before Abigail caught the shadow that passed across her face.

"I'll be right back," Abigail said, gently shifting Mary Ann onto the cushion beside her. She exchanged a glance with Graham, who gave a slight shrug.

She caught up to Ms. Norwood in the hallway, the governess's steps quickening as if to avoid precisely this conversation.

"Ms. Norwood," Abigail called. "Is everything well?"

The governess paused, squaring her shoulders before turning. "Quite well, Your Grace. The girls behaved admirably today, though I believe the Dowager spoiled them with sugared almonds."

"That's not what I asked."

Ms. Norwood's gaze slid away. "I'm simply tired. The day has been... eventful."

"How un-Quakerish of you to evade the truth," Abigail said, stepping closer.

Ms. Norwood's lips twitched despite herself. "I'm a lapsed Quaker at best."

"And at worst?"

"A terrible gossip with a weakness for French novels and strawberry tarts." Her attempt at lightness fell flat, the shadow in her eyes betraying deeper concerns.

Abigail waited, allowing silence to draw out the truth that words couldn't reach.

"I suppose," Ms. Norwood said at last, "I'm simply coming to terms with the fact that it’s time for me to be moving on."

"Moving on?" Abigail’s brows drew down as she considered. "Did you think you would be dismissed now that the hearing is over?"

Ms. Norwood's silence was answer enough.

"Oh, you impossible woman," Abigail said, warmth flooding her voice. "I cannot imagine entrusting our girls to anyone else. You're not leaving—unless, of course, you wish to."

“Not at all.” Ms. Norwood's eyes brightened with unshed tears. "I had thought perhaps you would prefer a more traditional arrangement, like the Duchess of Wilds maintains."

"Traditional?" Abigail snorted inelegantly. "I think we sailed past traditional the moment I agreed to marry a duke I'd known for less than a fortnight." She reached out, clasping Ms. Norwood's hand. "Besides, even if you weren't desperately needed here, which you are, my sister has been shamelessly plotting to recruit you to tutor Charlotte and Henry. And Beacon House has a dozen positions that would suit your talents. You're quite stuck with us, I'm afraid."

Ms. Norwood's lips curved into a small smile. "I find I don't mind being stuck in such company."

"Good." Abigail squeezed her hand. "Because I've been meaning to tell you about a certain gentleman—Mr. John Greenton. He's the Duke of Sherton's oldest friend, and I think you might find him stimulating conversation."

Ms. Norwood's cheeks bloomed with color. "Your Grace! I hardly think?—"