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"Ms. Norwood!" she called, her voice rising to a pitch that would have mortified her under normal circumstances.

She was halfway to the staircase when Ms. Norwood appeared at the landing below, her plain gray dress a stark contrast to the panic coloring Abigail's vision.

"Your Grace?" The governess's brow furrowed with concern. "Is something amiss?"

"The girls," Abigail gasped, gripping the banister. "I can't find them."

Understanding dawned in Ms. Norwood's eyes. "Oh! They're quite safe, Your Grace. Come, let me show you."

Relief made Abigail's knees weak, but she followed Ms. Norwood down the hall to a small, seldom-used bedroom near the nursery. The governess pressed a finger to her lips and eased the door open.

Inside, Heather and Mary Ann lay curled together on the rug, surrounded by a fortress of books. Mary Ann's arm was flung protectively over her sister's shoulder, their breathing deep and even. Heather clutched a small wooden soldier—one of Graham's childhood toys, discovered in a trunk the day before.

"They were playing library," Ms. Norwood whispered, "and insisted this room had 'the best light for adventures.' I checked on them ten minutes ago and found them fast asleep."

Abigail's breath left her in a rush. They looked so small, so vulnerable. Mary Ann's hair had come loose from its ribbons, and Heather's stockings were twisted around her ankles.

"I've been watching them closely," Ms. Norwood continued, misreading Abigail's silence as concern. "I wouldn't have let them out of my sight, not with—" She stopped abruptly.

"I know.” She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. “Thank you for your vigilance."

They withdrew, pulling the door quietly closed behind them.

"I'm sorry for the dramatics," Abigail said, smoothing her skirts with unsteady hands. "I feel rather ridiculous now."

"Nonsense. Your concern speaks well of your attachment to them." Ms. Norwood hesitated before saying, "I find that keeping one's hands occupied is the surest remedy for a troubled mind. Perhaps you’d like to join me in some needlework?"

Abigail seized on the offer of occupation. "I'd be delighted."

Ms. Norwood led her to a small sitting room where a basket of children's clothing waited, along with a well-stocked sewing kit. Sunlight poured through the windows, warming the space with golden light.

Abigail eyed the mound of stockings. “Good heavens. At this rate, Heather’s wardrobe alone could keep a seamstress employed.”

The governess laughed and threaded a needle. "That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. These last weeks Heather has been especially ruthless with her focks and stockings. I swear the child could tear a hole in steel if given half an hour with it.”

“Perhaps we should outfit her in leather, like cavalry officers,” Abigail said, peering at Ms. Norwood through an enormous rip in the hem of a petticoat.

The governess laughed.“That one might be destined for the rag bag. If I recall, it was the result of a foray into the large oak in the garden. An escape from a sea dragon, I believe.”

She smiled, grateful for the distraction of work and conversation. They fell into a companionable rhythm, the whisper of thread through fabric and the occasional snip of scissors the only sounds for several minutes, but Abigail couldn’t help but notice Ms. Norwood’s hands paused more often than her needle required.

"You seem troubled, Ms. Norwood," Abigail ventured at last.

The governess looked up, her expression conflicted. "I've been debating whether to burden you with additional worries, Your Grace. But I fear withholding information would be a greater disservice."

She set aside her mending and reached into her pocket, withdrawing a folded document.

"This arrived for me this morning," she said, holding it out. "I had intended to discuss with you and His Grace upon his return."

Abigail took the paper, noting the official seal. As she unfolded it, the legal language leapt out at her.

"Baron Hollan's solicitor has summoned you to testify?" Abigail's stomach clenched.

Ms. Norwood nodded, her expression grave. "They wish me to speak about Baron Hollan's visits to Eyron Park after the girls' parents died."

"I wasn't aware the baron was a frequent visitor," Abigail said carefully, dread pooling in her stomach.

Ms. Norwood's mouth tightened into a thin line. "After the late duke and duchess died, there was a period of several months before His Grace returned from the Continent. During that time, Baron Hollan visited frequently, always bearing gifts for the girls."