Page 24

Graham shifted beside her, checking his pocket watch. “The girls’ carriage should be arriving momentarily. Perhaps we might?—”

He was interrupted by the sound of wheels on gravel. A second carriage, smaller and less ornate than Graham’s, pulled into the drive.

Graham’s entire body tensed. Abigail reached for his hand instinctively, but he stepped forward, out of her reach.

The slight rejection stung more than it should have.

His expressionremained carefully arranged into what she recognized as his physician’s face—detached, professional, revealing nothing.

The carriage door opened, and a small whirlwind in a blue dress burst forth.“Last one to the steps is a spotted toad!” the girl shrieked, launching herself forward at full speed.

“That’s not fair! You had a head start!” came the indignant reply from a second girl—identical in face but far more composed in her pink traveling dress—as she exited with a practiced hop and smoothed her skirts primly.

“Heather! Mary Ann!” the governess called from inside, exasperation tangled with affection. “Mind your hems, both of you.”

Abigail took a step forward instinctively but faltered.

They were bright with excitement, their matching curls bouncing, their laughter bubbling over like overfilled champagne flutes. They weren’t timid or grieving—not in this moment. They were seven-year-olds excited to be in the city with entirely too much energy for the stoic steps of Eyron Manor.

These girls will be mine to raise.

The thought struck her like a bell rung too close to her ear. Not borrowed hearts like the children at Beacon House—loved deeply, but always destined to belong to someone else. These are mine to comfort, to correct, to protect.

She was about to become their aunt, their mother, for all practical purposes.

And they didn’t even know her name.

Abigail’s breath caught. She pressed a hand to her midsection, as if steadying something that had shifted out of place. The ache wasn’t fear—it was something larger. Heavier. The slow dawning weight of responsibility wrapped in unexpected tenderness.

They were already halfway up the steps, still arguing over who’d won the race. The girl in blue was clearly the ringleader; the one in pink followed, head high, a little more cautious—but with steel in her spine.

Abigail’s lips curved despite herself.

The governess bustled up the stairs, harried but smiling, curls escaping her bonnet. “We are not hooligans,” she said as she captured each of her charges by the hand and compelled them to walk the last few stairs. “We are ladies in transit. ”

“Your Grace.” The woman bobbed a quick curtsy, somehow managing to seem both respectful and slightly impertinent. “We have arrived, as requested. Only slightly bedraggled and mostly in one piece.”

“Welcome Ms. Norwood,” Graham said.

Then she gave each girl a gentle nudge. “Now, ladies—just as we rehearsed.”

Both girls stepped forward in unison and curtsied—one deep and deliberate, the other more of a bouncing bob.

“Good morning, Uncle Graham,” they chorused.

Graham gave a small bow in return, his voice carefully modulated. “Good morning, girls.” He looked toward Abigail. “May I present my nieces—this is?—”

“I’m Heather!” the one in blue interrupted, bounding forward. “And I picked the bluebells and the buttercups. Even if they’re a little squished.”

She thrust the untidy bouquet at Abigail with both hands, her grin wide and unabashed.

“These are for you. Because you’re going to be our new aunt.”

Before Abigail could respond, the other girl stepped forward with quiet grace. Her pink dress was immaculate, and her ribbon perfectly tied. “And I’m Mary Ann,” she said, dropping a precise curtsey.“You were supposed to do that first,” she whispered to her sister.

Heather huffed and rolled her eyes before offering a half hearted curtsey as she peered around Abigail and waved at the staff still gathered on the stairs. They all exchanged glances before Wilkins gave a short wave in return.

“These are for you as well.” Mary Ann said and extended a smaller, carefully arranged bundle of violets and white daisies.

Abigail smiled at the girls. “Thank you, both of you. They’re beautiful.

” She glanced at Graham, who observed from a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back.

His gaze roamed over the girls as if searching for a crack in porcelain.

He looked up at Abigail. Raw, ragged emotion—grief mixed up with hope—reflected in his eyes before he looked away.

The governess placed a steadying hand on both girls’ shoulders. “They gathered them this morning, just before we left. They’ve been most excited to meet you. I’m Beatrix Norwood. A pleasure, ma’am.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Abigail said, drawing her attention back to the little girls before her.

Heather, all impulse and noise, grabbing attention like a spark in dry grass. Mary Ann, measured and meticulous—earning her place with perfection because she knew she couldn’t outrun her sister’s fire.

Abigail’s heart twisted.

“Shall we go inside?” Abigail said.“I’m sure you’re hungry after your journey.”

Beatrix inclined her head. “A wise suggestion. There’s only so long I can keep these two from cartwheeling up the stair railings.”

Heather perked up. “Can we?”

“No,” Beatrix replied. “That was illustrative, not permissive.” She ushered her charges inside.

Abigail lingered, waiting as Graham moved to join her.

“They’ve grown,” he said.

Abigail studied his profile, noting the way his gaze followed the girls as they disappeared through the grand entrance. For just a moment, something unguarded flickered across his face—a mixture of wonder and regret.

“When did you last see them?” she asked.

Graham’s jaw tightened. “Several months ago. They were quieter then. More...” He trailed off, searching for the word.

“Broken?” Abigail supplied.

He nodded once, a sharp movement. “Ms. Norwood has done well with them.”

Abigail touched his arm lightly. “Whatever is troubling you, it won’t change my commitment to those girls—or to you.”

His shoulders tensed and for a heartbeat, his carefully constructed walls seemed to waver. He turned to her, his blue eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“I only want to protect you,” he said. “All of you.”

Before she could respond, he straightened, withdrawing, and the moment was gone. The fortress rebuilt in an instant.

“We should join them,” he said, offering his arm with formal courtesy. “The staff will be waiting.”

Abigail accepted, and he led her into her soon to be home. She crossed the threshold wondering what storm was brewing that made this soldier-physician-duke so afraid.