Page 17 of His Stolen Duchess
“I shall speak to His Grace, and I will, of course, consult you on any staffing matters, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.” Georgina didn’t want to push anything when she’d just arrived in the house, but the longer she waited, the less help she could offer Dottie.
They passed portraits of stern-looking men in military coats and even sterner-looking women with powdered faces.
“It’s a large house, Your Grace, but you’ll learn the layout of it in no time.” The housekeeper led Georgina out the rear door and into the grounds. “We have a garden that grows produce almost year-round and wonderful flower beds that blossom in spring and bring an abundance of color to the estate.”
Mrs. Kettleworth pointed at a brick building tucked behind the manor. “The stables, with a dozen horses and two stable hands, should you wish to ride.” She then gestured toward a thin grove of trees. “And just beyond, a lovely stream for evening walks.”
Georgina’s lips curled into a faint smile despite herself. She could hear the stream now—soft, steady, almost musical. For a brief moment, the sound soothed her.
But then the housekeeper continued, her voice carrying back over her shoulder as she led the way through the trees.
“And that, Your Grace, leads straight into our lake. It’s quite the sight.”
Georgina followed—until her feet stopped cold.
There it was.
The lake.
The sight of it hit her like a fist to the chest. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
An icy chill spread through her limbs, crawling up her spine as if she’d plunged into its depths all over again. Her hands clenched by instinct, nails digging into her palms as her breath became short and shallow.
She didn’t close her eyes, but it didn’t matter. It was all there. Vivid. Immediate.
Running from her wedding, shoving through the hedges, frantic and wild. The ground giving way beneath her feet. The shock of the water, cold and merciless, closing over her head.
Her chest tightened as she remembered the weight of her soaked gown dragging her down. The rocks catching at her skirts. The awful realization that she couldn’t free herself. That she might die there.
She’d seen death coming for her in that lake.
And now, standing at its edge, she felt it again. That same suffocating dread was tightening around her throat.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
Georgina quickly shook it off and mustered a smile.
You’re safe now. You’re safe.
“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” she assured.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the housekeeper asked.
“Yes, very beautiful,” Georgina said, almost breathlessly.
She stared at the still surface of the water, watching how it mirrored the tall trees along the far bank. It was calm, almost too calm.
She couldn’t look away.
Now, just standing here, her chest tightened. Her fingers curled against her skirts before she even realized it.
The water unsettled her. Its quietness, its depth. She didn’t like how it waited, how it seemed to watch her right back.
“Would you like to see your chambers?” Mrs. Kettleworth asked.
Georgina could only nod.
