The morning sun had risen fully now, bathing the Wycliffe estate in golden light that spilled through the hedges and made the dew on the grass sparkle like diamonds. The air carried a crisp freshness, tinged with the faintest scent of roses and lavender.
Evelyn stepped out into the gardens, her silk walking dress brushing over the pebbled path with a soft swish. Cora followed closely, hands neatly clasped before her, her eyes flicking this way and that, taking in the grandeur of the ducal grounds.
"It's nothing like home, is it?" Evelyn mused softly, letting her fingers trail along a hedgerow as they passed.
Cora chuckled under her breath. "Back home, you'd have tripped over a chicken by now, miss."
Evelyn glanced at her over her shoulder. "Don't call me that," she said, half-scolding, half-laughing.
"You'll always be my 'miss,' no matter what title they pin to your name," Cora said firmly. "You can wear silks and pearls and have footmen bowing to you every morning, but I still remember the miss who used to stuff cherry tarts under her pillow to eat after curfew."
Evelyn smiled at the memory. "That gave me such a stomachache."
"You deserved it!" Cora grinned, then sighed, more wistful now. "You used to laugh so freely back then. You'd dance in the rain, sneak off to the baker's just to steal a crust of sugar bread, chase the master Graham for calling you 'red-nose' during winter. Do you remember?"
Evelyn's smile faded slowly. "I remember."
They walked on in silence for a few paces, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes.
Cora glanced at her from the side. "You've changed."
"I've grown up."
"No. I mean…" Cora hesitated, then said more gently, "You're a lot different now. Your eyes don't light up the same way. You speak like someone watching her own words before she says them. I miss her, the old Miss I used to chase out of trees and scold for muddy hems."
Evelyn stopped and turned to face her. "I'm a duchess now, Cora. I have responsibilities. A reputation. I can't afford to be that girl anymore."
Cora looked at her a moment, then gave a quiet nod. "I understand. But she's still in there, somewhere. I still see her sometimes, like when you smiled at the bakery this morning, or when you looked up at the sky just now."
Evelyn exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting toward a weathered pathway that curved past a small stone fountain.
They moved deeper along the path. The air grew cooler here, shadowed by old trees whose limbs creaked softly in the breeze. The gardens became less trimmed, the hedges more wild. Ivy crept over the walls, and the windows of the east wing, tall, arched, and shuttered stood silently in the distance like the eyes of a slumbering beast.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
She stopped just before a wrought iron gate, nearly hidden behind creeping ivy.
Cora blinked. "Where are we?"
"The east wing," Evelyn murmured. "Juliana told me it was forbidden."
Cora frowned, glancing around. "Then we probably shouldn't be here."
"Probably," Evelyn said, not moving.
A silence passed between them. The birdsong seemed fainter here, as though even nature whispered more quietly.
"Do you think it's where they keep some mad relative?" Cora whispered suddenly.
Evelyn blinked at her. "What?"
"Well, that's what always happens in old noble houses, isn't it? A mad aunt in the attic. A cursed uncle with wolf's blood. Or maybe it's where they keep the Duke's collection of dead lovers."
Evelyn gave her a deadpan look. "You've been reading again."
Cora shrugged. "I had a lot of time alone before you sent for me."
They stood in front of the gate a moment longer, curiosity and good sense wrestling beneath their skins.
Evelyn reached for the latch.
It didn't budge.
Locked.
She leaned closer, trying to see through the ivy-strangled bars. But inside, only darkness and dust awaited. Tall windows with drapes drawn tightly, the outline of an old wing left to rot quietly behind elegance.
Cora tugged her arm. "Let's go. You're getting that look again."
"What look?"
"The one that ends with you almost falling off a roof or trying to tame a wild fox."
Evelyn paused before it.
"Maybe we should turn back," Cora said uneasily, hugging herself.
Evelyn stepped closer to the gate. Her hand hovered over the latch.
Then a sound behind them - a twig snapping.
Evelyn turned sharply, heart leaping, but there was nothing there. Only a breeze through the brush.
She glanced at Cora, who looked pale now. "Please, milady. We shouldn't linger here."
After a long moment, Evelyn nodded.
"Alright. Let's go back."
But as they walked away, Evelyn stole one last glance over her shoulder at the towering windows of the east wing. Something inside her whispered that the secrets of Wycliffe were not in the drawing room or the garden paths.
Later that day, Cora is tasked with laundry.
The scent of lavender soap and damp linen hung heavy in the air. Cora rolled up her sleeves as she worked at the washbasin, her hands red from the cold water. The old stone laundry room was tucked behind the kitchen wing, quiet save for the distant clatter of cookware and the rhythmic slosh of water.
She didn't hear the door open.
"Working hard, I see."
Cora turned sharply, nearly dropping the bar of soap. Emilio stood in the doorway, his arms lazily crossed, that familiar glint in his eye. His cravat was loosened, jacket undone, like he hadn't decided whether he was coming from leisure or headed toward mischief.
She dipped her head, voice cautious. "My lord. Is there something you needed?"
He stepped inside, letting the heavy door swing shut behind him.
"I've always admired women who know how to work with their hands," he said, slowly circling the wooden table at the room's center. "There's something…humbling about it. A noble grace, don't you think?"
Cora stayed still, heart thudding. "I should return to the quarters. I've much to do."
He was closer now. Too close.
"You always say that. Work, work, work. You really ought to take a break. I could help you relax."
His hand reached out toward her waist. She stepped back quickly, the wall pressing against her spine.
"Please, don't," she said, voice trembling but firm.
Emilio's smile faltered. His expression darkened, lips twisting with offense. "You really ought to be more grateful. I could have any maid in this house replaced on a whim. You're lucky I'm even..."
The door slammed open.
Mrs. Carroway stood in the threshold, her expression like carved stone. Behind her, one of the scullery maids gaped, clearly having run to fetch the housekeeper.
"My lord," Mrs. Carroway said coolly. "The Duchess has requested fresh sheets be brought up. I trust you'll allow her maid to perform her duties?"
Emilio's jaw worked silently before he forced a chuckle. "Of course. Just making conversation."
Cora moved swiftly to Mrs. Carroway's side. She didn't look back.
Emilio lingered another moment, then gave a stiff bow. "Ladies."
And he was gone.
Only when the door latched again did Cora breathe.
Mrs. Carroway placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "You come to me next time, not the scullery girl. Understood?"
Cora nodded.
"I'll see that you're reassigned to tasks away from the lower wings," she added, voice lower now, gentler. "And I'll speak to the Duchess."
Cora swallowed hard and whispered, "Thank you."