The door opened slowly. A young maid named Brianna stepped inside, followed by her daughter. Brianna had only worked at Whitmore Manor for a month. She was exhausted—by debt, single motherhood, and the constant fear of losing her job. The storm had closed the local school, leaving her with no choice but to beg the head housekeeper to let her bring her child for the day.
“Lily, stay right here,” Brianna whispered, guiding her daughter onto a woven rug. “Don’t touch anything. If you wake Mr. Whitmore, I could lose my job. Please be very quiet.”
“Yes, Mom,” the little girl replied softly.
Brianna hurried out to finish polishing silver in the dining hall. The library fell silent.
Henry listened carefully.
Children were curious. They opened drawers. They reached for shiny things.
But Lily didn’t move.
Minutes passed. Then Henry sensed soft footsteps. Careful. Hesitant. Approaching his chair. He kept his eyes closed, bracing himself for the sound of money being taken.
Instead, something warm settled gently over his legs.
Small hands had draped a thin, damp rain jacket across his lap.
“Sir,” a tiny voice whispered, “you look cold.”
Henry’s chest tightened.