Chapter Twelve.

The air within Garet's study was heavy with the scent of parchment and wax, dimly lit by a lone candle flickering on the desk. Today marked the grand finale of the Cotswold Harvest Festival, a time when the fields' bounties were celebrated with spirited revelry. Farmers, merchants, and noble families alike would gather for the bustling markets during the day, culminating in a grand masquerade ball that would stretch into the early hours of the morning. Yet, Garet seemed unmoved by the prospect of celebration, his gaze distant as he stared at the open ledger before him, lost in thought.

A soft knock broke the silence. "Come in," he called, his voice steady but tinged with distraction.

A maid entered, balancing a silver tray carrying a fine porcelain teapot and a steaming cup. She curtsied. "Good day, my lord. The Duchess has sent this specially brewed tea. She said it would strengthen your constitution and calm your nerves."

Without glancing her way, Garet nodded curtly. She placed the tray upon his desk, her movements quick and efficient.

"Shall I pour, my lord?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, that will be all," he replied, dismissing her with a slight wave.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Garet's eyes shifted to the tea. Its delicate aroma wafted through the room, a blend of herbs and flowers. He picked up the cup, bringing it close enough to inhale its fragrance, but set it aside without taking a sip.

Moments later, another knock echoed through the room. This time, his butler entered, bowing deeply. "My lord, I bring word regarding your inquiries."

"Speak," Garet said, leaning back in his chair.

"My lord," the butler began, "Lady Victoria still resides in the countryside with her daughter. I have located their dwelling. However, given the festival preparations and today's celebration, I suggest we pay a visit tomorrow when matters will be calmer."

Garet nodded in agreement, his voice firm. "Very well. We shall proceed tomorrow. You may leave."

The butler bowed and exited, leaving Garet once more in solitude. Yet his thoughts, which had been consumed by his plans to uncover the truth about his past, took an unexpected turn. Hazel. Her face surfaced unbidden in his mind, the maid who had crossed his path with an earnestness that unsettled him. He recalled her quick wit and the quiet grace with which she moved, her presence lingering far longer than he had anticipated.

"She said she was only here temporarily," he muttered, tapping his fingers on the desk. A thought struck him suddenly. Rising from his chair, he rang the small bell to summon the maids. When one arrived, he gave a direct order. "Inform Hazel that she is to prepare my bath. At once."

---

On the other side of the estate, Hazel sat in the small, shared quarters of the temporary staff. Today was her twentieth birthday, though she found little reason to celebrate. She neither felt joy nor sorrow, only a peculiar emptiness.

The day had begun with a wash, and now her meager belongings were packed, ready for her return home. The Duke's household had been generous, paying the temporary staff handsomely and providing carriages laden with provisions to ease their journey.

Her roommates, however, were abuzz with excitement, their chatter filling the room.

"Have you seen my dress for the ball?" Emily exclaimed, pulling a shimmering green gown from her trunk. "I spent nearly all my savings on it!"

Helen gasped. "It's beautiful! I'm picking up mine from the tailor later today."

Both women turned to Hazel. "What about you? What will you wear?"

Hazel shrugged, unbothered. "I've made no preparations."

Emily stared at her, aghast. "What on earth, Hazel! How could you not?"

"There's no need," Hazel replied simply. "I'm sure my mother will have something for me at home."

Helen sighed. "You're impossible, Hazel."

The conversation turned to the evening's grand ball.

"I heard Lord Garet will be there," Helen said conspiratorially.

"Doesn't he have a betrothal to Lady Elena?" Emily asked.

"Rumor has it he's uninterested," Helen replied. "Word is, he hasn't visited the Washington estate ever since they visited on his first arrival."

Emily's eyes lit up. "Then I must dress my finest! Perhaps he'll notice me."

"Dream on," Helen teased. "A lord has no business with a maid."

As the two left to freshen up, Hazel remained on her bed, their words echoing in her mind. She thought of Lord Garet, her thoughts straying to their brief but charged encounters. She recalled his intense gaze, the way he had called her name,so melodiously it lingered in her ears. A warmth spread through her at the memory. She wondered if she would have a chance, but Helen words reminded her of her place, as just a maid, and of course, a lord has no business with a maid.

"What are you doing to me, my lord?" she whispered to herself. "Daydreaming about someone like you? It's absurd."

Yet no matter how much she scolded herself, her thoughts drifted back to him. Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. A maid entered, a smug expression on her face.

"Hazel, lord Garet has requested you prepare his bath. He's waiting for you in his chambers."

Hazel blinked in surprise. "But that isn't my duty."

"Are you questioning Lord Garet's orders?" the maid snapped.

"No, of course not. I'll go immediately."

The maid smirked as she turned to leave but paused at the door. "Just so you know, there's talk about how the lord looks at you. Don't get ahead of yourself, Hazel. Men like him only toy with girls like us. Don't mistake his attention for anything meaningful."

Her words stung, but Hazel kept her composure as she made her way to Garet's chambers. As she walked, she muttered to herself, "He's nothing like the other men she has met. Whatever his intentions, I'll keep my guard up."

Yet deep down, her heart quickened as she approached his door, unsure of what awaited her within.