Perhaps the library they were visiting would have a book on how, precisely, to be a maid. A guide on the correct things to do and say—emphasis on say. Certainly something with the unspoken rules of servitude would be ideal, because Addie was sure that she had broken almost every one of those rules within the past twenty-four hours.

Somehow, Addie was doubtful that such a manuscript existed.

Between the bouts of inappropriate banter on their carriage ride across town, Addie had decided she would spend today keeping her mouth shut. Shut as in: fastened, padlocked, barred, latched, and securely sealed. Well, at least on topics of royal information.

Once the Duke of Kingfield realized that she had nothing else to say on the matter, he would leave her alone, and these feelings of nervousness could leave her. Because despite His Grace's benign disposition, she could tell there was something he wasn't telling her about his true motivations for this "research."

They arrived at the home of a gentleman by the name of Lord Clemonte—a name she didn't recognize. His Grace had informed her before walking to the front door that Lord Clemonte was well-known as a book collector, and after stepping into his private library, Addie did not doubt that.

While Kingfield House's collection of books had been impressive, Lord Clemonte's was positively grand. Part of it, Addie reckoned, was that it was clear simply by glancing at the room that there was more than the occasional perusal of a book happening inside.

Every spine had been dusted to perfection, gleaming against the light coming in through the drapes. The rows were packed so tightly with books that new stacks had started to form upon the floors. While that had appeared disorderly at first, the rows and stacks had been organized by genre.

Awestruck, Addie moved around the room, taking in title after title of written work, trailing her fingers along the edges of a shelf and loving the way they didn't leave a trace. There was meticulous care put into this library. She passed sections on war history, newspapers chronicled by year, seemingly rare editions of the Bible, and even a section dedicated entirely to Gothic novels, such as The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe.

"Surely this must be worth a fortune," Addie commented, spinning on one heel to face the duke again. "I didn't realize that a baron's income was so generous."

"He has means of income other than what his title allows," he replied with muffled words, his head bent in the task of taking out and putting on reading spectacles.

Addie let a barely restrained chuckle slip out at the sight of him.

"What?" he said, indignant and bespectacled.

"I did not realize you were so old to require spectacles, Your Grace," she said, another small laugh escaping.

He simply raised a brow in response and said, "Looks can be deceiving."

Addie undoubtedly agreed with that.

And the duke seemed to be similarly considering his words, tilting his head to the side as he peered down at her. Those green eyes of his raked her frame, and Addie attempted to fight a rising blush from reaching her cheeks. But Kingfield then broke the tension, flashing her a heart-stopping smile.

It was with that grin that Addie realized the Duke of Kingfield was, well, nice. And for the last two years, Addie had not been shown kindness by very many people. Certainly not by dukes, anyhow. Dukes that looked at her in a way that made her cheeks flush and palms sweat. Dukes that listened to her intently as she spoke. Dukes that gave her heated smiles.

She considered that for a moment and wondered what it meant.

Addie knew she had certain charms that had often been the underlying reason for special attention. But recently her charms had only gotten her snide comments and unwanted gropes that were unapologetic, as if to say it was merely the expectation of what to receive for a woman such as herself, a woman of the working class. Not a lady, simply a girl. The Duke of Kingfield, on the other hand, had shown her respectful niceties as though she were a lady. She found it confusing, as Addie Singleton was not, in fact, a lady.

Addie forced her attention back to The Mysteries of Udolpho. She took it and plopped herself in one of the library's many cozy chairs.

"Whatever do you think you are doing?"

"Reading," she replied simply. "I would have believed that obvious."

"But you are supposed to be helping me," he protested flatly.

"I've already told you that I'm to be of no help." The corner of her mouth lifted upwards in a daring smile. It was a bold move, refusing to comply with something that came close to an order. But Addie did not trust herself to refrain from saying something which she would regret.

Luckily, his eyes rolled up, exasperated, but he made no further comment. Instead, Kingfield made his way to the shelf carrying the archived newspapers and began to shuffle through the row from the year 1831.

Addie watched him for a moment as he carefully took one publication out and began to peruse it, his round spectacles slowly slipping to the edge of his nose. He was so focused that he didn't even seem to notice them falling. A pulse ticked in his neck, fascinating her. She forced her attention back to her novel lest he should discover her staring.

By the time she heard from the duke again, Addie was deep into the misadventures of Emily St. Aubert. Addie had an odd connection to the French woman who was orphaned after the death of her family. Well, Addie mused, perhaps it wasn't so odd. But while Emily St. Aubert had been imprisoned in a castle, Addie had become imprisoned in her own deceit.

She was immediately aware, keenly aware, of Kingfield as he sat down on the edge of her chair.

"It would seem that there is a lot of information that passed me by in my younger years regarding the monarchies and the politics surrounding them."

"Mhm," Addie provided in response.

"Honestly, this one shocked me," he said, holding an article up at an angle that hid its headline from view.

"Really?" Addie said, without actually attempting to see what he was talking about.

"Really," he said earnestly. "I had not realized how the child labor laws deteriorated under King William IV. It sounds horrid. Did you know of that?"

"No, I can't say that I—wait," Addie interrupted herself, her mind catching up with the words he had said in her state of semi-listening. "The child labor laws improved under the reign of King William IV, not deteriorated." She dropped her book down in her lap and eyed him, confused.

But Kingfield only gave her an odd, silly smile. One rife with triumph. Her stomach sank, just a bit. "You did that on purpose," she said.

A dimpled smile was her reply. Curse him. "Yes, and as payment for my victory, I insist you help me."

Addie sighed inwardly before going to sit near him, making a place for herself on the floor by the row for 1819 and collecting the top article. "As you wish, Your Grace."

He looked at her in her spot on the ground and frowned. "Thank you, but I rather think that article is from too early a year for my purposes."

Addie frowned too, glancing from him to the paper in her hands. "Too early? But I thought you were researching the House of Hanover. King George III was on the throne in 1819."

"Yes, you are correct," was all the duke replied, shuffling his feet as he did so. But he did not clarify his comment any further, alternatively picking up a different paper from 1834 and handing it to her.

"This is from the accident with King William IV and his family," she said, her voice sounding abruptly hollow and dull.

"Indeed. What do you know of it?" Kingfield asked, not seeming to notice her change in demeanor.

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all."

But of course, that was a lie. Addie knew everything about it. Everything there was to know, Addie knew. Everything, except why it happened. Although, that was something she could easily guess.

Addie recalled how it felt when her body had hurled itself into the carriage compartment, no longer sitting on the plush bench. She remembered the surprised faces of her parents and brother as they'd flashed by her, tumbling together, the carriage tilting sideways with a lurch. They had all been suspended in the air for a moment that will forever haunt her.

She often wondered if she could go back to that moment when time stopped, and space shifted, what she would say or do.

But it had only been a moment. And in the next, the carriage and all its contents had hit the ground with a hard thud. And it was with that thud that everything went black for Addie. Everything went dark, and when she woke, everything had changed.

By the time she had dragged herself to each of her parents' bodies to find that they were gone, she was distraught with pain, both physical and emotional. She'd called to her brother, desperate beyond measure to hear his voice, but silence loomed in on her instead. When she reached him he was gone, too.

The prince had joined the king and queen in death.

So Addie numbly collapsed in a dark void of snow and night and bleak stars.

And then she'd numbly stumbled to a nearby coaching inn, where she'd been lucky enough to fall into the hands of Mr. Redding. He'd asked for her name over the bar top at the Red Hare Inn, and when Addie had not been able to think of anything to say, he took mercy on her. He said, "It's quite alright, love. We all have our reasons for hiding, for assuming an identity that is not our own. As an actor, I understand better than most."

Because she'd not had any other options as she sat cold and utterly alone, Addie followed Mr. Redding to his room where the actor had more props, costumes, and wigs than she'd ever seen outside of a theater. He'd called it his dressing room, of course, when in reality it had been a rather shabby, barely acceptable place to rest one's head.

But it was in that room that Addie transformed. Mr. Redding had spun her into something new with her dark brown tresses in a tight little bun at the nape of her neck, covering every inch of her golden blonde hair beneath the wig. Her excessively pale complexion had been wiped away, forgoing the powders that she had used as a princess.

Mr. Redding had helped her thaw enough to keep moving.

But now, the numbness was back as she sat on the floor of Lord Clemonte's library. She stared at the paper, so as to appear in concentration, though it was not merely a facade. For this had been a stark reminder of what was at stake for her. She should not be here in this house, acting all too familiar with the Duke of Kingfield.

She should be stoking fireplaces. She should be polishing the silver. She should be blending in.

So Addie sat and concentrated on being just Addie Singleton. She read the articles the duke asked of her. She pointed out clearly written facts to him that he might find helpful. Nothing that she could have known on her own. And when he announced it was time to leave, she let out a deep sigh of relief.

The carriage ride back to Kingfield House was quiet. The duke seemed to take note of Addie's withdrawn mood, but he did not press. He frowned, but he did not press. When they arrived in his front drive, he gave her a concerned, questioning glance. And when she gave him nothing in return, Kingfield took his leave.

Addie required several deep breaths before she was able to follow him. Only a few hours had passed, and yet, Addie had relived far too many days and far too many memories for one afternoon.

When she finally walked inside the mansion that was Kingfield House, the scene of the duke embracing a willowy woman with long golden hair greeted her.