Locking her bedroom door for the first time, she crawled under the covers with her sleeping mother and passed a restless night. The previous evening's events felt like a bad dream the next morning while she set out trays of breakfast choices for Lord William.

"Will Master Julian be joining you for lunch?" she asked timidly.

"No." His gaze drifted into space. "He's gone back to Yorkshire."

Relief like tart water flooded into her mouth. Good. Let him stay there.

The following year, Eleisha turned fifteen, her mother passed away quietly, and Lord William began to forget things. Small things at first, like where he'd left his hunting jacket-while he was wearing it-and the names of books he'd just read. As he was well into his early sixties, these spells seemed simply a part of growing older. But then his actions grew puzzling. One afternoon scarcely an hour past lunch, he walked in and sat down at the table.

"Are you hungry, sir?" Marion asked.

"Hasn't my lunch been prepared?"

"Yes, sir. You've already eaten. Poached sole and greens."

His eyebrows knitted, and he looked at the mantel clock. "Oh, yes, of course…" He seemed about to say more, but then stood up and left abruptly. No one talked about it afterward.

Slight changes began taking place. Fewer and fewer dinner guests were invited. Lord William forgot the names of people who had just been introduced and kept asking them the same questions over and over. Marion stopped going over the menus with him and began giving the cooks lists of dishes he'd always liked. Lady Katherine stopped having brandy with him in the study after supper.

One morning at breakfast he spilled his tea and cringed with embarrassment.

"Oh, this is nothing," Eleisha said, toweling up hot liquid. "Last week I tripped over a bucket of mop water in the upstairs hall. That was a true mess."

"Would you read me the paper?"

The question surprised her. But why should it? People's eyes often gave them trouble at Lord William's age.

"All right, but I'll have to spell out the long words, and you can tell me what they mean."

Lady Katherine might have fallen into a fit if she had walked in right then to see Eleisha sitting at the dining table reading her master his morning paper. Five minutes after she read one column, he asked her to read it again.

Marion peeked in once to see if the silver breakfast trays had been cleared away. After listening for a few moments, she cleared them away herself.

When he was done hearing the morning paper, Lord William said, "Come pheasant hunting. Good hunting by the pond."

Eleisha's duties did not include going hunting with the manor lord. But Marion's head suddenly poked back in. "Go on, child. I can take care of setting up lunch."

It occurred to Eleisha that everyone else, including Marion, seemed to be avoiding Lord William. Did his condition distress them? Was it frightening or merely an annoyance?

She found some old boots and spent the entire morning tromping through the trees looking for pheasants. Lord William forgot to bring his gun, but that hardly mattered. They talked of senseless pleasantries like food and the manor gardens and then sat for a while by the pond pointing fish out to each other before she reminded him it was time for lunch.

While donning her nightdress for bed that night, she heard a knock on the door.

"Come in."

To her shock, Lady Katherine-quite striking as usual in a deep blue satin gown-walked in with a stiff, unreadable expression. "Good evening. Were you retiring?"

The question itself stunned Eleisha speechless. In the three years since their first encounter, those were the first words beyond instructions or commands she'd heard from her mistress.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Katherine went on without waiting for an answer, "but I couldn't help watching you today with Lord William. I have a good view of the fields from my window."

"Oh, forgive me, my lady. If you would prefer I remained at my normal duties…"

"No, it isn't that." She paused as though searching for words. "I've been thinking for some time about hiring a companion, someone to watch over my husband during the day. But the right sort of person is difficult to…" Her face clouded. "No matter how it may seem, I love my husband very much, and I won't have someone patronizing him, even if I can't stand to be in the same room with him myself."

The raw, messy emotion Katherine displayed to a mere servant embarrassed Eleisha. "Of course, my lady."

"You care for him, don't you? Not just as your lord, but you seem to truly care for him."

"Yes, he is a kind man."

"He is." Katherine's eyes flashed with pride, perhaps of days long past. "Women of my state have little say in whom we marry. I was more fortunate than most." She paused, this time for several long moments. "I owe him something. Your position has changed. You will be his nurse, his companion. But only if it pleases you. Do you accept?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Your wage will be increased accordingly. I'll have you fitted for appropriate outdoor clothing. Lord William is happiest outdoors."

"Yes, I know, my lady."

"I think you do." She stared at Eleisha. "Doesn't it bother you to answer the same question fourteen times and watch the pain on his face as he spills his brandy?"

"No. I spill things all the time."

Eleisha added no title onto her last answer. Katherine's face fell into defeat, despair, as she walked out the door. "You will begin tomorrow. Marion doesn't need you anymore."

No, Marion didn't need her anymore because the house was declared officially dead. No more parties. No more dinner guests. People like Katherine couldn't be publicly embarrassed by a doddering old husband. Eleisha's feelings remained mixed for some time. She later found this to be the most tragic stage of William's illness. His manners and grace were famous about Wales. Cliffbracken was known and admired for its fine food, good company, and pheasant hunting. But now the festivities were ended, and Lord William was still mentally intact enough to be aware. He noticed Lady Katherine's discomfort. He knew the servants avoided him.

Over the next year, Eleisha's importance changed slowly, gradually, until she became indispensable. William often got lost in the house and believed himself to be a boy in Sussex again with his grandmother. Instead of correcting him, Eleisha often played the part of whatever past relation he believed her to be, and soon he'd slip back into reality without knowing he had ever slipped out. She fed him all three meals and was silently given license to go anywhere in the manor. She was allowed to take him out in the carriage-indeed, encouraged to do so. No one called her too bold. No one insinuated she was living above her station. No one envied her at all. They simply prayed she would continue to occupy Lord William's days and be the one to deal with his illness.

When he ceased sleeping through the night and began to wake, crying and lost, she moved a cot into his bedroom and slept there. No one said a word.

Lady Katherine kept to her rooms, but she and Eleisha avoided each other. Something behind the mistress's calm face began to grow: hatred. It waxed clear that she hated herself and hated Eleisha even more. The need-to need anyone as much as she needed Eleisha-drove the proud woman to malice. Her revulsion toward William induced guilt that became obvious.

"You look out for yourself after the poor master passes on," Marion whispered one night. "She'll send you off, she will. No one's to blame, but she's got hard feelings for you."

"Why? I'm doing what she wants and being paid more than Mr. Shevonshire."

"'Cause she needs you. Every waking minute she's afraid you'll have enough of him and leave her to be the one."