The soft chuckle that escaped Natalie was barely audible, but it still carried a quiet warmth. She let the words settle between them before responding, her tone light.
"You're thinking too much about it," she remarked. "He just prefers his tea brewed a certain way."
The coachman chewed silently, finishing the last bite of his bread with deliberate slowness. He wiped his hands on his trousers, brushing away the crumbs.
"If you say so," he replied, his voice steady.
"Are you ready now?" he added, as he glanced back at her.
Natalie adjusted the folds of her dress, smoothing the fabric with practiced hands. "Yes, I'm ready."
With that, the coachman moved ahead, his stride long and steady as he cut through the path.
"So," he broke the quiet between them, "where did you learn to make tea? It's unusual for a young lady to be skilled in tea making."
A wistful smile touched Natalie's lips, though she kept her gaze fixed on the ground beneath her feet, navigating the uneven path with careful steps. "My mother," she said softly, her voice tinged with both affection and melancholy. "She had a gift for it. I suppose I picked it up just by watching her. She used to say that a perfect cup of tea wasn't just about the leaves or the water. It was the care you put into it, the heart you gave."
A soft laugh bubbled up from her chest, light and full of warmth at a memory that came up.
The coachman's brow furrowed slightly as he slowed his pace. "What's so funny?"
"I was just thinking of something," she replied, the light in her hazel eyes flickering with the memory. "The former Duke—the Duke's father—he used to praise my mother's tea. He would go on and on about how it was the best he'd ever had. It's amusing, don't you think? How history has a way of repeating itself."
The coachman's eyes narrowed in interest. "Your mother worked for the old Duke?"
"For a time, yes." Her voice took on a quiet pride, but there was an underlying sadness in it. She paused in her steps. "She left long before he passed away, though. She wasn't well."
The coachman stopped walking, turning toward her fully. His gaze softened as he met her eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"
Natalie's throat tightened as she lifted her gaze to the trees overhead, the branches swaying gently in the wind. "She had an illness. A slow one. One that takes everything—her strength, her laughter, even her soul—bit by bit. Watching her go through that, it was like losing her piece by piece, day after day." Her voice cracked, but she continued, the words spilling out quietly, almost reverently. "When she finally passed, there was a strange relief, if I'm honest. At least she was free from the suffering. I couldn't bear to see her like that. I know it's weakness but I just couldn't. It hurt to see life drain slowly from her."
The coachman stepped closer, his hand firm yet gentle on her arm, a touch that spoke more than words could. His voice was steady, a grounding presence. "She would be proud of you, Natalie. Of how far you've come. How strong you've been."
A tear slid down Natalie's cheek before she could stop it, and she hastily wiped it away with the back of her sleeve, shaking her head. "I'm not strong," she whispered, the words heavy in her chest. "Not like she was. She faced everything with grace. Me? I just... get by."
"You're stronger than you realize," the coachman said, his voice resolute, though quiet. "Strength doesn't always shout. Sometimes, it's quiet. It's the quiet endurance, the quiet resilience when everything feels impossible."
"My father says the same thing," Natalie muttered, a wry smile flickering at the corner of her lips. "But, look at me. Does this look like strength to you?"
The coachman chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Strength isn't in appearances. It's what's here," he said, lightly tapping her chest, right over her heart.
Natalie let out a soft laugh, the weight on her shoulders easing just a fraction. "You're too kind."
"Only when it's deserved," he replied, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
Natalie started walking again, the coachman falling into step beside her. The silence returned, broken only by the sound of their footsteps crunching on the earth below.
The woods around them grew denser and the air cooler. A quiet unease began to settle, the rustle of leaves carrying a faint whisper.
After a time, the coachman came to an abrupt halt, glancing around the forest before turning to face her. "This should do."
Natalie looked around, her eyes scanning the sturdy oak trees and the patch of moss-covered ground before nodding. "I think it will."
She stepped behind a particularly large tree, pausing for a moment as she hesitated. "Could you... turn around?" Her voice was soft, almost shy.
Matthew gave her a knowing smile, a brief nod of understanding before turning his back, his hands clasped behind him as he focused his gaze on the distant trees.
Natalie hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing at the thought of the coachman nearby. The idea of him hearing or noticing made her painfully self-conscious. But soon, practicality outweighed her embarrassment, and she pushed aside her discomfort.
Natalie hurried to finish her task, moving quickly yet quietly. The surrounding forest seemed to close in, the air heavy with the weight of silence. But she shook off the unease, finished her task, and adjusted her skirts, brushing away the stray leaves that clung to them.
"I'm done," she called out, stepping back into the open.
The coachman turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened as they scanned her face, searching for any sign of discomfort. "All done?"
"Yes."
"Good. Let's head back."
As they walked, Natalie turned her gaze to him, a thought suddenly crossing her mind.
"I never asked your name," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
"Matthew," he replied, his smile small but genuine. "And yours?"
"Natalie."
"A lovely name for a lovely lady."
She gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "I'm no lady."
"You are to me," Matthew said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. "Every woman is a lady in her own right."
"That's a kind sentiment," she replied with a teasing glint in her eye. "But in reality, I'm just a maid who happens to be very good at making tea. Which at the moment is not really a good thing seeing how I'm suffering for it."
Matthew chuckled, the sound warm and easy. "Well, don't let the Duke find out you're also excellent company. He might not want to let you go."
Natalie widened her eyes in mock horror. "Oh, the tragedy! Spending more time in his company? I'd rather not, thank you very much."
Matthew raised an amused brow. "He's not so bad once you get to know him."
"Oh, isn't he?" Natalie replied, raising a brow of her own.
"I know he can be difficult," Matthew said thoughtfully, choosing his words carefully. "But he's a good man. The weight of his responsibilities shaped him. It's not easy carrying the burden he does."
Natalie nodded, her voice quieter now, tinged with understanding. "I suppose I understand."
"Really?"
"Yes. Kind of."
Matthew studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, but he didn't press further. Instead, he spoke again, changing the topic.
"What about your father? Does he work at the estate?"
"No," Natalie replied gently, "he runs the print shop in the village."
"He owns it?"
"Yes, he does."
"Then why don't you want to work there?"
"He doesn't really need my help, and I'd earn more working on the estate than in the print shop."
"And he wouldn't want to work on the estate. It must be hard for both of you, being apart for so long."
"He has to stay with my younger brother," she replied, her voice gentle.
Matthew's brows lifted in surprise. "You have a brother? I thought you were an only child."
"No. His name is Ivo," she explained. "He's much younger than me. He's the reason I started working at the estate in the first place."
"To give him a better life?"
"Yes. Life in the village can be cruel, especially for boys his age. I didn't want that for him."
Matthew nodded slowly, a quiet respect in his eyes. "You're doing an amazing job, Natalie. He's lucky to have you."
"And I'm lucky to have him," she replied softly, her voice thick with affection. "After my mother passed... he was my reason to keep going."
She paused, her voice catching as her thoughts turned inward. "If not for him—"
But her words were cut off by a familiar voice, sharp and commanding.
"Where are you two coming from?"
The Duke's voice rang out, pulling her from her thoughts, as the weight of the moment shifted again.