The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  Mistress Marigold thought a moment and nodded. “Let me talk to the housekeeper. Perhaps she will try you tomorrow on tidying the rooms in the morning and see how it goes. I would be curious to hear your thoughts about the arrangements of the furniture in the east parlor. I always felt the room felt stuffy and close. It might be a change would be beneficial. Not that any of that is my domain,” she said with a sniff.

  Alicia nodded, trying hard not to look too pleased at this news, though inwardly she cheered. A chance to nose about the rooms would gain her far more than being restricted to kitchen or at the loom.

  Maybe, if I am fortunate, I will be given leave to tend to the study where I might examine the Duke’s correspondence. Were I to give the Ribbonmen something solid that they could use, some information that would benefit the cause directly, I might be allowed to go home, and leave this nonsense behind. The last thing I want to do is to stay here any longer than I have to.

  Chapter 6

  “You are not very good at serving others, are you?”

  The question came as Alicia was setting the dining room table for the following morning’s breakfast, making the preparations as she’d been instructed, well in advance of the sun rising. She jumped, the silver raining down upon the table in a noisy clatter as it landed among plates and napkins.

  “Your Grace! You move silent as a cat!” she scolded, then gasped when she realized what she had said. “I mean…oh, blast it all. Never mind.” She stared at the cutlery all over the table. “’Tis quite obvious I am not. Have you come to cast me out so soon?”

  The Duke of Woodworth laughed and bent to pick up a fork that had landed at his foot. “I would not be so cruel as all that. A first day is always difficult. I can see that you are trying your best, despite the fact that you are somewhat unused to this manner of work.”

  She took the fork, feeling stupid and entirely out of sorts. She had expected the day to be over after their own meal, but had found that not to be the case. In the kitchen the others were making bread dough that it might be set out to rise overnight. Even the men were back at work, bedding down the animals for the night. No one had warned her just how long the day would be.

  Nor how early it would start. Mistress Marigold had informed her she would be expected to present herself at dawn to help with the laying out of breakfast before beginning in her other new duties.

  “Is it so obvious as all that, then?” she asked, somewhat cross, realizing that this was one of those moments she ought to be deferential and likely bowing and scraping, not trying to sort silverware and put it properly around the table. That they would need so much solely for breakfast was still rather confounding and she wasn’t altogether sure where each piece went.

  “I think you have not worked in a Duke’s household before,” he said, following her gaze to the place setting that she was trying to straighten. “You need to put the fork there, on the left. No, not the small one, only the large. The small ones you do not need for breakfast.”

  Alicia’s cheeks were burning by now. “They showed me in the kitchen, and I have already forgotten. In truth, it has been myself and my father for so long that I am more used to setting a table for two, and that somewhat more…casually.” She fixed the place setting and stood back in exasperation. “It might be simpler to let me go now, rather than have the entire household suffer through it as I learn.”

  “Nonsense, ‘tis not so hard as all that. Here…allow me to show you.” The Duke reached past her, gathering utensils, plate and napkin and taking all to a clear space further down the table. “It is simply a matter of remembering to keep your forks on the left. Spoons over here. So for your midday meal you would want the table to appear so.”

  In moments he’d laid out a simple place setting. Alicia stared. “That seems altogether too many knives for luncheon,” she said thoughtfully. “Is that not the place setting for dinner?”

  Now he was frowning. “Dashed if I know. I have certainly eaten my fair share, though on board ship we dispensed with quite so formal a setting about a week in when I realized how vastly different my own meals were to that of the crew. It did not seem a way to win favor among the men, to be quite so ostentatious, and I asked that things be simplified.”

  “I should think that the men expect the officers to be set apart in order to maintain a certain respect for the position,” Alicia said, fussing at the setting, and removing a fork and knife until it looked more what she thought it should.

  “But not to lord it over them. You cannot feed a man on hard tack and foul water and still expect to be served a fine game fowl with cream sauce,” he said, replacing one fork and removing another knife altogether.

  “Ah, so you chose to eat your hard tack in cream sauce instead, with a good wine to pair it with,” she said replacing the knife, and stepping back with a nod of satisfaction.

  “Hard tack is best with merlot, unless it has vermin, in which case a white is more appropriate.”

  She gasped. “I did not expect you to speak about such things in jest, Your Grace.”

  He glanced at her in surprise, his gaze softening somewhat. “I have not always been a Duke, Miss Price. Just as you have not always been a serving maid. There has been cause to eat many a piece of poor hard tack in my life. A certain ill-fated expedition comes to mind. I wonder what your experiences were before you came here?”

  “You already know I have not served before—have we not already agreed upon this fact?” she asked crossly, sweeping away the silverware, and starting over, to create the proper setting for breakfast, taking a moment to polish each piece they’d been using, that there would be no smudges upon the silver. Her heart beat a panicked tattoo against her ribcage. How much does he know? His comments proved he held certain suspicions regarding her—did they not?

  As though to verify her thoughts, one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “I would suggest that you pretend a great deal of ignorance. You have not had a luncheon in this house, yet you know the setting appropriate to it, though there has been no reason to instruct you in this. Nor would a man with the position your father holds within the village have cause to dine half so well at his luncheon. Yet your hands seem unused to the work.”

  “My hands are quite used to work, thank you very much,” she said, setting the last piece of silverware in place and stepping back. “Shall I show you that I have the callouses to prove it, Your Grace?”

  “But it was not always so, was it?” He stepped back as well, studying the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “You have done well. The table looks most inviting. Perhaps I shall not have to let you go after all.”

  “You have already said you would not,” she reminded him, scooping up the silverware she hadn’t used in an extra napkin.

  “As I did,” he said softly, his green eyes, glittering in the candlelight.

  She could get lost in that gaze. It was most disconcerting. Alicia took a shaky breath, forcing herself to remain calm, to not give anything away though his guesses were getting far too near to the mark. “Tell me, Your Grace, was there something you needed? I have been most remiss in not asking sooner, but I fear I was distracted.”

  “Actually, no, not at all. I had thought I had left an item of mine here after dinner, but I do not see it. I must have set it elsewhere.”

  It was a lie, and not even a good one. Alicia drew herself up for it was obvious he had come to check on her, and though she was actually here to spy upon the household, at the same time it felt rather insulting to be so mistrusted on the basis of two previous meetings.

  “Then if you would give me leave to return to my duties, I would appreciate it. I am sure that Mistress Marigold has tasks for me within the kitchen, Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsey, though it wasn’t well performed due to her juggling the extra silver, which she nearly dropped.

  He leapt forward to assist, for the second time this night his fingers brushing hers as he rescued the napkin and tucked it more
securely in her hands. “I would hate to be the cause of you having to do more work,” he murmured, as he nodded to the items in her hand. “Had they fallen you might have had to wash them again.”

  The Duke was standing altogether too close. She felt the warmth of his fingers upon her hands long after he’d let go. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, and without waiting for his reply, turned and fled.

  Back in the dish room Alicia replaced the unused silver in its drawer with shaking hands. I do not know what I think of him. In one moment I am afraid he knows why I am here. In the next I find myself acting the lovesick lass, for I cannot forget the bonny charm of his smile, or the brightness of his eyes. Oh God…how will I survive this?

  But there was no answer to her half-formed prayer, and there was certainly no time for tears. She had made several promises to the men who had sent her. She would do well to remember that.

  Tomorrow I will find what they sent me to. I must. The sooner I am done, the sooner I can go home.

  It would be good to remember that as well.

  Chapter 7

  The day held nothing but possibilities. Jacob awoke feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever the estate had to throw at him. Maybe that was because he’d come to several conclusions last night. The first and foremost being that he had to decide that he was either in charge of things, or should leave now before he got too enmeshed in matters that were truly none of his business. Starting with the hiring of one impertinent maid.

  That he disagreed with Owen in regards to his giving Miss Price a position when she was clearly not suited to the task, was no secret. He had seen for himself last night at dinner that she’d seemed lost, and had made more than one mistake. His talk with her had likewise been disconcerting on more than one level.

  It would help if she were not lying to me.

  He got up to dress, not bothering to call for a servant to assist him. He was too well-accustomed to his own man who was arriving later in the day. It would be pointless to try and train someone else to his idiosyncrasies for the sake of a single morning. As it turned out, preparing his own toilet was something of a unique and even challenging experience.

  It had been a long time and more besides since he’d had to shave himself. He considered letting it lapse till his man arrived, but it was incumbent on him to set a proper image of the new Duke. Indeed, it had the promise of a good day when he failed to draw blood and yet get his chin reasonably clean of whiskers.

  His main problem lay in getting dressed. Who knew how deuced hard it was to tie a cravat properly? As he struggled with the recalcitrant cloth, he thought back over his conversation with the serving maid last night. The only reason he’d approached her at all was her unnatural pallor as she’d labored under what should have been a simple task. He’d paused in the doorway in passing to watch her work and had actually found himself wondering if she might faint.

  But then he’d spoken to her, and found her…well, stronger than he’d expected. Not to mention refreshing. She had spoken her mind, something that he should have frowned upon, but somehow he’d gotten caught up in their conversation and found he quite enjoyed talking to her. Even if the girl was decidedly hiding things from him.

  More than a little thoughtful, Jacob went downstairs, not to the dining room but to the study. He was too eager to look at the ledgers that his brother had promised to him yesterday, to gain a deeper understanding of how the estate was run. Maybe in the pages of those books he would find the answer as to whether he should stay or go. Or more to the point, whether he should allow Owen the pleasure of running the estate while he…

  While he—what? Returned to sea? Spent the season in London and found a bright English bride to his mother’s liking? Neither seemed particularly pleasant just now. As a Duke, he could hardly resume his command, and the true season was months away, though he supposed there was always plenty to do in London if he were so inclined.

  To his surprise his mother was just coming out of the study as he came to the door. “Jacob! I had not expected to find you here!” She pressed a hand to her chest, and stepped back a pace, fluttering the other hand before her face dramatically. “You gave me such a start just now!”

  “I had meant to get started on those ledgers first thing. Was there something I could help you with?” he asked, trying to peer beyond her, unsure as to what she had needed in the study at this hour.

  She seemed flustered by the question. “No…not at all. But should you not join us for breakfast before working? It does not seem quite…proper…to avoid mealtime with the family. Unless…you do not feel you belong?”

  Her face crumpled as she said this, her eyes filling with sudden tears. Jacob blinked and immediately felt in the pocket of his waistcoat for a handkerchief, only to find he had forgotten it while dressing. Now he was the one flustered, not to mention annoyed, for he could not help but feel manipulated by these tears, which did not seem sincere in the least.

  “Good heavens, Mother, it is only a single breakfast. If it matters so much whether I eat or not, then have them bring me a tray in the study. But whether or not I partake of a particular meal is at my discretion and has nothing to do with the company of my family. I am still most delighted to be in your presence, but I also feel the pressure that comes of having to make several decisions this morning.”

  “Decisions?” Tears forgotten, his mother straightened and gave him a shrewd look. “You have given thought then as to a bride? I would be only too glad to render my assistance in helping you to select a proper young Englishwoman. I have connections to several families that have daughters that are extremely well-qualified in this regard.”

  For a moment he was distracted by this statement. “Qualified? Pray tell, what qualifications have you in mind outside of fine birth?”

  “What other qualification is needed?” she asked, head tilted a little to one side as though trying to ascertain whether he was speaking in jest.

  “You could not possibly…” Jacob stopped. Some things were not worth arguing. “Forget I spoke. Perhaps, if you wish to be of assistance to me, you could have Owen send the steward to me as soon as possible. I expect you will find him at breakfast.”

  Her lips compressed into a thin line. Clearly this was not the answer she’d wanted to hear. “As you say,” she murmured stiffly.

  Feeling more than a little annoyed that he was easily trapped, he called after her, “Perhaps we can discuss your suggestions later,” and fled into the study, closing the door behind him, lest she follow and attempt to pursue the matter now.

  It was a cowardly exit, and likely one that did not bode well for their future relationship, yet he could not help but think if he allowed her to manipulate him by her tears now, or her fine intentions, there would be no end to it. She had made it exceptionally clear since he’d arrived that he had been wrong to stay away for so long.

  Maybe in retrospect it was wrong. But that was not her decision to make, rather mine. And I had a duty to my country that I would not have exchanged for anything. But the rest…her insistence that I marry…this needs to be my own decision. It is a matter of control.

  Somewhat satisfied in his thinking, he settled at the desk and pulled the first of the heavy books toward him. As luck would have it, a folded piece of paper that had been sitting on the topmost book tumbled off to the floor, and disappeared under the desk. He was scrambling around on the floor trying to grab it when there came a knock at the door.

  Jacob thunked his head solidly on the underside of the desk, quite forgetting just how far under he was when he raised his head to shout, “Come in!” which was unfortunate, for the poor man that entered likely got a solid look at His Grace’s backside as he came in.

  Trying not to think about the glorious impression that he was leaving, Jacob backed out from under the desk, paper grasped firmly in his hand, and rose with as much dignity as he could muster. “You are the house steward? John Edwards, correct? Do sit down. I had rather hoped to
talk to you yesterday after my tour of the estate but we took far longer than I expected.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Edwards sank into the chair opposite the desk. He was a tall, thin man with a rather pinched face, and eyes too close together. He sat now, delicately, on the very edge of the chair, with the attitude of one not accustomed to sitting with his betters.

  Jacob hid a smile. “I promise you I will not take but a moment of your time. I understand that you deal in the details of the household—the ordering of goods, and the management of the staff. Is that correct?”

  This was a question that had been bothering him since their encounter with Miss Price upon the roadway leading to the house yesterday. His brother had mentioned something about hiring the girl. He might not have thought anything of it, had he not seen the steward in the hall in passing, and been told who he was.