by Alyson Chase
He pointed to a chair across from him, and she sat.
“I understand that you served in the Earl of Westmore’s household.”
She nodded, hands folded primly in her lap.
“How long were you in his service?”
“About two years, Mr. Todd.”
“And before that?” he asked.
“Before that? Before that I was nineteen.”
Mr. Todd lifted an eyebrow. She cleared her throat. “What I mean, sir, is that my father didn’t want me working before that. He was a clerk at a law firm and hoped for a position more advantageous for me. But after he died, I was fortunate to obtain a position with the earl.”
“Hmm.” The steward didn’t look impressed with her work history. “Two years of service does not give one much experience, especially not for a ducal estate.” He sighed deeply. “However, the duke is most gracious when it comes to giving opportunities to the less fortunate. But make no mistake.” He planted the tip of one thick finger on the top of his desk. “Your work will be subject to the highest scrutiny. You are expected to adhere to the strictest tenets of discipline.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Now, Miss Smith, I will give you a tour of Hartsworth House while I explain your duties.”
The next hour Mr. Todd showed her the first two floors of the mansion, pointing out the rooms for which she would be responsible. The high frescoed ceilings and gleaming marble floors filled Liz with awe. Hartsworth House was more museum than home. Paintings and sculptures discreetly lined the hallways. Liz itched to leave Mr. Todd behind, wander through the beautiful rooms alone.
Her steps faltered at the entrance hall. The front doors stood open, the light filtering through giving the snowy marble floors a light sheen. Two staircases coiled up from the main floor hugging the walls until they met the second-floor balcony. A chandelier hung from the domed ceiling high above, crystal dripping from the fixture like icing off a cake on a hot day.
Liz sidled around the edges of the room to follow Mr. Todd up a staircase. The chandelier was so large, so laden with glass, she was afraid it would tear from the ceiling and crush her.
Mr. Todd led her down corridor after corridor. She counted at least twelve different sitting rooms. The number of guest rooms was probably close to a hundred. Many of the rooms had coverings over the furniture, but Liz didn’t think that precaution was needed. She didn’t see a speck of dust anywhere, not even in the unused rooms. The servants of Hartsworth had impeccable standards. And she was now one of them.
She’d never given much thought to the lives of her servants before. Although her father wasn’t wealthy, they did have a housekeeper, a maid, and a cook. Three women who had almost been a part of the family and without whom she wouldn’t have survived the past year. Before the contents of her father’s home were sold to pay for his debts, the women had managed to remove the most expensive heirlooms and give them to Liz. She’d been selling them off piece by piece to pay for her tiny room in Old London, and for food and blankets for Amanda. A bribe once a month allowed her to bring in supplies to help Amanda bathe.
“Well, I think that wraps it up, Miss Smith. I will show you to your room now,” he said, then hesitated. Dogs barked, the commotion growing louder until it sounded as though a hunt were going on right outside the manor.
“What is going on out there?” Mr. Todd pursed his lips, and changed direction, heading down another staircase that took them into a stockroom adjoining the kitchen. He flung open the outside door, and jumped back as five dogs swarmed in, barking madly. Five very large dogs. Contents were knocked from their shelves by wagging tails. The dogs paid no heed to Mr. Todd’s shrill demands that they cease their actions.
Liz tried to help Mr. Todd herd the frenzied canines back outside, to no avail. The smell of the meats hanging from the beams overwhelmed their control. Thinking to bribe them outside, she reached up and grabbed a joint of ham hanging from a hook in the ceiling. “Mr. Todd, if we—”
A shaggy black brute jumped on her, his massive front paws landing on her shoulders and knocking her back. The beast snatched the meat from her hand and dropped down, tearing into his treat. She stumbled, trying to regain her footing. Her heel hit a bag of flour, and she fell backwards, expecting to hit the stone floor.
Instead, she hit a warm body. An arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her upright, saving her from her tumble.
She turned to thank her rescuer. The words clogged her throat. The face staring down at her was severe, implacable. It would have been handsome if it hadn’t been so expressionless. The man’s dark blond hair was cropped fashionably short. Eyes, as gray and hard as granite, bore into hers.
She’d never pressed so closely against a man. It was highly improper. And most distracting. Did all men have such firm chests? All smell so appealing up close? She sniffed. Leather and bay rum.
He surveyed the chaos. “Sit.” His voice barely raised, yet every dog heard him and immediately sank down to its haunches. One whimpered. If his arm didn’t band her to him Liz would have sat down, as well. “Mr. Todd, what is the meaning of this?”
“I was investigating that myself.” Mr. Todd went outside where the commotion had begun and returned holding the bone to what appeared to be a large shoulder of ham. Bits of meat were still attached. “It appears the dogs were attracted by this bone. When I opened the door, they rushed in. I apol—”
“And who is this?” The distracting eyes returned to her face.
“I’m Miss Smith, the new chambermaid.” His hold on her bordered on inappropriate, and she pushed against his chest, demanding her release. His arm tightened.
The new man was as muscled as a blacksmith. But her appreciation of his physique was overwhelmed by her irritation. She was being veritably molested in the servants’ area of Hartsworth House, and the lout didn’t even seem to realize his wrongdoing. Discreetly, she pushed against him again, not wanting to cause a scene.
His shirt gaped wider at the throat, exposing a vee of bronzed skin. A laborer, Liz thought. Used to working out of doors in the sun. And a man raised with no manners.
“Did you feed the dogs, Miss Smith? Cause this commotion?” The man stood as sturdy as an oak tree, legs planted wide. His gaze swept the entire room, taking in everything, the stone floors, the panting dogs, the wooden beams laden with hooks of meat.
“No.” Liz bit the inside of her cheek. He had no right to accuse her. But she’d learned from Westmore that saying less was often more effective.
He lowered his head, inhaled deeply. Liz’s mouth went bone-dry. “You smell of ham,” he said.
She smelled of . . . Raising her booted foot, she was a second away from crashing it down on the brute’s foot. He deserved nothing less, commenting on a woman’s odor. But she recalled herself in time, lowered her foot to the floor. She no longer was of a station to oppose such behavior. But she did not smell of—
Oh. “The joint. I was attempting to lure the dogs outside with a joint of ham. I was unsuccessful.”
“Indeed.”
She lifted her chin. “Now, sir, I must insist that you release me. At once,” she stated with emphasis.
“Miss Smith, mind your manners!” Mr. Todd barked.
“My manners, Mr. Todd? This man—”
“Is the Most Noble Marcus Aurelius Beaufort Hawkridge, the eighth Duke of Montague and Marquis of Harrington, Earl of Berring, and Baron Hawkridge of Stoven.”
Chapter Two
Liz whipped her head back to the man fitted against her. Each honorific from Mr. Todd’s lips hit her like an arrow spearing its target.
Oh dear.
If she’d been paying attention she would have noticed that the fabric of the jacket beneath her hands was finely woven gabardine. Yes, he was missing a cravat, a faux pas for a man of his station, but the shirt underneath was linen. And Mr. Todd would never have condescended to answer questions from anyone but his employer.
“Now, thank Your Gra
ce for saving your neck, and apologize for your disrespect, girl,” Mr. Todd ordered.
She swallowed hard. If the duke tossed her out now she would never get the letter. She met his stare, and straightened her shoulders as best she could. The action only pressed her chest closer into his.
“I am very sorry, Your Grace; I didn’t know who you were. Please accept my apology, and my thanks for stopping my fall.” She pushed gently against his chest, and this time the duke set her aside.
“My new chambermaid, you say.” Montague circled her, his eyes examining every inch of her person. Her serviceable clothes, which before had seemed tidy and modest, now felt threadbare and ill fitting. “She is not in uniform.”
“Not yet, Your Grace,” Mr. Todd said. “After I’ve shown her around, she will be sent to her room to change.”
Liz bristled at being discussed as though she couldn’t speak for herself, but kept her expression even. As a servant, and a lower one at that, she was meant to remain silent.
“I apologize most humbly for the disorder, Your Grace. All will be put to rights immediately.” Mr. Todd grasped her elbow and Liz instinctively jerked from his grip. The duke raised a golden eyebrow.
“Miss Smith, you are one of those things that need to be put right.” Mr. Todd’s round stomach quivered with indignation. “May I remind you that your employment is in its infancy and can easily be lost? The Duke of Montague’s service requires the highest of standards. If you are unable to meet said standards you will be discharged immediately.”
Nodding her head, she stared at the floor, her best imitation of humble agreement. Her nails dug deeply into her palms at the insult of being spoken to such. Growing up as a member of the gentry hadn’t prepared her for the treatment suffered by the servant class. This past year had shown her how blind she’d been to the way the world truly worked.
Montague cleared his throat, demanding her attention. Pointedly, he looked down at her hand, and his full lips thinned. Liz hesitated, slowly uncurled her fists. The duke nodded, and turned to his steward.
“This is the girl’s first day. Be lenient. I am certain she takes direction well and will be an asset to your management of the estate.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Todd said with a stiff bow. The duke turned on his heel and strode out of the room without a second glance at Liz. She sketched a curtsy to his retreating back.
“You are most fortunate the duke was in a forgiving mood, Miss Smith. Come, I will show you to your room and you must prepare for your duties.” Up the staircase and down a long hall they walked, Mr. Todd imparting some remaining information along the way. The mealtimes for the maids (six in the evening), the day of the week she would have a free afternoon (Saturdays), and the moral expectations that each member of the duke’s service was expected to adhere to.
The female members, at least. “There will be no fraternizing with those of the male persuasion who serve the duke. And you are not to go into the village without an escort. Unmarried woman who are caught in a compromising position shall be released from service immediately.” He stopped in front of a small wooden door. “Here are your quarters, Miss Smith. You share with Miss Molly Davies. Have you understood everything that I’ve told you?”
“Yes, Mr. Todd.” She entered the spartan room, and sagged with relief when the door closed behind her. Two small beds separated by a rickety desk, a table with a washbowl on it, and two wardrobes were the room’s only furnishings. Her trunk rested in front of one of the wardrobes.
Liz flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. So that was a duke. She’d seen one across a ballroom during her season once, surrounded by society much more important than the Wilcox girls. But never stood before one. Never spoken to one. Imposing, humorless creatures apparently. He was rougher than she’d expected. Far from the pampered and soft nobility whom she’d previously encountered. A broad, firm chest. Arms like bands of iron wrapped around her middle. She rested a hand on her stomach. Definitely not a man who relied on servants to open doors for him or carry his packages.
Sighing, she stood and opened her wardrobe. Four uniforms, black with thin white pinstripes, hung on a wooden rod, the rest of the closet empty, waiting to be filled by her meager belongings. She dressed in a work gown, loose in the bust but well pressed and made of India cotton. Tying the apron at her back, she headed downstairs to begin her work.
She picked up supplies and met with two other maids. They both seemed young and vapid, giggling about the local village lads. But as they showed her around and explained their techniques, Liz could tell that they took their employment seriously. Working for a duke held prestige and brought a large salary, and they wouldn’t risk either with slipshod work.
They introduced her to Molly, Liz’s chamber-mate, a bold girl with green eyes that turned up at the corners and a playful smile. She assured Liz that they would have a capital time rooming together and said it with such certainty Liz didn’t dare to contradict her.
The study had already been cleaned that day, so Liz was sent to the library to give it a quick dusting and polish. She trailed her fingers over the leather-bound spines as she swiped the books with her cloth.
It was all very organized, first by time period and location, ancient Greece, medieval Europe, then by subject matter. She paused by a translation of Aristotle’s De Anima. She hadn’t been allowed to pursue her education as much as she would have wanted. It wasn’t worth the money to hire a tutor for a girl, her father had said. But she’d learned as much as she could from the books in their small library and what she borrowed from neighbors.
But no education could have prepared her for her life now, so perhaps her father had been right in that respect. It would have been a waste of money.
She scrubbed all the wood surfaces within reach until they gleamed in the afternoon light. With a last look at the floor-to-ceiling books, she headed downstairs for an early dinner.
Peggy patted the seat next to her at the long table in the kitchen, and Liz wended her way through the crowd. The servants ate in three shifts, and the seating arrangement at the table seemed to fall according to the category of service one was in. The cooks and footmen sat in a row with the maids across from them. Except for Liz. Apparently she’d broken ranks by sitting next to Peggy, who gave her a wink. The groomsmen and gardeners sat at the far end of the table, closest to the door.
Trays of food crowded the table, and everyone helped themselves to what they wanted. Mr. Pike reached for a slab of meat stacked on a platter. He caught her looking at him and scowled.
Peggy spooned some mashed potatoes onto Liz’s plate, and leaned in close. “I wanted to apologize, for the spot of trouble you got in this afternoon.”
“Why should you apologize for it?” Even though the food smelled delicious, she ate sparingly. The first thing she would do for Amanda after getting her out of Newgate would be to cook her a feast. No, second thing. A bath first.
Peggy blushed. “Well, those dogs were worrying a poor kitten out in the yard, so, to distract them, I put out a joint of ham.” She tore a piece of bread. “I didn’t think they would get so out of hand with it, yammering to bring the house down. They were like a pack of wild, well, dogs.”
“That’s quite all right. I didn’t have any real trouble.” Insulted her employer, apparently. Didn’t bow and scrape quickly enough. Almost lost her position before she even lifted a dustrag. But none of that was Peggy’s fault. “And the duke was able to subdue the dogs with one word. It was really quite extraordinary.”
“Yes, the duke has that way about him, that’s for sure.”
“Does he live alone here? Has he any family?” Family who might interfere with her spying.
“Sadly, no, poor dear,” Peggy said. “His mother died first, when the boys were young. Then his little brother died. That just about broke the old duke’s heart. It wasn’t many years later that he passed, too.” Her gaze left Liz’s face and trailed down to the end of the table.
“Well, there is the odd cousin and whatnot, but the duke doesn’t have much to do with that lot.” Peggy twisted her napkin around a finger, took a deep breath. “Excuse me for a minute, dearie.”
Jumping to her feet, she grabbed a tray of desserts from the counter. She carried it down the table and held it in front of Mr. Pike with a smile. He ignored the sweet confections, and pushed away from the table. The outside door slammed shut behind him.
Peggy’s shoulders rounded, and she placed the tray on the table for the other grooms. Before she’d reached her seat, the tray was empty of everything but crumbs. Her chair creaked a protest when she settled back down.
“I can’t understand a man who doesn’t like dessert.” Peggy poked at the scraps left on her plate.
“That does seem to be a fatal character flaw.” Liz sipped her tea, struggling to keep her lips even.
Peggy spread her fingers out, fan shaped, against her breastbone. “I’m sure it’s not so serious as all that. But I don’t have much to offer a man, except I can bake something fierce. It would be nice if he would . . .” Peggy trailed off, her thoughts on what she wanted out of Mr. Pike remaining unknown.
Trying to change the mood, Liz asked, “So what happened to the kitten?”
Peggy waited a beat. “I expect nothing. Cats roam wild all over this county.”
“That’s a shame. A kitten would make a lovely companion,” Liz said evenly. “And keep the kitchen and storerooms free of mice.”
The cook nodded. “That’s what I think, too. But some”—she glared at Mr. Todd at the head of the table—“don’t feel that way. ‘No person in the service of the duke shall condescend to own a pet.’” Her impression of the steward was high-pitched and stilted, far from true, but Liz understood who she meant nonetheless.