The Sweetest Touch

by Marie Higgins

  Gasps exploded around the room, especially from Mrs. Smythe. Louisa had actually spoken in French…hadn’t she? Yes, she had!

  Snapping her mouth closed, she glanced around at the other servants who looked at her with wide, questioning eyes. Heat crept up her face and she knew some of them had understood her words. She’d actually called the cook an insipid fop. Oh, the humiliation...

  “Land sakes, my dear, you spoke French.” Pure wonder shown in Mrs. Smythe’s eyes.

  “I know.” Louisa hiccupped a laugh. “And what’s even stranger is that I know what I said.” She met Francois’s accusing glare. She was not about to apologize, either.

  “I’m now wondering if you worked for someone who spoke that language,” the housekeeper added.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Smythe. But it does have logic. Perhaps that is how I was able to learn it.”

  The tense moment passed slowly, but soon the others had returned to their duties. Mrs. Beauchamp took over instructing Louisa after Mrs. Smythe left. The French woman appeared to be in her early forties, still quite lovely with a buoyant personality. Louisa warmed up to this lady quickly, which was good since the others seemed to shoot daggers at her. Especially Francois.

  She listened closely to what Mrs. Beauchamp taught her, but nothing made sense. It was as if she couldn’t fit the pieces of the puzzle together. The names of the spices confused her even though she tried to memorize their names and what they were used for. And why was it so important to take out the eggshell pieces that fell into the bowl when cracking eggs? Another thing that didn’t make sense was why the dry ingredients had to be separate from the liquids? They would eventually go into the same bowl when they were done.

  Through her hazy memory, she tried to recall everything as she helped prepare His Grace’s dinner. Time passed quickly, and soon the meal was ready. As she waited to hear the butler announce the duke’s meal, Louisa causally leaned against the table, knocking her elbow against a pan. The object fell to the floor with a roaring crash, and whatever was inside glided quickly across the floor as if in a race to reach the stove.

  A kitchen helper walked by and slipped on the gooey substance. Down she went, whacking her bottom on the hard floor. By now, several others had rushed over to see what the commotion was all about. When Francois bent and touched the thick liquid, he rattled off curses in French that would make an intoxicated man high on spirits blush, and then the chef issued commands as if they were all in the military instead of the kitchen.

  With dishcloths in hand, everyone scrambled to clean up the mess—after slipping several times on the slick floor, of course.

  Mrs. Beauchamp threw Louisa an accusing glare before switching her attention back to the task. She grabbed a hand-towel and moved to help, but Francois looked directly at her and shook his head. Embarrassed, Louisa stepped back to the corner of the room by the door, her heart wrenching with disappointment.

  “Mademoiselle, do not come closer. Ve vill clean zis up without yur help.”

  Ashamed, Louisa nodded. From out in the hall, the butler’s call announcing dinner echoed. Nervously, she nibbled on her fingernails, moving her gaze from one servant to the next. Who was going to serve?

  In a flash, she knew…as if she’d always known. The footman served. So where was he? And why wasn’t he doing his duty?

  She finally spotted him on the floor arguing with Francois. If she tried to interrupt, she was certain they’d both yell at her. At this point, she didn’t think she’d be able to handle such verbal abuse.

  There was no other choice. She must serve His Grace. Excitement welled inside her as she picked up the tray of food. She anticipated him gazing at her with those smoldering eyes while he praised her for a job well done…as long as she didn’t tell him about the mess she’d just made in the kitchen. That would decidedly deflate her enthusiasm.

  She thought about the conversation she’d overheard the other day between him and Mrs. Jacobs. Although she wasn’t one to listen to other conversations, his voice had raised so loud she couldn’t help but eavesdrop. She’d cracked the door open just enough to watch. Whatever Mrs. Jacobs had done left him in a fit of anger. After he’d walked by Louisa’s room, her heart broke for him, wishing there was something she could do to soften his mood. Since she was still new at his household, she didn’t dare ask too many questions. But the suspense nearly killed her.

  Louisa wanted so badly to impress the duke. He’d done so much for her and she didn’t know how to repay him.

  When she stepped into the dining room and saw him, her heart dropped. His wide, strong shoulders sagged as he stared with empty eyes at the green leaves of the centerpiece. She’d do anything to change his expression to a happy one.

  She stopped by his side and he raised his gaze to her. She curtsied. “Your Grace.”

  His eyes widened as she set the bowl of soup in front of him.

  “Louisa? Where is my footman, Mr. Stevens?”

  “Well…you see, Your Grace…there was a disturbance in the kitchen, and Mr. Stevens started arguing with Francois. I did not dare interrupt.” She shrugged. “I knew your meal needed to be served quickly and so I took on the responsibility myself. You don’t mind, do you?”

  He gave her a small smile, which lightened her mood considerably.

  “Louisa, I must say, you have taken well to this position. I’m impressed you acted so hastily, and I commend you for that.” He dipped his spoon in the bowl and brought the liquid to his mouth.

  It surprised her that she had thought of that as well. Now she really believed she’d been a servant in a place such as this. How else would she know such things? “Thank you, sir. It is my wish to please you—as well as the others.”

  “I’m quite certain you will.” He set the spoon down. “Might I inquire about the other day?” he said softer.

  “About what, sir?”

  “When you overheard me talking to Mrs. Jacobs in the hallway.”

  Heat rose to Louisa’s cheeks and she glanced at the white tablecloth covering the table. “I fear, Your Grace, I didn’t hear much, and what I did hear I could not understand.”

  “Which is how I would like it to be,” he said with a hint of sternness to his voice as he leaned closer. “Just know I am a man who does not tolerate gossip.”

  “And you should not have to, sir. Gossip is a vile tool, only meant to harm people.”

  He smiled and lifted the spoon to his mouth again. “Indeed.”

  She curtsied again, and left his side. She ought not to converse with him while he ate, even though it still bothered her because she didn’t understand what gossip had so upset him with the children’s nursemaid.

  Just as she reached the doorway, he choked. Swinging around, she gasped, wondering if she should go assist him. He lifted his glass of wine and practically gulped it. On instinct, she hurried back to his side.

  “Your Grace? Is something amiss?”

  His eyes watered as he took another drink before setting his glass down. “It’s the soup. There’s something...wrong.”

  Worry climbed through her, tightening her chest. I helped make the soup. “What is it?”

  “Something does not taste right.” He dipped his spoon in it then placed it in his mouth. Once more he choked and quickly lifted the drink. Flipping his hand, he motioned for her to take it away.

  She did; her heart sinking as she carried it back to the kitchen. What had she done? She was almost certain this disaster was her doing as well.

  The kitchen help still scrambled about trying to clean the floor. She stepped as carefully as she could and retrieved the next plate then carried it back into the duke who watched her through hooded eyes. He knows this is my fault. “Here is your next course.”

  “Thank you, Louisa.”

  This time, she stepped slowly back toward the door as he cut into his venison dipped heavily in creamy sauce...which she made. She held her breath, watching him. After a couple of chews, she thought it safe
to exhale, but then he gagged and spit out the food onto his plate.

  “Good heavens, what is this? Did nobody taste this in the kitchen before serving me?”

  Tears stinging her eyes, she hurried back to him. “Is there something wrong, Your Grace?”

  He cut another piece of meat and sniffed it. “This tastes horrid.” He held up his fork to her. “Take a bite and see.”

  Nodding, she slowly leaned in and opened her mouth. He slid the piece of meat in and she bit down. A strong taste coated her tongue, and she knew what she’d done wrong. It served her right for not remembering which herb to use when most of them looked alike. Tears slid down her cheeks as she forced herself to eat. It was the least she could do for ruining his meal.

  “Really, Louisa. You don’t have to eat it.”

  He held up his linen napkin, which she gratefully took and spit out the food. After wiping her mouth, she shook her head, her tears falling faster. “You don’t understand, Your Grace. I was the one who helped make this. Clearly, I didn’t know what I was doing.” She ended with a sob and covered her face with her hands. Wasn’t it bad enough she didn’t have a memory, and now...she made someone sick from her own cooking!

  He stood. Warmth melded into her as two strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her next to his hard body. The feeling was foreign, yet she enjoyed it and wanted more. Turning her head, she snuggled against his chest, taking the comfort he offered. His scent of spice enveloped her and she breathed slowly, deeply, taking it all in. She could close her eyes and stay this way forever.

  Forever ended abruptly when he stiffened then jerked away from her as if she were hot coals. She met his angry eyes and swallowed hard. What have I done now?

  As she searched his expression, it looked as if he struggled with an inner demon himself. At first he appeared angry, but within seconds confusion creased his face just before he gave her a smile—one that looked entirely too forced.

  “No need to fret, Louisa. Clearly your talent does not lie in the kitchen. I shall have Mrs. Smythe find another place for you on the morrow.”

  Nodding, Louisa wiped the moisture under her eyes. “Your Grace, you are too forgiving.”

  He chuckled and returned to his seat. “Now, if you will, please send Mrs. Beauchamp in here so I can have my chef fix me something else.”

  “As you wish.” She curtsied and hurried into the kitchen. By this time the mess had been cleared. As she explained what happened, a few of the others snickered behind their hands, and Francois’s higher than thou attitude grated on her nerves. At least she wouldn’t have to work with them after this.

  Sadly, Louisa walked toward her new bedroom. Earlier, Mrs. Smythe had shown her the servants’ quarters, which was where Louisa would be living. They were not as large or as decorated as the guest room, but she still considered herself most fortunate to be here in the first place.

  From the end of the hall, giggling erupted. She stopped, not thinking she’d heard right, but then two voices whispered through the stillness from behind a closed door. Louisa crept closer to the sound, realizing it was children’s voices coming from within the linen closet. Cautiously, she pulled the door open. Two sets of eyes, almost identical, stared up at her. A little boy and girl—twins—cuddled together on the floor. The little boy lifted a finger to his lips as to shush her.

  Louisa glanced up and down the hall then crouched to their level. “Whom are you hiding from?” she whispered.

  “Mrs. Jacobs,” he answered.

  “Are you Adam?” She looked at the girl. “And Amanda?”

  They nodded their curly honey-blonde heads. Such beautiful children. “All right, I shall not tell.” She glanced up the hallway again then back to them before winking. “If you need me, I shall be right over there.” She pointed to her door.

  Adam nodded and shut the door even before Louisa could move. Walking back to her room, she chuckled. As she opened the door, the sound of booming footfalls jerked her around. Mrs. Jacobs wore a stern expression as her tree-trunk shaped legs carried her large body toward the linen closet. By the look on the older woman’s face, Louisa could tell the twins were going to get a scolding soon.

  The nurse yanked open the door and grabbed the boy and girl by the arm, whipping them out of the closet. Amanda sobbed and tried to pull away. Adam struggled and kicked, which only succeeded in making Mrs. Jacobs more upset.

  “Hold still, will you.” The nurse growled and pulled Adam’s arm harder. “You little twit, listen to me,” she snapped.

  When Amanda cried out, Mrs. Jacobs smacked the girls’ face. Something fierce snapped inside Louisa and she flew from her room and ran toward the three. She pushed the nurse away from the sobbing children and folded them both in her arms. “How dare you raise your hand to her?” Louisa glared. “They were doing nothing wrong but playing a game.”

  Mrs. Jacobs folded her arms smartly across her chest. “They were hiding because it’s their dinner time, and they always resist when I try to feed them. They complain that they do not like the food.”

  Louisa glanced at the two in her arms, their faces streaked with tears. She stroked each head and held them against her bosom. “They are just children, for heaven’s sake. They are going to be picky eaters.”

  Mrs. Jacobs arched an eyebrow. “Do you think you can do any better? I heard you could not even help with His Grace’s dinner tonight. What use are you if you can’t even perform household duties correctly?”

  Anger shot through Louisa and she pierced the older woman with her stare. “This is not about me, but these two darling children.”

  “Listen, little missy, if you do not keep your nose out of my affairs, his lordship will hear about this.”

  Louisa lifted her chin stubbornly. “I hope he does because I have something to tell him about the way you are punishing his children.”

  “He doesn’t care a fig about his children.”

  Blinking in unbelief, Louisa shook her head. “Would you care to wager your career on that?”

  Defeat made Mrs. Jacob’s shoulders sag. She shook her head. “As you wish, I will not say a thing.” She held out her hands for the children to take, which they didn’t. “Come along children. If you are good, I shall have Cook fix you some pudding.”

  They both looked up at Louisa with questioning eyes. She smiled and motioned her head for them to go with their nurse. Hesitantly, they took Mrs. Jacobs’ hands and walked down the hall with her.

  Louisa growled as she marched back to her room. She should inform his lordship of the treatment the woman showed his children. It was uncalled for. No wonder those poor things were scared.

  From out of nowhere, a sense of dread grew heavy inside her...as if she’d experienced those frightened feelings before. Without a doubt, Louisa knew what Adam and Amanda were feeling—what fear clawed through their hearts, freezing their limbs. And especially the sadness of knowing there wasn’t anything to be done but return to the person who caused all the terror.

  Shadowy scenes rushed through her head. She was young. Frightened. Her body weak. A large man stood above her, holding a whip. He threatened to beat her if she didn’t do as he said.

  Tears pricked her eyes and she sank on her bed. Was she remembering something about her past? If this was indeed part of her memory, she had no wish to bring it back.

  Chapter Five

  At two o’clock in the afternoon, Trevor poured himself a drink. Still too early to drink spirits, he knew his nerves needed the company only port would provide. Especially since his brother Trey and their mutual friend Lord Hawthorne would be joining him shortly for a ride around the estate.

  Trevor rolled his eyes. Somehow his brother had gotten it into his head that Trevor needed male companionship. What he needed was peace and serenity. More than that, he needed people to stop pitying him.

  Gossipmongers still circulated stories about Gwen’s affairs. Trevor had heard people whispering when they thought he wasn’t there. Thankfully, thoug
h, there had been no gossip about the twins. He might doubt who sired them, but he didn’t need society following him around to discover the answer.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  Trevor turned his attention to the door. Hobbs stood with a solemn expression—as always—and without a wrinkle in his uniform. “What it is, Hobbs? Have my guests arrived?”

  “Yes, sir. They are waiting in the drawing room.”

  “Splendid.” He swallowed the last of his drink, placed it on the liquor tray, and strode out of the room. Perhaps visiting with his brother and Hawthorne would lift his spirits...more than the alcohol.

  When Trevor entered the drawing room, both Trey and Hawthorne stood waiting for him, dressed in their riding clothes. Trey chose darker colors while Hawthorne wore lighter. Trevor wanted to chuckle since the two men were usually so much alike in their tastes.

  “Good afternoon, Trey. Hawthorne.” Trevor bowed to both men and they returned the greeting. “Are you ready to ride?”

  “Indeed I am,” Hawthorne began, “but before we go, will you tell me who that charming creature is.” He pointed out the window. “I confess I do not usually converse much with servants, but she looks familiar.”

  Trevor moved to the window that looked out over the flower garden. Louisa stood with Mrs. Fitzwilliam as they plucked dead leaves from the bushes. “That is my newest servant, Louisa.”

  Trey rushed between them, peering out. “Is that the vagabond Mother told me about the other day?”

  Leave it to Mother… Trevor wondered what part of don’t tell anyone his mother didn’t understand when they had discussed this subject. “I know not what she told you,” Trevor replied, “but she is the girl I nearly killed when my vehicle hit her.” He prayed Louisa wouldn’t turn toward the house and witness the three of them gawking like spectators watching a horse race.

  Hawthorne shook his head while rubbing his chin. “I swear to you she looks familiar, but I cannot decide where I have seen her before.”