Chapter 20
Twenty
“Your Grace! Your Grace!” The cook’s voice was shrill and breathless as it rang out through the halls.
Warner frowned at the woman and at the housekeeper who was following in the cook’s footsteps. In the near decade since he had hired the cook, he could not recall seeing her more than a handful of times.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Streatley, was giving the cook a disapproving look. “My apologies Your Grace, I told Mrs. Green that you were not to be disturbed but —”
“The Duchess!” Mrs. Green interjected wringing her hands, eyes wide.
“What about her? Is she hurt?” Warner was on his feet, striding towards the two women in an instant.
“She is in the kitchens,” Mrs. Green explained.
He arched an eyebrow at her, doing his best to keep his irritation from his face as his heart settled back into a more normal rhythm. “That is not terribly unusual, Mrs. Green. I myself have been known to frequent the kitchen. After all, that is why you had to start hiding the cake.”
“But —” Mrs. Green began, but Warner interjected.
“Mrs. Green. She is the Duchess, and it is her right to go where she wishes. I will not have you disrespect her; do I make myself clear?”
“She is cooking Your Grace! She has chased my girls out and refused to let me do it!” Mrs. Green wrung her hands. “It is not proper. A lady like her should not be doing such things. And there is all manner of harm that could befall her in the kitchen. The knives and the hot water…”
Of course, she is — I should have known better than to expect her not to cause trouble. “I will see to this.” Warner strode from the room and down the stairs, the two servants following along behind him.
The smell of burning greeted him as he walked down the hallway towards kitchen followed by the sound of cursing and something breaking.
“Wait here,” Warner instructed his housekeeper and the cook.
“Of course, Your Grace,” they chorused.
What the devil has the woman got herself into this time? Warner strode into the kitchen and looked around, spotting purple liquid on the floor and shattered China.
“Are you trying to burn the place down?” Warner fanned away some of the smoke as he turned to face Adele. “You have the cook and half the house in an uproar.”
Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she clutched her hand to her chest. “I was trying to do something nice. Mrs. Green told me that blackberry pie was your favourite, and she made it sound so simple, and I thought I could do it — after all, I have cooked a little before. And surely a pie could not be that hard? Now I have ruined everything, and no doubt the staff will all hate me, and I just wanted to make you something that would make you smile. And dash it all, I cannot even do that right.”
That would make you smile. The words settled into his chest, filling him with an unfamiliar warmth.
“Hush.” He moved towards her and gently brushed a tear from her face. “You have ruined nothing.”
“How can you say that? I have broken a dish, and the pie is basically charcoal. I would not even feed it to a dog!” Adele gestured to the mess on the floor and then winced, hastily drawing her hand back to her chest.
“Both are replaceable. I am far more concerned about you.” His eyes traced her face then the rest of her, searching for any other signs of injury. “Let me see your hand.”
“It is nothing. You need not worry about it. I will clean up this mess, and you can get back to whatever else you were doing. I should not waste any more of your time.” She made to move past him, but he shook his head, gently taking hold of her arms.
He felt her stiffen slightly at his touch and then relax. She looked up at him with her red-rimmed eyes, her hand still clutched to her chest.
“Adele, clearly you are hurt. I am not going to let you injure yourself further cleaning.” He gave her a frank look.
“But I cannot expect the servants to clean up a mess that I made.” She shook her head.
“If you insist on trying to clean, I will pick you up like a sack of potatoes and carry you to my study.” Warner was still holding her arms, his grip gentle — he did not want her to feel trapped, but nor did he want her to move out of his grasp.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her eyes narrowed, but they did not contain her usual fire.
He met her warm gaze with his own, resisting the urge to stroke away the hair that had fallen across her face. “When it comes to your safety, there is little I would not do.”
“But I was being an idiot. An utterly arrogant fool!” She shook her head and stepped away from him, not quite breaking out of his grasp but with enough pressure that he released her.
“No, you were trying to do something kind. Mistakes happen. That is part of life.” He gentled his voice and held out a hand to hers, making it a question. “Please, let me see your hand.”
Adele hesitated a moment and then held her hand out to him. He took it gently in his own, frowning at the burn starting to spread along it. “This is not too bad, but we need to get something on it. Stay there a moment.”
He spotted an aloe vera plant and a knife and cut off one of the spikes, squeezing the liquid onto Adele’s hand. “It will not smell very pleasant, but it will help with the healing and the pain.”
“And I take it this is another leftover from your wilder days?” She arched an eyebrow at him, her eyes still watery.
“It is.” Warner gently dabbed at her hand, letting the aloe vera sink into the burned skin.
“It is hard to imagine you wild. Especially when you seem so intent on following rules,” she murmured, and Warner was impressed that she managed not to yelp in pain as he tended to her wound.
“That is why I follow the rules. They keep me from slipping.” Warner moved away, searching the drawers until he found a clean cloth bandage and wrapped it around Adele’s burn.
“Would it be so bad to slip?” she asked, her voice breathless as Warner’s hand brushed against her skin.
“If you knew what I was like then, you would not ask that.” He chuckled at the spots of colour on her cheeks, even as the memory of whiskey and regret threatened to steal over him. “I was… Well, I doubt you would even recognise me.”
“Then why not tell me?” She bit her bottom lip. “Please? It will distract me from the pain.”
Warner swallowed. He knew he should not, but he found that the last bits of his resistance had crumbled when he had seen the burn on her hand.
“I inherited young. I was only sixteen, and all of a sudden, I was handed a duchy. My mother… She was heartbroken at the loss of my father. She was utterly inconsolable for months, and I did not want to add to her pain.” He shrugged.
“But I was angry. No, furious. I was furious that he had died, that the world had taken him from us, and that I was now the man of the house.”
“What did you do?” Adele’s voice held no judgement.
Warner moved away, looking for a bandage in the drawers — the cook always kept a supply of such things on hand in case someone was injured in the kitchen. “I drank so much that the days blurred into one. I gambled. I… well, I did many things I am not particularly proud of.”
“You were a child. Few would handle such a weight well, especially so young and without support.” Her eyes were full of an indignant anger that warred with the gentleness of her voice. “You would hardly be the first man to struggle under such pressure.”
“I am a duke, Adele. That means something. In my fury, I nearly lost everything.” He shook his head.
“I ruined my reputation, and my actions damaged the estate, almost beyond repair. My mother was too caught up in her own grief to see what was happening, but I knew in my heart that what I was doing was wrong. But I could not stop. I wanted to burn and for the world to burn with me. I did not care if I lived or died or what would happen to the estate.”
“What changed?” Adele asked.
“Rothwell.” A lump formed in his throat, and he pushed the memory of his cousin’s dying breaths from his mind. “He found me late one night and brought me home. I thought he would be angry, that he would shout at me and tell me what a disgrace I was.”
“I cannot imagine him doing that.” Adele winced as Warner began to wrap the bandage around her burned hand, trying his best to be gentle.
“He did not. He simply told me that he was disappointed. That he knew I was better than this.” Warner gave her a wan smile.
“He apologised — said that he should have intervened sooner. He helped me get everything back. He saved me. And since that day… Well, I have tried to stay on the path he put me on.”
“It sounds like he cared for you a great deal.” Her fingers brushed against his knuckles. “It is good that you had someone who could look out for you like that.”
“It is why I value rules. They ground me. They remind me of the path he wanted for me. The path that I must uphold.” He met her gaze.
“But what about the path you want?”
“Duty, Adele — that has to come first.”
“Is it not possible to have both?”
“Your Grace? Is everything all right?” Mrs. Streatley’s voice tore through the moment, and Warner turned to see her standing by the door. “Do you need me to send for a physician?”
Adele stiffened beside him, and he moved in front of her, blocking his wife from view. He saw Mrs. Streatley and Mrs. Green waiting by the door of the kitchen.
“That will not be necessary, Mrs. Streatley,” Warner replied. “I have seen to the Duchess’s injury.”
“I see.” Mrs. Streatley looked from Warner to the cook and back to Warner, a tentative expression on her face. “You will forgive my impertinence Your Grace, but might I suggest that the Duchess would be best looked after in the drawing room? Mrs. Green is anxious to get dinner underway.”
“Your concern is noted, Mrs. Streatley. Having spoken to the Duchess, she has made me aware of how kindly the staff have treated her since her arrival and how much she wished to show all of you her thanks. As such, we have decided that the cooking staff are to be given the rest of the day off.”
“But dinner —” Mrs. Green began, but Warner cut her off. “— is no longer your concern.”
Mrs. Green looked as though she was about to argue but managed to stop herself under Warner’s cool gaze. Mrs. Streatley gently took Mrs. Green by the arm and pulled her into a curtsey.
“That is very kind your Graces.” Mrs. Streatley spoke before Mrs. Green could say anything. “I shall see that the other kitchen staff are told of this.”
To her credit, Mrs. Streatley hid her surprise well; it was only betrayed by the slightest shift of her eyebrows. She inclined her head once more. She tugged Mrs. Green from the room before the other woman could say another word.
Warner turned to find Adele looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. “Why did you do that?”
“Because you may have upset Mrs. Green, but your heart was in the right place. This way, your generosity will be what they remember.” He shrugged.
“Thank you.” Adele squeezed her hand in his, giving him a shy smile.
“It is my pleasure.” Warner could not help but return her smile.
He watched as Adele flexed her fingers experimentally and then nodded to herself. “I should be able to make the pie filling though you may need to knead the dough.”
“I think I can manage that.” Warner moved to stand beside her. “Just tell me what you need.”
Adele listed off various ingredients, and with some searching, Warner was able to gather them and bring them back to the table — though he could not resist eating a blackberry as he did so which earned him a reproachful smile from Adele.
“There will be nothing left to go in the pie if you keep that up.” She gently batted his hand away as he reached for another.
“I have never been able to resist them. I ruined many a good shirt picking the fruit when I was younger. Well, picking them, eating them, and then wiping my hands on my shirt.” He caught himself about to do that and hastily wiped his fingers on a nearby apron instead.
How long has it been since I picked a blackberry from the bush?
Adele arched an eyebrow at him. “I would have thought Eton taught you better manners than that.”
“Perhaps I missed that lesson.” He shrugged.
She laughed. “Or you were not listening particularly attentively.”
“It is hard to listen when the man lecturing you is about as lively as a corpse.” Warner shuddered, remembering the constant drone of some of his tutors.
“My own governess was not dull, but she seemed more interested in writing letters to her beaus than in teaching me anything.” Adele gave a wry smile. “Even if she seemed to have a new one every week.”
“I am surprised your parents kept her on.” Warner frowned. “Without a proper governess, your future would be at risk.”
“They thought I was lying just for the attention. After all, I nearly always had my nose in a book and seemed to know all manner of things, so clearly the governess could not be that ineffective.” Adele shrugged. “Those books were my escape though I could not very well tell them that.”
“They should have considered your choice of escape fortunate. There are plenty of other things you could have chosen.” Warner swallowed as he remembered his own choices. What would have happened if I had turned to books instead?
“Perhaps.” Adele gave him a small smile. “Though they may not have agreed. I spent many hours trying to tell them about all that I had learned, but they never seemed particularly interested. In the end, I used to arrange my dolls and teddies and teach them things.”
Warner’s heart twisted as he imagined a young Adele, full of vibrant curiosity, lighting up as she tried to tell distant parents of something that had captured her mind’s attention.
It ached when he imagined the dejected look on her face as she had turned away from them, instead comforting herself with the rapt attention of inanimate objects.
“And what things did you teach them?” Warner asked softly, his eyes drawing hers back to him, away from the past.
“Everything,” Adele murmured. “Dressmaking, philosophy, novels, ancient Greek. The silliness of girls who pined for princes when they never even tried to rescue themselves.”
“No, that is what dukes are for,” Warner said without thinking.
Adele canted her head towards him. “I suppose it is.”
Warner felt a rush of warmth spread through him and checked it ruthlessly. He was playing a dangerous game, and he did not want to stop.