Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re doing it again,” Ambrose said.
White’s was nearly empty the following afternoon, most members either attending to business or sleeping off the previous night’s excesses at such an hour.
Morgan sat in a leather chair near the window, a glass of port untouched on the table beside him, staring out at St. James’s Street but not really seeing it.
He blinked at Ambrose. “Doing what exactly?”
“That thing where you pretend to be present in a conversation while your mind is clearly elsewhere.” Ambrose settled into the chair opposite, his own glass in hand. “You’ve been doing it for weeks now. It’s rather concerning.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re many things, Morgan, but fine is not currently one of them.” Ambrose took a sip of his port, studying his friend over the rim of the glass. “You haven’t cracked a single joke since we sat down. What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing too troubling. Parliamentary matters. Tenant issues. The usual.”
“Liar.”
Morgan shot him a look. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. You may have a silver tongue, but you can’t deceive me.” Ambrose leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “So, let’s dispense with the pleasantries. What’s the matter?”
For a long moment, Morgan said nothing. Around them, the club was quiet save for the ticking of a clock in the corner and the occasional rustle of a newspaper from one of the other members smoking a fat cigar.
“I kissed her,” Morgan said finally, his voice uncharacteristically low.
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Lady Tayham? I thought you were avoiding that particular—”
“Not Lady Tayham.” Morgan ran a hand through his hair, and he lowered his voice even more to make sure no one else heard. “Miss Graham… Ellie. I kissed her, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Silence swallowed him like a snake. He thought telling his best friend would help, but all he felt was more hopeless. Morgan risked a glance at Ambrose, expecting judgment and disapproval.
Instead, his friend simply looked thoughtful and nodded. “I see,” Ambrose said slowly. “And… it was only a kiss?”
“Yes.” Morgan’s throat tightened at the memory of her soft, sweet lips. “Reality reasserted itself, as it always does, before it could… escalate. We both came to our senses.”
“You apologized, I assume?”
“Immediately.”
“And she accepted?”
“She did. We agreed to forget it ever happened,” Morgan laughed bitterly.
“Except I can’t. Every time I see her, every time I hear her voice in the hallway, every time I catch even the faintest trace of her in a room, her scent, her…
” He broke off, shaking his head. “I’m losing my bloody mind, Ambrose.
This is not like me. I’m over my head… I… ”
Ambrose sighed, setting down his glass. “Morgan. You’re my closest friend, and I say this with all the affection our friendship deserves. This is a terrible idea. You’ve had dalliances in the past, but this is…”
“I know.”
“She’s your employee. A member of your household staff. The power dynamic alone makes any kind of entanglement deeply problematic. Unfair to her in particular…”
“I know.”
“Not to mention the scandal if word got out. A duke involved with his maid? The ton would have a field day.”
“I know, Ambrose.” Morgan’s voice was sharper than he intended. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm. “Believe me, I’ve thought of all of this. I’ve listed every reason why pursuing anything with her would be disastrous. I’ve tried to put it out of my mind. And yet…”
“And yet, she’s all you can think about.”
Morgan met his friend’s eyes. “Yes,” he growled.
Ambrose studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, surprisingly, he smiled, a small, sympathetic thing from a stoic man.
“I remember that feeling,” he said quietly.
“With Imogen, before we married. Every rational thought told me I was making a mistake. That a marriage based on a business arrangement would never work. That I was too damaged, too closed off, too…” He shook his head.
“But none of it mattered. She was all I could think about. You were the one who helped me realize that.”
“This is different,” Morgan said. “Yes, Imogen worked for you as well, initially, but we learned that she is a peer, after all. This is…”
“A woman you care about,” Ambrose finished. “Who happens to work in your household.”
Morgan slumped back in his chair. “What do I do?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Ambrose picked up his glass again.
“My advice, for whatever it’s worth, is to simply tread carefully.
Don’t do anything that might compromise her position.
If your, erm, feelings persist, perhaps consider finding her employment elsewhere.
Somewhere she’d be safe and well compensated, but removed from… temptation.”
The thought of Ellie leaving, of never seeing her again, sent a sharp pang through Morgan’s chest. Which was, he supposed, answer enough.
He is right.
“You’re right,” he said aloud finally. “Of course you’re right. I’ll… I’ll figure something out. Find her a position with a respectable family. Somewhere far from London.”
Even as he said it, the words felt hollow.
Ambrose regarded him with something that looked like pity. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I wish I had better advice, but it is for the best.”
“Don’t be. This is my own fault.” Morgan finally reached for his port, downing half of it in one swallow. “I know better. I should have maintained proper boundaries from the start.”
“You’re human. We all make mistakes.”
Morgan finished the port and signaled for another. “Then let’s drink to mistakes. God knows I’ve made enough of them lately.”
Eliza had taken to spending her evenings in the kitchen after the rest of the staff retired. It was quiet there, peaceful, and most importantly was unlikely to result in any awkward encounters with the Duke.
She sat at the large wooden table, a single candle providing just enough light to read by. The book was one she’d found in the library; the Duke had told all the staff they were welcome to borrow from it, though she suspected she was the only one who took him up on the offer.
“Pride and Prejudice,” she read the title out loud.
She’d read it before, in her old life, but it felt different now. Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s struggle against social expectations, her refusal to marry for anything but love… It made Eliza forget about her life, her grief, her secrets—and a certain auburn-haired duke.
Just as Miss Elizabeth Bennet was going to Pemberley, a crash from the front of the house made Eliza jump.
Then voices. Both male.
Eliza set down her book and hurried toward the entrance hall, her heart pounding.
She stopped short at the sight before her.
The Duke was leaning heavily against a hackney driver, one arm slung around the man’s shoulders, grinning like a fool. His coat was askew, his cravat hanging loose, and his normally immaculate hair was thoroughly disheveled.
He was, quite obviously, spectacularly drunk.
“Easy there, Your Grace,” the driver said, struggling to keep Morgan upright. “Just need to get ye inside, then I’ll be on me way.”
Morgan cleared his throat. “You’re a good man, sir. The best hackney driver in all of London.”
“Right ye are, sir! Now if ye could just walk…”
“Ellie!”
Eliza froze. Morgan had spotted her, and his face lit up like she was a summer’s day.
“Seems I have been caught in a rather embarrassing position.”
Oh no.
“Your Grace,” Eliza said quickly, hurrying forward. “Please. Let me help.”
She took his other arm, and between her and the driver, they managed to get him fully inside. The Duke was heavy, all broad muscle, long legs and dead weight, but she braced herself and held on.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked the driver.
“Two shillings, miss.”
“Your Grace, where do you keep your money?”
“Yes, right away.” He patted at his coat pockets with his free hand, frowning in concentration. “Left side. Inside pocket. No, wait. Right side. Or… is it the inside of the left on the right side? One can hardly remember such things… so many pockets!”
Eliza bit back a smile despite herself. She reached carefully into his coat, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of him as she felt around, the solid feel of his chest beneath the fabric, and found a small leather purse. She extracted two shillings and handed them to the driver.
“Thank you for bringing him home safely,” She told the hackney driver and pushed several extra coins into his palm. “His Grace greatly appreciates your services… and your discretion.”
It was a bit bold of her to take such initiative, but surely the Duke wouldn’t miss a few coins from his fortune.
The man’s face lit up when he saw the complete amount in his hand, then he quickly nodded. “My pleasure, miss. I won’t say a word. Though I’d recommend getting some coffee into him before he tries the stairs.”
“I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.”
The driver tipped his hat and departed. Eliza closed the door and turned back to the drunk Duke, who was now leaning against the wall, watching her with a soft, slightly unfocused smile.
“’Has anyone ever told you that you have the most dazzling pair of eyes?” he said.
Eliza’s cheeks heated at his words. “Your Grace, you’re drunk.”
“I’m very drunk,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Ambrose said I had too much brandy. But he’s wrong. There’s no such thing as too much brandy when you’re trying to forget…” He hiccupped again. “Pardon me. When you’re trying to forget beautiful maids with secrets.”
Eliza felt a hot flush spread across her cheeks, but she shook it away.
“We need to get you upstairs,” she said, her voice strangled.
“Do we have to? I’d much rather stay in your company. You’re quite fascinating, you know.”
“’You flatter me, Your Grace, but it’d be best if we got you upstairs. Come on. Up we go.”
She got her shoulder under his arm again and began guiding him toward the staircase. He came willingly enough, though his feet didn’t seem to be entirely under his control.