Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tomorrow had arrived.
The highly anticipated day when she would take charge of her life and not let herself get bogged down by the past. It was here, and there was no question of wasting time away in her chambers.
Rachel had awoken this morning with a plan.
She descended the stairs of the estate and decided that she was going to go meet the staff. It was morning, so she figured that most of them would be found in the kitchen.
But the moment she entered the kitchen, all attention shifted immediately to her. Curious and concerned faces of the staff stared back at her, as though she had somehow lost her way. She heard a few whispers.
“The duchess is here.”
“Quick, stop what you are doing.”
“Stand straighter.”
“Hush.”
Sure, it was not usual for a duchess—or any lady for that matter—to wander over to the kitchen or even be seen near it, so she could understand their surprise. But she wanted to engage with them directly—without calling for them.
At least it is not the attic, she thought to herself before announcing her arrival.
“Good morning,” Rachel said brightly. “I hope that all has been going well this morning.”
The head cook, a stout woman with a no-nonsense expression, stepped forward and dipped into a curtsy.
“Your Grace.”
The other staff murmured polite greetings, each offering curtsies of their own.
Rachel offered a warm smile, trying her best to seem as approachable as possible.
She had decided that was the sort of duchess she wished to be. One who was warm and inspired confidence instead of fear.
“I really hope that I am not intruding,” she said, smiling still. “I do not wish to, anyway. I came here to see if all is well in the kitchen, and perhaps even offer some of my own assistance.”
The cook’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with one of the younger maids.
“Your Grace, everything is perfectly in order. You did not have to trouble yourself by making the journey down here.”
“Oh, it is not trouble at all,” Rachel nodded.
“Shall I have one of the staff escort you to the dining area?” the cook said, hesitantly.
“Oh, no. I… well,” Rachel bit down on her lip. “I’ve always thought the kitchen is the heart of a home. If I am to truly understand Everly Manor, then surely, I should begin here.”
The younger maid looked up from slicing vegetables, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“But… why would a duchess need to understand the kitchen?”
The cook shot the maid a sharp look. “Hush.”
“No, no, let her ask,” Rachel encouraged. “It is only natural, and I will address her curiosity. I wish to understand, as this is my home now, and I want to do more than simply live here. I want to make it better.”
Rachel wanted to convey that she meant no harm by intruding upon their space. If anything, she only wished for things to run as smoothly as they possibly could.
Slowly, she began to notice that the tension in the room was easing.
“Will you show me?” she said, smiling again.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
As the cook gestured her toward the pantry, Rachel began asking questions about the menu and their schedules. It took them a while, but Rachel could see their surprise giving way to curiosity. She hoped to transform it into acceptance soon.
“I have to say, Your Grace,” the head cook said to her as she concluded her little tour, “none of us expected to greet you formally for the first time in this manner.”
Rachel smiled to herself. “I suppose I have been told before that I have my own way of doing things.”
Her day was off to a good start. Now, she just had to keep the momentum going. So, she did the same, going to the staff while they were performing their duties. Their reactions were all the same. Surprised, then curious, and then finally accepting.
It was much later when she found herself in the gardens—speaking with the head gardener, Mr. Weston, about the estate’s grounds—that she stumbled on more information that she had not even been looking for.
The older man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, “Your Grace, the gardens are in good shape. The duke likes them kept neat and functional. No frivolities,” he noted.
That sounded like the duke. All the practicalities.
“A garden is meant to bring beauty and joy, Mr. Weston,” she answered instead. “What is so frivolous about a weed or a flower that is not meant to be where it ought? They are all a part of nature—each equally beautiful.”
Weston hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “The duke doesn’t care much for beauty, Your Grace…” he noted, and then, as if he had misspoke, he added hastily, “At least, not in the garden.”
Rachel tilted her head, curious. “And yet he keeps the grounds so well-tended. That speaks of care, doesn’t it?”
Weston’s lips twitched, “The duke’s a practical man, Your Grace. Everything he does has a purpose. So everything that happens in the estate must have a purpose, too.”
That sounded exhausting to think about, but Rachel had found an unexpected window of information about her husband, and she was not about to turn down the opportunity. Mr. Weston seemed more than willing to speak candidly—or at least as candidly as it could get between them—than the other servants.
“And what about the tenants?” Rachel pressed. “How do they feel about him?”
Weston’s gaze flicked toward the manor before returning to her.
”They respect him. He’s fair, but he doesn’t tolerate nonsense. When he inherited the title, some doubted him—said he was too distant a relation to understand the estate—but he proved them wrong.”
Rachel paused. Now this was something she had never heard before. “Distant relation?”
Mr. Weston nodded. “The duke wasn’t raised here. He’s not the son of the previous duke—he’s from another branch of the family.”
Rachel’s brows furrowed. “I see. And… he has no other family?”
Weston hesitated, clearly debating how much he should say. “Only Lady Jean, his aunt. She comes by every so often, but she keeps to herself.”
“Does she?” Rachel asked, intrigued. “And was she raised here, like the late duke?”
Weston shook his head. “No, Your Grace. I don’t know much about her past, but she’s the only family His Grace seems close to—not that he’s one to talk about such things.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Weston,” she said as a concluding note.
It had been illuminating, to say the least. But she did not say that part out loud.
The little she had gotten to know about the duke had only piqued her curiosity even more. If only it were possible to know everything about him, all without having to ask him directly.
It was a good idea, wasn’t it? It was hard to maintain her composure in his presence, and this seemed like the next best thing. This way, she could prepare herself for any conversations that she would have with him in the future.
So, in the evening, when Rachel ventured into the laundry room, she knew exactly who she was looking for.
Agnes, one of the older staff members, like Mr. Weston. Perhaps she would have some insights for Rachel as well. She found her folding linens.
“Good evening, Agnes,” Rachel said warmly, stepping inside.
“Your Grace,” she straightened immediately at her arrival.
Rachel gestured to the linens. “Please, don’t stop on my account. I only came to see how things are done. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all, Your Grace,” Agnes said quickly, returning to her task.
Rachel watched her for a moment before speaking. “The staff here is remarkable. I can see why the estate runs so well.”
Agnes smiled faintly. “Thank you, Your Grace. It’s His Grace who sets the standard.”
Great. Agnes had already arrived at the topic that Rachel had come to discuss without her even prodding.
“The staff seem to respect him a great deal,” she started, careful with her phrasing, “but I get the sense that they’re also… wary of him. Why do you think that is?”
Agnes paused, her hands stilling over a shirt.
“I thought you would know, of course, given your years of experience with the estate’s affairs,” Rachel applied her well-used trick. Flatter the person from whom she wished to get information.
Though in this case—unlike the ladies of the ton—Rachel did actually want the best for Agnes as well as the rest of the staff.
“The duke is a man of rules,” she said carefully. “He’s strict but fair. He doesn’t suffer from laziness or carelessness. And he’s not one for… familiarity or repetition. So everything—every morning—must be fresh and new.”
Rachel frowned. What was so wrong with familiarity?
“And that makes people wary of him?”
Agnes hesitated. “It’s not just that, Your Grace. You must have heard about his personality. I would say that his reserved nature, well, it makes him rather… difficult to approach.”
Rachel’s curiosity deepened. Agnes looked like a trustworthy old lady, and of course, she was loyal to the duke. It would not hurt to probe further.
”And he wasn’t born the duke, was he? As he inherited the title from a distant relative.”
Agnes nodded, her expression guarded. “That’s right. The late duke had no heirs, so the title passed to His Grace. He was the only male relative left, though quite distant.”
Rachel leaned forward slightly. “Did he grow up here?”
“No, Your Grace,” Agnes replied. “He came here after the late duke passed. He rarely speaks of his life before Everly Manor, but he’s done well by the estate.” She hesitated again, then added, “Even if he’s not… like the other dukes before him.”
Rachel’s brow furrowed. “How so?”
Agnes pursed her lips, hesitating again.
“Go on,” Rachel encouraged. “You can trust me.”
Agnes nodded slowly.
“Well, you see, the others were gentlemen of society, Your Grace. They hosted grand parties, mingled with the ton. His Grace does not bother with any of that.”
Rachel knew that about him already—he was quite infamous for it—but she had never connected it to him having a different upbringing.