Chapter Six
At the servants’ supper in the kitchen, Evie heard about the duke’s appearance and his search for Mrs. Betters. Everyone at the long table was speculating about his reason.
When Harriet entered, the table grew quiet.
Standing at the end of the table, she stated matter-of-factly, “I expect you’re all eager to know what his lordship wanted.
First, I’d like to remind you what I said after the news of the old duke.
Every nob has their own way of doing things.
His Grace reinforced that, noting that his are liable to be less formal than others we’ve worked for, due to his circumstances.
So if you see him in unexpected places or doing unexpected things, do not worry.
Simply do as you always have—ask how you can be of assistance or go about your business. ”
She made eye contact with everyone at the table, waiting for a nod of acknowledgement from each person before moving on. Evie agreed eagerly. This gave her a bit more leeway if she slipped up again in respecting the line between servant and lord.
Harriet continued, “Now, as to what he was looking for, ’twas a list of all everyone he employs in this household—”
A buzz started at the table. Every staff member had been nervous about his perspective on their duties and performance.
The housekeeper held up a hand. “Calm down. I asked him the purpose of such a request, and he indicated it is so that he can learn the names of the people who work for him. No one should be concerned at this time. He seems very genuine, approachable even.”
Hmm. Evie would like to approach him, from the front or the back, and climb him like the tree trunk he resembled.
When the dinner rolls passed across her, she returned to the present and grabbed one, checking her chin for drool.
But of course there was no need to worry, as Cook would take it as a compliment.
The next day, having finished the dusting of her assigned rooms, she was due to start polishing furniture.
Once again, she began in the front parlor, the memory of his gaze on her arse fresh.
When a troupe of horses sounded on the circular drive, she peered around the curtains.
Outriders preceded a carriage which stopped in front of the steps to the large double doors.
Her eyes widened at the crest of the Duke of Cranbrook. There had been no talk of any visitors, much less a duke. Or her great uncle.
She should warn Harriet. But she paused to watch the step being placed after the carriage door opened.
The Duke of Cranbrook exited to reveal a second passenger.
She gasped when his son, her second cousin, the Marquess of Hollibrook, alighted.
Oh my, two dukes and a marquess under a single roof.
Back in London, that would be an enormous coup.
Ton gossip would thrive for days on just what they might be discussing.
Particularly if two of them were family and one was her betrothed.
But alas, she was a maid for the moment.
She peered closer at the men and estimated it had been at least eight years since she’d seen her relatives.
They’d visited Cranbrook, which meant she’d been around twelve, gangly legged and flat-chested.
Hopefully, neither would recognize her after that much time, but her best bet was to stay out of sight.
She could not afford to have her identity exposed; she hadn’t yet had the chance to learn anything beyond the duke’s looks and apparent disdain for neckcloths and jackets.
Besides, her reputation would be in shreds if anyone knew she’d been sleeping in a single man’s house without a chaperone, no matter what her supposed role was.
She rushed out of the parlor, warned the footman by the door, then trotted straight back to the kitchen.
The housekeeper emerged as she neared. Skidding to a stop, Evie heaved a breath and gushed, “The Duke of Cranbrook and the Marquess of Hollibrook are outside. Did no one know of their visit?”
“What?” Harriet whisper-yelled.
“They would never visit without either an invitation or an appropriate notice of their call. Does His Grace not know he needs to warn the household to prepare? Hellfire, what if Cook doesn’t have enough food for an appropriate dinner?” Evie shook her head, agog at the temerity of their employer.
Harriet’s eyes went wide, and she was slow to respond as her gaze slipped to something behind Evie.
She turned, following the housekeeper’s line of sight and gulped.
The wayward duke in question stood there staring at her with an arched brow.
Frustration fought with embarrassment. Only this duke would follow her to the back hall.
Although in fairness, he’d probably seen her run by the library door.
Her face grew hot as she said, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I only meant— Someone of your background— Never mind. You have my apology. We are here to serve you and your guests at your pleasure.”
Now both his brows neared his hairline as he smirked at her. He rumbled in that baritone which never failed to send a shiver down her spine, “How did you know who they were?”
“I spied the crest on the carriage out the front parlor window,” she replied, ignoring the strange look from the housekeeper.
But she could not avoid his next question, which likely mirrored the housekeeper’s confusion. “And you recognize ducal crests?”
“Oh! Uh, some? From the last household I was in,” she fumbled with yet another error. She’d been worried she wouldn’t know how to properly bang rugs out or spill spirits when refilling decanters but never thought her knowledge of the Ton would give her away.
The housekeeper asked, “You said there were two?”
“Yes,” Evie answered with a firm nod.
Harriet turned to her. “Go tell Cook. I’ll have the upstairs staff prepare two guest suites.”
“Mrs. Betters,” the duke’s voice stopped the housekeeper in her tracks, and Evie slowed her trot to a crawl to hear what he’d say next.
“You and the staff have my apologies for not informing you of my guests. I did not pay attention to the date in their letter. I’m sure your best efforts will be excellent. ”
Evie gaped. A duke had apologized to a servant. What would come next? Flying elephants? Him giving them a raise? Maybe even asking for lessons in dukeishness—or was it ducality? She giggled all the way to tell Cook about their honored guests, despite the chef’s fearsome temper.