Chapter Two
‘Please sit.’
Amelie perched on the edge of the chair Lord Beescroft indicated and folded her hands neatly in her lap.
She had been taught never to show agitation; to present a calm demeanour however on edge she felt inside.
Just now, it felt as though she had a thousand bees buzzing away in her stomach, causing all sorts of mischief, but by her serene expression no one would suspect anything was wrong.
‘I understand you have been working as a maid here at Ashmead House for almost a year.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Mrs Potter tells me you are hard-working and responsible.’
Amelie pressed her lips together, unsure how to reply, but the Duke didn’t seem to need an answer from her.
‘I will get straight to the point, Amelie. In one week I plan to journey to Cambridge, where I will rent a cottage for a few months.’
Frowning, Amelie wondered why a man with more than half a dozen properties might decide to rent a cottage when he could stay at one of his perfectly good estates dotted throughout the country.
She would have loved to question him, to find out his motivation, but it was not her place, so instead she kept a mildly interested expression on her face and wondered what any of this had to do with her.
‘Normally Mrs Potter would accompany me on a venture such as this. The cottage will be small and I will not need a full staff, just someone to keep things clean and cook.’
‘But Mrs Potter is unwell,’ Amelie murmured, realisation dawning.
She felt a flicker of panic as she understood what he was about to ask her.
She could not say yes, but he might dismiss her if she refused.
A lump formed in her throat as she remembered the panicked days before she had secured this job, never knowing where she would find the funds needed to feed her family, let alone keep a roof over all their heads.
‘Yes. Mrs Potter is unwell. She has suggested you would be the perfect substitute.’
Amelie swallowed hard, wondering how best to say no to a duke.
‘You will be expected to organise all domestic matters, shop for food and prepare meals alongside the duties you will be more familiar with here. I trust that will not be a problem?’
‘I can cook, Your Grace,’ Amelie said. It was one thing she brought from her old life. Her mother had been a wonderful cook, eager to teach Amelie how to prepare the delicate French pastries and delicious dishes she’d remembered from her own childhood in France.
‘Good. Then it is settled. I will double your wages for the duration of the time we are away. You will have one day off a week and are free to organise your time as you see fit as long as everything is completed.’
‘I am grateful you thought of me, Your Grace,’ Amelie said, pushing on before he could take her opening as acceptance of the role. ‘But unfortunately I cannot be away from London for an extended period of time.’
‘Are you refusing?’ He raised an eyebrow and Amelie could see the surprise on his face. It was clear not many people refused Lord Beescroft. He cleared his throat. ‘There would be no impropriety, on my honour. You would have your own room and complete privacy.’
Amelie’s eyes widened in horror. ‘No, Your Grace. I am not worried about my honour.’ The thought was laughable really. Once, Amelie had been set to make a decent marriage, but now she could not imagine sharing her life with anyone. Rumours could not hurt her.
‘If not your honour, what stops you from accepting the job?’
Swallowing hard, Amelie wondered how much to tell the Duke.
He knew little about her; in fact, she would wager that before their meeting today he would not have been able to pick her out of a line of assembled servants.
Mrs Potter had employed her, and even the kindly housekeeper did not know the full details of Amelie’s circumstances.
‘I have responsibilities here in London. I cannot abandon them for months at a time.’
The Duke’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. ‘A child?’
Amelie shook her head hurriedly. He would want no hint of scandal associated with his household and she might even be dismissed if he thought of her as a fallen woman.
‘Not my child,’ she clarified quickly. ‘My kin—two sisters and a brother. I am all they have.’
‘Where do they live?’
Amelie bristled at the directness of the question. Only the aristocracy thought it their right to probe into everyone else’s business.
‘They lodge with a widow.’
‘You must spend a good proportion of your wage on keeping them fed and clothed.’
‘I do,’ Amelie said quietly. At least in her role as housemaid here at Ashmead House she did not have any day-to-day expenses.
One day soon she would need to buy another work dress—she had mended her current plain grey work dress so many times it was starting to look a little scruffy—but at least she did not pay for her food or room.
Lord Beescroft tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.
‘Is being away from your brother and sisters your only objection?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Then it is settled. You will come with me to Cambridge and, instead of a day off a week, you can collect your days and once a month have four free days. I will organise a coach back to London for that time. I trust that will be satisfactory.’
Taken aback by the quick way he had offered up a solution Amelie considered his proposal.
Currently she saw her brother and sisters just once a week, on a Sunday afternoon.
No doubt they would miss her, but if the position came with an increase in pay she would be able to begin to think about finding better lodgings for them, or perhaps even afford school fees for the older two.
‘It will, Your Grace,’ Amelie said, feeling a rush of trepidation.
‘Good. We will journey to Cambridge a week on Thursday. I will instruct my agent to find suitable accommodation. Liaise with Mrs Potter as to what needs to be packed.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
He nodded as if to signify everything was settled and Amelie had to fight her natural inclination to show irritation at the gesture.
She did not like the thought of being dismissed, but this past year she had learned to hide her emotions and ensure her expression was one of pleasant blankness all the time.
‘There is something else, Your Grace,’ Amelie said, noting the flicker of surprise on Lord Beescroft’s face. No doubt he had thought to return to whatever important business he was conducting before she’d been summoned to his study.
‘Oh?’
‘As you know, Mrs Potter has been very unwell the last few weeks.’
‘Yes—her chest. I am told she is improving.’
Amelie frowned. ‘A little…’ She paused, trying to find the right words.
She would never want to imply that Mrs Potter was not up to her job, but Amelie was worried about the older woman and the strain her work was putting on her body.
She knew Mrs Potter well enough now to be certain the housekeeper would rush back to her duties well before she was fully recovered.
‘Do you think she is not…?’
‘No,’ Amelie interrupted, holding up a hand.
Her cheeks flushed as she realised she had interrupted the Duke.
Sometimes she forgot the etiquette of being a maid—speaking freely was not a luxury she was allowed to indulge in.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, trying to smile, trying to pretend all was well.
‘I do not wish you to get the wrong impression. I hold Mrs Potter in the highest regard possible. She is dedicated to her job and would continue on even if it hastened her decline.’
‘Hastened her decline…’ Lord Beescroft murmured.
‘She is unwell, Your Grace. There is a blue tinge to her lips and she cannot climb a flight of stairs without clutching at her chest.’
Amelie saw the Duke’s face harden and she felt irritation pulse through her. It should not matter that she was a mere servant when it came to this conversation, but clearly to Lord Beescroft it did.
‘It is hardly your place—’
‘It is my place to express concern about a woman who has been nothing but kind to me since I arrived in London. I would not forgive myself if I did not say anything and she collapsed, dead, in the kitchen.’ As usual when her temper was riled she had gone too far.
The Duke would probably dismiss her from his service immediately, throw her to the street for her impudence.
There was a long silence that seemed to stretch on for ever.
Amelie saw a flicker of concern in his expression mixed with something else that looked very much like guilt.
She knew Mrs Potter thought very highly of the Duke and, from the interactions she had witnessed, she’d thought that respect was mutual.
Lord Beescroft had a reputation for being stern, but she had not thought him heartless.
All the servants talked of how generous he was and how fair.
She wondered if his sharpness with her now was because he felt guilty for not noticing his valued housekeeper was struggling.
He might not like the fact that someone else had needed to point it out to him.
‘Your concerns are noted, Amelie,’ he said, his voice a little softer. ‘I will talk to Mrs Potter about seeing the family doctor.’
Amelie swallowed hard. This was a victory; she had got the result she had set out to obtain. She would have to hope the rest of the servants were correct in their assessment of the Duke and that he wouldn’t hold this over-step against her.
Lord Beescroft dismissed her and she stood quickly, bobbed a little curtsey, spun on her heel and strode out, her heart fluttering as if she were being pursued by a pack of hungry wolves.