Chapter Eight
Amelie peeked out of the kitchen into the small parlour, dreading what she might see there. She had been awake early, unable to sleep after the events of the previous evening, and had decided to get out of bed and start the day rather than toss and turn in the sheets.
It meant that at seven o’clock the kitchen was already spotless, a loaf of bread was baking in the oven and she was well on her way to finishing the preparation for the evening meal.
She had worked fast, her nervous anticipation of having to face Lord Beescroft making her buzz around the kitchen tackling two or three jobs at a time.
For his part, the Duke had not yet emerged, even though she had heard him rise from bed at his normal time.
‘He’ll want to avoid you,’ Amelie muttered to herself, wondering if he might dismiss her from his service this morning.
Indignation flared inside her. The memory of the actual moment of the kiss was hazy; she had been overcome by desire and caught up in an impossible frenzy, so she could not quite remember who had kissed whom, but she was certainly not the only one to blame. He was in the position of power.
She sighed. He definitely had the power to send her packing back to London this morning.
Perhaps that was what he was preparing to do.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, leaning against the worktop.
The image of them standing face to face in the garden flashed before her eyes and she relived the heady feelings of attraction and desire in that moment before their lips had met.
‘He’s a duke.’ She groaned quietly. ‘How could you be so foolish?’
Even a mere respectable country gentleman would not be a viable prospect, let alone one of the most wealthy, powerful and eligible men in the country. It was laughable to think he could ever desire her—this man who could have the pick of every single unmarried young woman in England.
She stopped herself. He had wanted her, even if just for a moment. In the garden, in that moment, the feeling of desire had been mutual.
She quickly dismissed the idea. Whether he desired her or not did not matter. She should have known better; she should have stopped things sooner. Surely she had learned something from the last two years? Anything that caused scandal could only lead to pain and heartache, and ruin multiple lives.
Shaking her head, Amelie reached for the cloth again, determined to scrub the sides even though they were sparkling clean. She needed heavy physical labour; nothing else would take her mind off her predicament.
What she feared, what she had spent all morning worrying about, was being dismissed.
If she lost this position she would lose her ability to pay for everything her sisters and brother needed.
Soon they would all be homeless, reduced to begging in the streets.
The very thought made her stomach roil with nausea.
She shook her head. These last couple of weeks had shown her the duke was a reasonable man, even a kind man. Surely he wouldn’t destroy four lives because of one stupid mistake?
There was a creak above her and Amelie glanced up, her heart thumping in her chest. There was no more delaying the inevitable; in a few minutes Lord Beescroft would emerge downstairs and she would learn her fate.
His descent was slow, each step on the narrow staircase seeming to take for ever, and Amelie felt like a nervous wreck by the time he reached the hallway. She had to fight the urge to flee, to run out of the back door and not look back.
She took the bread from the oven and busied herself with removing it from its tin, trying to ignore how her hands shook. She almost dropped the steaming loaf twice, but by the time it was sitting on the wooden breadboard, cooling by the open window, Lord Beescroft still had not appeared.
She peeked out of the kitchen. Although she had not wanted the moment of reckoning to come, it was torture waiting to find out her fate.
The Duke was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a book in his hand, seemingly engrossed in whatever he was reading.
Amelie blinked, unable to move for a second. Here she was panicking about her future and the Duke was calmly reading about the seabirds of Scotland.
As she stared at him, he glanced up and gave her a soft smile.
‘Good morning, Amelie,’ he said.
‘Good morning.’
‘Something smells delicious. Have you been baking?’
‘Yes, a fresh loaf of bread.’
‘I think there is still some strawberry jam left. I would enjoy some warm bread and jam for my breakfast, if that is not too much trouble.’
It was the most routine, mundane conversation she had ever had. Working hard not to gawp at him, Amelie nodded and retreated back into the kitchen, her head spinning. Was he going to pretend nothing had happened—continue on as they had been before?
She felt a moment of disappointment and then chastised herself. It would be the best outcome. She would keep her job and her sisters and brother would continue to be kept safe.
‘Nothing more can ever happen,’ she whispered to herself, trying to rein in all the impossible dreams that had been floating around the periphery of her worries.
Of course the Duke wasn’t going to declare his undying love and devotion to her, hurry her to a church and insist the local vicar marry them as soon as possible.
He was a duke. She was a housemaid. Even in her previous life she would not have been considered remotely suitable for socialising with a man of his status.
Yet they had kissed. Amelie closed her eyes. It was such an unlikely thing to have happened; she could not quite believe it.
‘Amelie,’ the Duke called from the parlour where he had taken his normal seat.
She felt her heart thump again in her chest and wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on—an awful mix of nervousness and anticipation every time he spoke.
She took the time to compose herself before walking through to the parlour.
‘I’m just waiting for the kettle then I will pour you a cup of tea and bring your breakfast through, Your Grace,’ she said, her voice as level and devoid of emotion as it could be.
‘Thank you,’ he said, motioning to the other seat at the table. ‘Please sit down for a moment, Amelie.’
Amelie felt her pulse quicken. This was the moment in which he was going to dismiss her. No doubt he would suggest it was for the best, but for Amelie it would be disastrous. She felt the panic well up inside her and realised she could not let him get rid of her without a fight.
‘Please do not dismiss me,’ she said quickly, hating that she was reduced to a position where she had to beg.
‘I have worked hard for you these last couple of weeks, and I think you have been pleased with my work. I have done everything I could to ensure you are able to get on with your writing and your drawing and your research uninterrupted.’
‘Amelie, please…’ Lord Beescroft said, swiping a hand across his forehead.
She shook her head, unable to stop now she had started.
‘I know what happened last night in the garden was a mistake, but I promise nothing like that will ever happen again. I will move around this house so silently, you will not even know I am there. If you so wish, I will lay out your meals and then disappear until you have finished them, returning only to collect the plates. I can be like a ghost.’
‘Amelie…’
‘I will work harder than any other maid.’
He held up a hand to stop her. ‘Amelie,’ he said, his tone firm. Amelie fell silent. ‘I am not going to dismiss you because of last night.’
She felt the bubble of anxiety deflate and her body slump in relief. Only after thirty seconds of silence did she realise Lord Beescroft was looking at her in concern.
‘I realise we have not spent much time together, but I assure you I am not the sort of man who punishes others for his own misdeeds,’ he said stiffly.
The familiarity that had been building between them, the comfortable companionship, had disappeared.
‘I am not going to send you penniless to the streets because we both had a lapse in judgement.’
Despite her best efforts, Amelie could not utter a word; instead she just nodded.
‘It might be foolish to suggest we forget last night ever happened,’ the duke said, his eyes flicking down to her lips for a fraction of a second, ‘But I suggest we endeavour to continue as normal and ensure such madness does not consume us again.’
Again Amelie nodded. It was interesting that he was not distancing himself from culpability, nor blaming her entirely. Lord Beescroft was taking responsibility for his part in their indiscretion the night before, but not absolving her completely.
‘Does that sound agreeable, Amelie?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Good. Now, what I actually wanted to talk to you about was our agreement to return to London for a few days next week. I trust a visit over the weekend would be agreeable?’
‘Yes,’ Amelie said, shocked by the change in direction. ‘I am happy to go whenever is convenient for you.’ She felt her heart swell at the thought of seeing little Marie, Harriet and Charles.
‘I will arrange our transport. There are a few matters I wish to check on myself, so I will return to London with you. We will depart on Thursday and plan to return Sunday afternoon, in time for the new week.’
‘Thank you.’ She had to stop herself from reaching out to squeeze his hand in gratitude.
The Duke was clearly a man of his word—he had honoured his side of their agreement completely—but she had wondered if he might try to postpone this visit back to London.
No doubt it would be an inconvenience to him.
His time here in Cambridge was so limited and he was already working every hour he could.
Amelie had seen his progress, surreptitiously flicking through the pages of the manuscript on his desk when she cleaned and tidied his bedroom.
The book was taking shape nicely—there were already over fifty pages of drawings and annotations—but the task Lord Beescroft had decided to undertake was huge and she was not sure he would finish in four months.
Anyone else would extend their stay, but she doubted the Duke would want to step away from his duties any longer than the planned time.
She suspected he already felt as though he was neglecting his responsibilities.
‘Good. That is settled, then. We shall depart for London on Thursday and return on Sunday.’
Amelie bit her lip. It felt wrong to talk about money when only a few minutes earlier they had been awkwardly trying to move past the kiss they’d shared, but if she was not paid before returning to London she would not be able to pay for the next month of her family’s expenses.
Mrs Creedy had been clear that she did not accept any late payments and was not charitably minded.
If Amelie did not settle up when she visited, Marie, Harriet and Charles would all be on the streets when the money ran out.
‘I am sorry to ask, Your Grace, but Mrs Potter normally gives me my wages each Monday.’
Lord Beescroft’s eyes widened. ‘I have not paid you these last few weeks…’
‘Truly, I do not need the money now, but I will when we return to London, otherwise I cannot pay the woman who is looking after my brother and sisters.’
‘Take the money out of the cash I have given you for household expenses.’
Amelie hesitated for a moment before nodding.
She was keeping meticulous records of the money she spent, although in truth it did not cost much to feed the two of them.
The cottage was already paid for so it meant the expenses were minimal.
Even so, it spoke of a great deal of trust for Lord Beescroft to suggest she pay herself.
‘Make sure you take the higher wage we agreed for your time here in Grantchester. You are on a housekeeper’s wage rather than a housemaid’s.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
Amelie stood, gave an awkward curtsey and hurried back to the kitchen. Once out of sight, she paused for a moment, resting her head against the doorframe.
This was why all servants were cautioned against allowing any sort of familiarity blossom with their master.
Amelie was sensible enough to realise the kiss the night before had been a mistake on both their parts, but it still left her in an awkward situation.
Now every time she had to go into his bedroom, or help him on with his jacket, she would remember the intimacy they had shared. It would be impossible to banish it.
Even now, so soon after she had been worrying about losing her position in the duke’s household, she found her gaze lingering when he spoke, her rebellious mind asking whether she might succumb again.
Amelie resolutely set about making breakfast, trying to push all thoughts of the most unlikely romance from her mind.