The Maid #2
But as I approached the little room Mrs. Marshton used for her office, I heard voices, and my feet slowed. The door was open, and I didn’t exactly mean to eavesdrop, but I also didn’t want to be rude and barge in, so I found a spot where I could peer in.
The Duke!
I managed to stifle my gasp by pressing my fingers to my lips.
The Duke stood in the housekeeper’s small office, looking completely natural as he bounced a baby in his arms. I assumed it was his youngest, until I listened to the words he was saying to Mrs. Marshton, who was smiling fondly as she flipped through the household accounts.
“Looks just like our Ellie,” the Duke was saying, cooing at the baby. “She’s coming up on seven now, as I recall. This one is definitely mine, and has a strong grip beside. You’ve arranged for the mother to receive her allowance? What was her name?”
“Matilda, Your Grace,” the housekeeper supplied, still wearing a faint smile as she checked a column in the ledger. “And yes, indeed. As soon as the wee angel was born, I set it up.”
“There’s my Brenda.” The Duke winked fondly at her. “I knew I could count on you to take care of me.”
Brenda? Mrs. Marshton’s name was Brenda? And it seemed that Matilda’s incredible story was true; the Duke did arrange for the mothers of his by-blows to receive such an amazing stipend.
Lucky Matilda.
Still, I could admit that watching such a strong, virile man cuddling with a baby like that, one he was clearly enamored with, was doing something warm to my insides.
My breathing was coming a bit faster, my core was throbbing, and I had a sinking suspicion that coming to work at Maidenhair Hall had opened my eyes to all the ways in the world to not be a good girl.
“So, Brenda,” His Grace was saying, even as he cooed at the baby in his arms. “I’m here for the summer, and you know I’m going to need some distraction.”
He looked up at the housekeeper and winked, his lips curling into an absolutely devastating smile. “What do you say?”
To my surprise, Mrs. Marshton laughed, a gay sound I would have thought far too youngish for a woman of her standing, as she stood. “You know I enjoyed your company, Hamish, for quite a few years.”
Hamish? She called His Grace by his given name?
“Come on, now.” He held out one hand, and with a rueful shake of her head, Mrs. Marshton came around the desk to take it.
“You’re not so old you can’t enjoy a bit of fun!
Look at me; I’m negotiating my heir’s marriage contract, which means I’ll be a grandpapa soon, if the lad’s anything like me.
And I’m still getting into all sorts of fun. ”
“That you are,” the plump housekeeper chuckled, even as she stretched up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his bearded chin.
“But you know what the midwife told me after Ellie’s birth; another will kill me.
And as much as I loved spending all those years with you, Your Grace, I’d rather be alive for the three beloved children you gave me. ”
“Aye,” he sighed, and I heard his disappointment as he dropped his gaze back to the baby in his arms, still holding Mrs. Marshton’s hand. “But we had such fun together, didn’t we? I keep telling you that with ninety pounds a year, you don’t have to keep working at Maidenhair.”
“And turn my power over to someone else?” Mrs. Marshton scoffed, then gently pulled away. “I have a good position here, and I’m saving your stipend for our children’s future. But I have my eye on a girl I think might be a good fit for the role when I’m ready to retire.”
“Oh?” The Duke’s brows rose in interest. “Is she the sort of girl I would approve of? This wee one’s mother—Matilda, aye?
She wasn’t nearly as much fun as you were in bed, as I recall.
I only managed to tup her twice; she just laid there like a stick of wood, and pretended to be a scared virgin.
” He scoffed. “Not the sort of bedmate I prefer to breed.”
By this time, as you might imagine, the wall I was leaning against was the only thing holding me upright. One palm was pressed to my lips to hold in my shock, the other was clutching the wall. I shouldn’t be listening to this scandalous conversation, but there was no way I could turn away, either.
Mrs. Marshton hummed as she crossed back to her desk and opened a drawer.
“As a matter of fact, I think she might be exactly the sort of maid you’d enjoy…
training, as you might say.” She removed a small folio of what looked like ancient writing.
“I thought I might pass this on to her.” The housekeeper grinned at him.
“After that, I rather think it’s in your capable hands. ”
The Duke of Maidenhair tipped his head back and began to laugh, even as he switched the babe confidently to his shoulder. “Excellent, Brenda! I knew I could count on you to help me with my little…proclivities!”
Deciding I had heard enough, I stumbled away from the hallway, deciding I could pretend to have heard nothing and approach Mrs. Marshton later with the butler’s request.
Proclivities?
Breed?
The Duke had said both of those things, and…
My heart was pounding as I hurried to the gardens to gulp down deep breaths.
Breeding. As if he were a stallion and he had a stable of mares.
Matilda had been one of those mares. Mrs. Marshton another—and the dairy maid and a dozen others.
The Duke’s two wives and their brood of children.
All bred by his wicked proclivities.
And what was entirely mad to me was that as soon as I’d realized it, I also recognized the throbbing between my thighs as desire.
Was I…was I jealous of Matilda? Not just the thirty pounds a year—Mrs. Marshton had born three of the Duke’s by-blows, and thus earned an astonishing ninety pounds a year—but jealous of the Duke’s attentions?
Part of me felt smug that he hadn’t enjoyed his time in Matilda’s bed, and I knew if I were lucky enough to draw his attentions, I would do everything in my power to make him happy—
Good God.
Was I actually considering this?
Unbidden, my hands landed on my chest—my breasts, bound beneath my corset. Matilda was tall and skinny, whereas Mrs. Marshton was built more like me; plenty of curves, with large breasts. Was that what the Duke liked?
The thought of him admiring them—touching them…I groaned aloud there in the garden, squeezing my thighs together to capture the delicious arousal.
Breeding.
I gasped out loud when I finally understood the completely scandalous thought: I wanted that.
I wanted the Duke to mount me as a stallion mounting a mare, to place his member in me, to fill me with his seed.
I told myself it was because I wanted thirty pounds a year, but the part of me that was sure I’d lost my good girl status since coming to Maidenhair Hall could admit it was much more than that.
I needed to learn more.
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
Sundays were my half-days, and Mrs. Marshton waved to me as I prepared to leave the Hall to visit Gran. “When you return this evening, Betsy, come to my office. I have something to share with you.”
Truthfully, I forgot about the command until much later, but I did remember to knock respectfully on her door. “You wanted to see me?”
I was certain I was to be sacked. I’d broken a teacup that week—only a kitchen one, but still—and I spent the whole walk down the corridor rehearsing my apology and calculating whether Gran’s heart could withstand the shame.
Instead, the housekeeper waved me toward the chair across from her own and poured me tea. Real tea, in her good china, with sugar. I perched on the edge of the seat and held my cup as though it were a live hedgehog.
“Betsy.” She settled back comfortably. “How old are you now, girl?”
“Nineteen, missus. Twenty come spring.”
“Mm. And how do you find your position here? Speak honestly.”
“I—I like it very well, missus.”
“Good. Because I’ll tell you something, and I’ll thank you to keep it beneath your cap.
” She stirred her tea, unhurried. “I’m thirty-eight.
My knees are older than that. In a few years’ time I mean to retire to a certain cottage with a certain garden and grow roses and be a scandal to no one.
Which means Maidenhair Hall will need a new housekeeper.
” Her eyes came up to mine, twinkling. “And I have had my eye on someone to replace me for some months now.”
I nearly dropped the good china.
She’d said that before—I remembered it now, clear as a bell. I have my eye on a girl I think might be a good fit for the role when I’m ready to retire. She’d been speaking of—?
“Me?” I squeaked.
“You’re clever. You work hard. You notice things—don’t think I haven’t noticed you noticing.” She smiled her jolly smile. “The maids mind you, the footmen respect you, and you’ve your grandmother’s way with an inventory. Yes, Betsy. You.”
“But I’m—missus, I’m nineteen—”
“And in five or six years you’ll be five-and-twenty, which is precisely the right age to begin.” She sipped her tea. “Fifty pounds a year, Betsy. Your own parlor, your own girl to bring your tea. Half the county tugging its cap at you.”
Fifty pounds a year. I couldn’t breathe. Not thirty, like Matilda—fifty. A housekeeper of a duke’s estate was a personage. A power.
And Mrs. Marshton had born three of the Duke’s children, which meant she received ninety pounds in addition to her salary. She said she was saving it for her children’s future, but she was already wealthier than anyone I could imagine.
“Of course,” Mrs. Marshton continued, in exactly the same breezy tone she used for discussing the linen rotation, “you’ll have to learn how to please the Duke, when he’s here.”
The parlor went very quiet.
I stared at her. She gazed placidly back over her tea cup, and there it was—that smirk, tucked into the corner of her mouth like a letter into an apron pocket.