Chapter 4
Nancy had experienced many, many odd events in her rather short life.
She had not yet achieved the age of twenty-six.
But this, here with the Duke of Windbourne, was by far the oddest. She had never stood in what looked like a monk’s cell with a man who looked like he spent a good part of his life making sure he looked as if he been carved from stone. Living stone.
Good heavens! The way his skin caressed his muscles made her ache to touch them. She would likely never marry. She’d likely never have an opportunity to touch someone like him, and her entire body was very aware of his.
If it wasn’t for her own sense of discipline and understanding of what she truly wanted, she would have found herself acting like a mincing debutante. And quite frankly, it was hard not to act ridiculous, silly, and girlish in his presence.
She had a rather strong feeling that all the ladies in his presence felt thus. But she would not act so because she was a professional and, well, she would not flutter in front of him. No matter how much her insides desperately wished that she could.
This job was too important. She needed the money too much and her mother relied upon her. There was no way she was going to get swept up by such a gorgeous, powerful man who could flick her out of his life like an irritating fly if he so wished.
And then he did the most shocking of things. He looked her up and down again, something he had already done, something which had made her burn with a longing she barely understood, and he said, “I say, do you eat?”
“Excuse me,” she gasped. Had she heard correctly?
“Do you eat?” he asked slowly. He cleared his throat, realizing he might have said something untoward.
“Indeed, I do, sir.” She frowned, any desire to flutter dying quickly. “I am not an inanimate object.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he rushed. “You look rather thin.”
“Well, Your Grace,” she said with a huff, “thank you for making me feel terrible about myself in two moments.”
“Do forgive me,” he groaned. And actually, he did look horrified. “I meant well. I certainly didn’t mean to insult you.”
“What exactly did you mean with such a personal observation?” she asked, clutching her reticule, doing everything she could to appear dignified.
She did eat. Of course she did. But the truth was she didn’t eat a great deal. One meal a day was often normal for her. She pinched every penny she had.
He hesitated, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “Forgive me,” he said again, “but your pecuniary situation is not particularly good, is it?”
Her jaw dropped for the second time that day, something she was not at all thrilled about. And she was usually quite thrilled about life, even if it had handed her some rather significant difficulties and a lack of food to eat.
“Your Grace, why do you say so?” she asked rather tartly.
“Well…” he began. “And I do not mean to be rude, but it is clear to me that your hem has been turned out twice, your gloves are fraying, and there is a small hole that is about to make itself known in your reticule. I do hope you don’t have any coins in there that might fall out.
I, for one, don’t carry money, but I know that people of a certain class do. ”
“You, Your Grace,” she began, quite indignant, “look and speak like a man who is accustomed to going too far.”
“I know,” he said. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to say this without you taking offense, and I truly hope that you will understand, but part of me is afraid that you live on a slice of bread and a piece of cheese a day. And I just couldn’t live with myself if I allowed that sort of thing.”
She hated that he was right.
She did live on perhaps a slice or two of bread a day, a few pieces of cheese, and some rather strong coffee from the coffee house.
She could not afford meat. Sometimes she was able to get oysters and send them to her mother.
On occasion, she purchased a bit of hot stew from the tavern down the road from her lodging, but she was not in the financial position to be able to feed herself with any sort of excess because the doctors required an ever-growing amount of coin.
Some days she could have sworn they were making her mother worse on purpose just to keep the vast amounts she paid them to continue caring for her.
She pursed her lips. “It’s none of your affair what I eat.”
“I don’t agree. You are now in my employ and therefore in my care. And I happen to have a very large larder downstairs because I do eat a great deal.”
“I wager you do,” she said, her gaze narrowing as she again studied him. “You’re excessively big.”
“Excessively?” he asked, his lips twitching.
“Yes, it is rather needless how large you are. What is the point, given you lecture in Parliament?”
“My own personal health and sanity,” he drawled. “I rather like how big I am. It allows me to do all sorts of things.”
“Like what?” she demanded with an arched brow.
“Oh, I could pound a fellow into a floor, I can ride a horse from here to Scotland and back without hesitating, and I could lift you up if I so wished,” he replied merrily, as if desperately hoping to make her laugh again.
“You’re not going to though, are you?” she asked, her own lips twisting now at his silliness.
Quite frankly, the idea of him picking her up was rather exciting.
“Not if you don’t want me to,” he said.
“I don’t,” she replied.
Though he was abstaining, there was a look in his eyes that belied the words, as if he wished curiosity might get the better of him.
“Then I shan’t,” he said back.
“Good,” she said, straightening a little.
“How about we continue our conversation in my kitchen because I find I’m rather peckish?”
There was something warm in his eyes that suggested he might be peckish for more than food, but Nancy wasn’t going to allow herself to think such silly thoughts.
“Well, since it’s your house, lead the way,” she said, willing herself to stay sensible. “I’m afraid I could get lost. It is rather large.”
“Oh dear,” he teased. “If you don’t have a good sense of inner navigation, then you might not be successful here. It is like the famous cave with Medusa at the center.”
“I shall prevail,” she assured. “And frankly, I have always rather been on the side of Medusa. She was dearly wronged.”
“I can’t argue with you there,” he professed. “Anyone who knows their Greek mythology knows that Perseus was a scoundrel for killing her.”
She laughed and then cleared her throat. “Forgive me.”
“Why?” he asked. “I can see that you’re educated, I’m educated, and we can both laugh at the same things. Frankly, too many people are on the sides of absolute monsters masquerading as men.”
Her brows lifted. “I find that I am rather surprised.”
“Come, let me see how else I can surprise you,” he said, as they started for the hallway and then down the many, many back stairs.
They did not creak, and she was quite surprised to find that the servant stairs were in very, very good condition, and he seemed to know his way about them quite well.
“Do you really stay up here?” she asked.
“Yes,” he affirmed without looking back. “All of the other rooms are full, and honestly, they have unpleasant memories.”
She blinked, her eyes growing accustomed to the dim light as she followed him downward. “I see,” she said.
“Does that bother you, that I am so transparent?”
“No,” she rushed. “It’s actually quite helpful. It lets me know that you probably don’t wish me to keep most of the things in the room downstairs.”
A harsh sigh slipped past his lips and echoed around them.
“Actually, I’m tempted to gut the lot, and if I could, I would burn it all down, but that seems like an atrocious waste of a beautiful old house.
And it was beautiful once,” he said softly, an unmistakable longing and pain in his voice.
“I can remember what it was like when my mother was still alive and when I was quite small. It was a full house then, but with guests and laughter.”
She licked her lips, stunned by how she suddenly wished she could comfort him. “And will you do the same when I have organized it for you? Will you have many guests?”
He didn’t look back at her over his shoulder. In fact, he kept descending. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I suppose that would depend on my wife.”
“Wife?” she echoed.
“A duke must marry,” he pointed out. “I suppose I don’t have to, but it does seem the done thing.”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I suppose it is. Tradition and all that.”
“I think tradition, in many cases,” he growled, “is the most terrible thing in the whole world, but sometimes it does have its good effects.”
And then suddenly they came out to a very large room underneath the house. He lit a candle and headed to the table, which stretched most of the length of the room. It was clean and every object upon it was organized. Cook clearly had control of this room.
“Right,” he said. “I know exactly what I’m going to give you.”
“Oh?” she said, wondering what it would be. A shocking part of her wished he would give her something very different than a bit of food.
“Yes,” he said firmly. And then he headed into what had to be the larder and came out with a cold game hen, several apples, a large block of cheese, and a whole box of strawberries.
“I can’t eat that,” she exclaimed.
“Why not?” he said. “Not good enough for you? Would you prefer peacock?”
“We don’t live in Tudor times,” she said ruefully.
He waggled his brows. “That shouldn’t stop us. If you have a desire for peacock, I’m sure I could find one.”
She grinned. “I think there’s already one in the room,” she said.
He gaped at her, then laughed heartily. “Your audacity is a breath of fresh air. No wonder you can go through other people’s things and make short work of it. You make short work of me!”
He had her spot-on. There was no question. But she wasn’t usually so playful or chatty with her employers. None of them had ever tried to converse so openly. She was in new territory. “Yes, but I can see that you like it.”
He gazed down at the fare he’d brought out for them.
“Well, I do need someone who can tell me the truth, and the bolder you are, the more I believe that you can. So how many people do you think that you’ll need to hire?
” he asked as he began to slice cheese and apples and put them on a small plate for her.
He then, in quite swift and shocking work with the knife, pulled apart the chicken, cutting it up perfectly into edible parts.
“I say,” she said. “Where did you learn to handle a knife like that?”
He spun the knife about his fingers and then planted it quite shockingly in the table. “Here and there,” he said.
“Here and there,” she echoed. “I’ve never been to those places, here and there.”
“Would you like to go to them?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, though she knew the answer. She’d never leave England’s shores.
“I’ve spent half my life living under a tent, gazing up at the stars,” he said as he culled the strawberries with the ease of a kitchen maid, “riding horses and camels. If you can do it, I advise it.”
She swallowed. Riding under the stars on camels and horses, sleeping under a tent. It sounded like heaven. “I can’t,” she said.
“Oh,” he queried. “Are you afraid? Perhaps you’re afraid of snakes.”
“Snakes don’t frighten me. Spiders don’t either. They’re obviously common in my line of work. I uncover them in boxes and nooks and crannies all the time.” She smoothed her hands over her coat, a nervous habit. “I have duties,” she said. “Much like you, I am bound here. To England.”
“And one day?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I can’t look that far ahead. All I can do is worry about right now.”
“You have a very sensible head on your shoulders,” he said. “Most people don’t have that sort of wisdom.”
“And I wouldn’t really wish it upon any of them,” she replied with a shrug, willing her stomach not to growl. “Because that sort of wisdom generally comes from suffering.”
“And you have suffered a great deal?” he asked, as he pushed the plate towards her. He headed to another cupboard, unlocked it with a key from his pocket, then brought out a bottle of wine.
He made quick work of it, pouring out a portion of rich red wine into a mug. “Not very fancy, but it will do,” he said, pushing it towards her.
She gazed at the wine, and then she gazed at the food, wishing she could tuck a portion of it away into her reticle to somehow send to her mother. And then, much to her horror, she noticed that he noticed her doing so.
She swallowed and grabbed the plate, pulling it towards her. Now she was going to have to eat all of it, lest he might accuse her of stealing.
“You know, I think I have an extra chicken I can send home with you,” he said. “I’ll make sure Cook knows.”
“Oh no, I don’t need it,” she rushed. Besides, she didn’t know if she could travel down to her mother’s cottage in time to give it to her and return to work without notice.
“Cease,” he said gently. “You just lied to me. You’re a terrible liar.”
She frowned. “Right. Yes, I am. I do need the chicken, but I don’t want charity. You may take it out of my wages.”
He snorted. “Look, I’m going to pay you a good sum. I can’t have you weak. It will take a great deal of energy to take care of this house.”
She almost pushed the plate away. “How dare you insinuate that I’m weak, sir?”
“Anyone who doesn’t eat enough is going to be weak or get sick, and I can’t have you doing that.”
“Well, isn’t that the truth?” she sighed.
“Are you familiar with illness?” he queried.
“Very,” she said.
“How?” he asked kindly and yet insistently.
“I have not invited you into my personal life, Your Grace.”
He lifted his own mug full of wine and leaned against the long table. “Ah, but you are allowed to have free rein of mine?”
She inclined her head. “Indeed, you have hired me to do so.”
He tsked. “I feel as if you have just shut a door firmly in my face,” he said. “The splinters in my nose hurt.”
“Please, Your Grace,” she begged. “You are asking a good deal of me to invite you into my life when I know so little about you.”
“Don’t you think I could help you as you’re helping me?” he asked, lowering his wine, cradling it in his powerful hands.
“I don’t know. Are you good at meddling?” she asked.
He grinned ever so slowly. “The best,” he said.
And then she whispered something she had never whispered to an employer. “My mother is very ill,” she said.
His face grew serious. “I’m most sorry,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied.
And then his brows rose. “You don’t work because you enjoy it.”
“I work because it is necessary,” she said, forking up a piece of chicken, even as her mouth turned to sand. “And like I said, I’m lucky enough to enjoy what I do.”
He nodded slowly. “You might be the best person I’ve ever met.”
She laughed. “Then you haven’t met many people.”
“Oh, Miss Stillbrooke,” he returned, “I have met hordes and you… You are almost certainly the best of them.”