Page 21 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

“Auntie s-s-says it keeps the witches at bay, m-m-milady.”

Oh, dear. “Does it? And I suspect it might be simpler to call me Georgia,” she offered, as they climbed what had once been the grand staircase. She supposed it still technically was, even if the carpet was threadbare and the bannisters coated in dust. “I believe I will be Lord Endymion’s guest for a while. Things might get…unconventional.”

“Och, nay, m-m-milady.” The maid shook her head and gestured for Georgia to precede her into a guest chamber. “There’s no’ m-m-m-many of us left, but Auntie s-s-says we m-must be proper.”

As Georgia spun slowly in a circle in the middle of what hopefully wasn’t to be her chamber, she weakly asked, “Mrs. Kettel is your aunt?”

“Aye, m-m-m-m-milady—”

“Georgia, please.” The woman couldn’t help her stutter, but using a different name might be easier. “I insist. And I will call you Mary, if I may. Is this to be my chamber?”

Please say no, please say no.

“Aye, m-m-Georgia. S-Sometimes Viscount Thornebury s-stays here, if the m-m-m-master cannae keep him away. He doesnae m-m-mind the dust s-s-s-so m-much.”

Dear heavens, a viscount could put up with the level of disuse the room showed? Georgia straightened her shoulders. “Well, if this is to be my home, I shall help spruce it up a bit, Mary.”

The maid beamed. “Oh, excellent! I’ll get the m-m-m-m-mop and rags and s-soap!”

So Georgia had rolled up her sleeves and began to work. After a few minutes, however, she realized her gown would never recover from the experience. It was a simple day dress, modest and professional, intended for a meeting with a Baron…but it had been through much today already. As it was her only dress, until her luggage could be fetched, it didn’t make sense to ruin it…

Which is why she had spent the day in her chemise and petticoats, scrubbing the guest room with Mary, and later Mrs. Kettel. The physical labor was actually quite helpful, in terms of helping distract her mind from the bargain she’d made…and what was coming.

Why hadn’t Demon continued what he’d started in his study? He’d aroused her beyond what she’d thought possible, then just…sent her away. Would he come to her tonight? Was she expected to go to him?

The unknowns were frustrating, but learning how to shine the silver vases on the mantel distracted her.

If only Father could see me now! Far from the perfect poise he expects from me, hmm?

The hours passed companionably, and she learned much about Endymion and its master. Enough to intrigue her, certainly. What had caused his accident on the train? Why did he avoid his former friends?

“Och, just a moment, milady!” The housekeeper had checked a watch pinned to her bosom, then hurried to the door. She pulled it open just in time for Rajah to saunter through.

“Ye’ll get used to leaving yer door open every day between 4:32 and, oh, 4:36. Wee Punkin likes to make a circuit of this—och, there, ye see? Just let him past, would ye? He likes to investigate the commode for some reason. Punkin, there’s a lady present!”

Georgia watched the heavy-set feline amble unconcernedly into the water closet and jump up onto the lip of the small tub. His large size made his delicate steps seem impossible, and he managed to knock over both the scrubbing powder and a cup of water Mary had placed there before he jumped lightly to the windowsill, then back down again.

“Excuse me, this cat’s name is Punkin?” she asked.

“Aye,” Mrs. Kettel beamed. “Punkin Pudding, Lord Neep himself, my wee ratter.”

He definitely didn’t look fast enough to catch a rat, and he was far from wee. “He—well, he looks remarkably like Rajah…”

“Och, they’re one and the s-same, m-m-Georgia,” Mary volunteered with a shy smile. “Auntie s-s-s-says Lady Endymion called him Pudding, s-s-so s-she does too.”

“And the master says the wee dear’s true name is Rajah, because he acts so imperious.” The housekeeper grinned fondly as she followed the cat toward the bedroom door. “Lord Thorne calls him the Bruce, for the same reason.”

Georgia cocked her head and studied the way the cat held his tail high. “Actually, I think that name fits him best.”

“I call him Haggis,” Mary offered. “Because he’s fat and full of gas.”

A lady wouldn’t laugh at that, but standing in her underwear in a strange castle, covered in dust and dirt, having just sold herself to a possible beast, Georgia decided she didn’t count as a lady. Not right then.

So she began to giggle and the others joined her.

Lord help you if Father ever finds out about this.

And now it was an hour later and Mrs. Kettel and Mary had deemed the room satisfactorily clean. Georgia had learned any number of new things about lye and how, exactly, brooms worked, and now she was quite filthy.

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