Page 34 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

What are you saying? Father believes you staying at the inn in Banchot, carefully negotiating the payment of his debt. The letter he sent with your trunks encouraged you to stay as long as necessary. You cannot return with a rose and claim it a memento of Scotland…

So she pruned and she clipped and she potted, knowing she would never see the results.

Mrs. Kettel thought her strange indeed, to spend so much time in the conservatory or out of doors. But to be fair, the woman wore an onion tied to her belt and threw rosemary over her shoulder to ward off witches, ate pickles “to confuse vampires” and sang off-key—on purpose—to scare ghouls.

So her opinion on what counted as “strange” could probably be dismissed.

After a few days at Endymion, Georgia made her way into the kitchens. She was useless when it came to cooking, but her years in the garden made her ideally suited for chopping vegetables, and Mrs. Kettel didn’t seem to mind her company.

It was there Georgia learned all about the estate’s decline.

“Och, there were dozens of us once, milady!” Mrs. Kettel would say as her heavy arms wobbled, churning butter. “A fine estate this was! Lady Endymion never saw it, but the master did, preferred it he did, to Edinburgh or elsewhere.”

“What happened?” Georgia sipped her tea, vegetables chopped.

“His train exploded, that’s what happened.” The housekeeper lowered her voice, as if it was a secret. “Near death, he was. They told him his muscles wouldnae work right ever again, but he showed them! Angus and the horses were his saving grace—that’s where he goes, every day, riding off into the hills. Would ye mind opening the door, milady? My Punkin is due any minute now.”

And Georgia would open the door for a ridiculously large cat to saunter through on his way down the back hall toward the servants’ staircase, and she would ponder Mrs. Kettel’s words.

As far as she could tell, Demon spent his days in his study or atop a horse. Even as November turned to December and the days grew colder, he’d ride for hours. Now she knew it was a kind of exercise—even staying in a saddle must be difficult if his muscles had been so terribly injured—it made sense.

It made even more sense the first time she’d met Angus.

“Oh!” She’d come in through the back door to the kitchens, trying to juggle an armful of clippings, her shears, and a book on propagation she’d been referencing in the gardens. “Excuse me!”

The man, graying at the temples with kind wrinkles around his eyes, tugged at his forelock and held out his hand as if offering to take some of her burden.

“No, thank you,” Georgia hastened to say as she twisted back to the door. “But perhaps you would be kind enough to pull that closed for me?”

A pause. When the man didn’t jump to do as she asked, she glanced back at him with an expectant grin. “Unless you wish for poor Mrs. Kettel to freeze?”

He sent the cook a confused look.

“Yes, that Mrs. Kettel.” Georgia was becoming irritated. “The kitchens are her domain, so if you will not close—”

“He dinnae understand ye, dearie,” the housekeeper interrupted without looking up from her pastry. “Get out of his way so he can leave, and he’ll close the door behind himself.”

Oh.

Frowning, Georgia stepped away from the door. The man gave a cautious half-bow, to both her and Mrs. Kettel, then slipped out into the gardens. As Mrs. Kettel had said, he shut the door behind him.

She turned back to the housekeeper. “Who…?”

“That was Angus, dearie. Started working in the stables back when the master’s father was still the Baron. When the master was so close to death and started sending everyone away, Angus was the only one who stayed. Ye might call him the head groom, now!”

As Mrs. Kettel chortled, Georgia tried to rearrange her clippings. “So Dem—Lord Endymion spends his time in the stables…”

“Doesnae like chatter, the master doesnae, surely ye’ve noticed.”

Had Georgia not been a lady, she might’ve snorted at that understatement. “I have noticed,” she said dryly instead.

“Och, well, Angus is deaf. Went deaf as a lad, so he can look at yer lips and guess what ye mean—can read and write too. He was the one who helped stretch and train and exercise the master back to health.” Mrs. Kettel beamed as the pastry transferred flawlessly to the last pie plate. “Look at that! Perfect again.”

Georgia had to smile at the enthusiasm. “It looks delicious.”

“It’ll taste even better, just ye wait!” The housekeeper gave a huge wink. “I have one set aside for ye and the master’s dinner. I’ll make certain the boy carries it up to the dining room while it’s still hot, but of course ye’ll have to slice it yerselves.”

Ah, yes, the mysterious Bruno.

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