Page 26 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

“Thank you, Mrs. Owens. I do look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise, Your Grace,” Mrs. Owens returned, her growing smile making her face glow. “My apologies for the state of your chamber. We will finish preparing it shortly.”

“I thank you for your dedication to my comfort.” Louisa said.

“This young girl here,” Mrs. Owens continued, beckoning for the younger woman to come closer. “She is my daughter. I do not know about any other talent she might possess, but she is great with hair and has a good eye for the latest fashions. Perhaps you might take her on as your lady’s maid?” she asked, an expectant look on her face. “Unless your own maid accompanied you.”

Louisa’s maid, Betsy, had elected to remain at Langham Manor, and while Louisa felt her absence, she understood the reason behind her decision. Betsy wanted to stay with her sweetheart, one of the footmen at Langham Manor. Louisa had been happy for her and had wanted her to enjoy that love even if shewould have to do without the best lady’s maid she had since her childhood.

“Indeed,” she said after taking a good look at the red-cheeked girl, who avoided her gaze. The girl seemed painfully shy, but Louisa hoped she would succeed in coaxing her out of her shell. “I suppose she will do. What is your name, dear?”

“Anne, Your Grace,” the girl replied in a small voice, staring down at the ground, her face turning redder if it was even possible.

“Anne,” Louisa repeated gently, then paused until the girl looked up. “You will be my lady’s maid.”

She was unprepared for the giant smile that transformed Anne’s otherwise plain face.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I promise to do my utmost best not to disappoint you,” Anne said, smiling and bowing deeply.

“I hope we’ll work well together.” Louisa returned her smile.

“Come, my dear. There are more places to show you,” Percival spoke from beside her, taking her arm and leading her out the door.

Louisa realized that he had used the term of endearment when they weren’t alone and that the agreement they had made would be between them alone.

They explored other rooms in that hallway that were in different levels of disrepair. He finally showed her to the kitchen, where she met the cook. She was a buxom woman with red hair and a boisterous personality, whom everyone referred to simply as Cook. According to Percival, no one knew her real name, and she kept information about herself close to her chest. She had been living in Colborne House since before Percival’s birth and had stayed on even when the estate’s finances crumbled. She was more or less a family member, and Percival treated her as such.

Cook greeted them warmly before shooing them out of the kitchen, stating that it wasn’t a place forfine folklike them.

Percival cracked a smile in response—one of the few times Louisa had seen him smile. She was unsure whether to take such a statement as a compliment or an insult, but she decided to let the matter lie.

He led her towards the foyer, presumably to show her the grounds, but just before they got there, she spotted another staircase that led to a wing that seemed to be neglected but in good condition.

“Where does that staircase lead to?” Louisa asked, turning to him.

She watched as an invisible shutter fell over his features, shielding his thoughts from her shrewd eyes.

“It leads to the old master bedroom. It had not been occupied for years. You cannot go there.”

“Why? Is there a member of your family haunting that room as a ghost?” she teased.

Percival did not share in her amusement. Instead, he clenched his jaw, a vein throbbing in his temple. Her question seemed to have hit a raw nerve, but she could not understand why.

“Heed my warning, Duchess, if you intend to stay. I think we are done with the tour for now,” he muttered, before marching away, leaving her standing there, utterly confused.

Louisa stood in the middle of the foyer, confused at how her attempt at adding levity to their conversation had failed spectacularly.

She wondered what exactly she had said that elicited such a response from him, but she guessed that the reason he didn’t take the master bedroom was at the root of his anger.

Sighing heavily, she decided to return to her room. When she opened the door, she half expected to see Mrs. Owens and Anne still cleaning up. Instead, the room was spick and span, with nary a thing out of place.

They must have really worked hard and fast to prepare it in so little time.

She walked into the room, slowly taking in the décor as if she had not done so an hour ago. It was painted in different shades of purple and was dominated by a large bed in the middle, a matching couch, and a vanity complete with a mirror.

This room must have once belonged to a woman—maybe Percival’s aunt or his grandmother.

She attempted to unfasten her gown, but she promptly gave up when she remembered how many buttons ran down the back of her dress.

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