Page 38 of His Arranged Duchess
Frances wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. She glanced over her shoulder at Lucien. He raised his eyebrows and gave a faint smile, but made no effort to give her any advice or any hint in which direction she should go.
“I’m sorry to hear that things are hard for you, Hannah,” Frances said at last, offering what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Your references are very good, and you seem a very kind and pleasant woman. For now, though, we’ll have to talk to the other candidates before we make a decision.”
Hannah’s face did not fall, but it did not change, either. She nodded slowly and rose tiredly from the seat.
“Thank you, Your Graces. Shall I see myself out?”
“Go down to the kitchen,” Frances said, somewhat impulsively. She was a little amazed at herself, giving such clear and new instructions, but they seemed quite ordinary things to say. “Find Mrs. Gray, the housekeeper. She’ll give you some tea and something to eat, and you’ll be informed within an hour or so if you’ve won the position.”
Hannah did seem to brighten a little at this. “Thank you, Your Grace. God bless you.”
Before Frances had the opportunity to reflect on whether shereallydeserved this blessing, Hannah had bobbed a curtsey and scurried out. Clearing her throat, Frances glanced back at Lucien.
“That was awful. She was practically begging for a job.”
Lucien grimaced. “That’s only the half of it. Just wait until you meet some poor unfortunate with no reference who’s at the end of her tether.”
“Well, it isn’t fair. Everybody should have the opportunity to earn a living.”
He tilted his head, grinning. “Careful there, duchess. You are sounding like a revolutionary.”
Frances flushed, turning away. “Nonsense. Next!”
The next woman to enter was aged about nineteen or twenty. She was tall and slim, wearing a tightly-cut, grey dress, the neckline a little lower than was strictly proper. She was remarkably beautiful, with an oval doll’s face, large blue eyes, and flaxen ringlets slipping out from under her bonnet.
Frances smiled at her, but the girl’s gaze slid straight past her and landed on Lucien.Thenshe smiled, sinking down into a deep, elegant curtsey.
“Good day, Your Grace,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “It’s such an honour to be considered for such a prestigious post.”
Frances blinked. “It’s only a housemaid’s position.”
The woman glanced at her for the first time, face tightening a little. She glanced up and down Frances’s frame.
She’s trying to work out if I’m the housekeeper or not,Frances thought in a rush, a little horrified.
“Headhousemaid, I believe,” the woman responded sweetly. She folded her hands in front of her wasp-thin waist, waiting to be invited to sit.
Frances smiled, gesturing to the seat in front of her. The woman sat down, back straight, and her form elegant.
Perhaps she’s just nervous. I could hardly blame her for that, could I?
“What is your name, please?”
“Deborah Swinbank.”
Deborah carefully tossed a blonde curl over her shoulder, glancing briefly over at Lucien to see if he had noticed it.
Frances cleared her throat. “I might as well tell you that I am the Duchess of Blackstone, and this is the duke. It’s good to meet you, Deborah.”
“I’m not often interviewed by the lady of the house,” Deborah said, after a short, uncomfortable pause. “I’m a hard worker, and I believe I encompass the sort of style an elegant house requires.”
“Well, we don’t know what our styleisyet,” Frances said, laughing. “We’re still finding our feet.”
Deborah gave a tinymoue, her displeasure visible.
She doesn’t like me,Frances thought, faintly bewildered.What have I done to offend her?
Her answer came more quickly than she had expected. Frances glanced down at the paper in front of her, feeling unconscionably nervous, and glanced up to find Deborah staring straight at Lucien.
