Page 12 of His Highland Duchess
“Huh…” Dressed in a shift, she wandered to the hallway and looked right and then left, surprised to find the hall empty. “Is anyone there…?”
She wanted to bathe herself and dress before breaking her fast. Dressed in only a shift, her hair a messy bird nest, and her face likely capable of scaring children, she needed to be clean and well presented.Hard ta da when there is na one here ta help me.
Margaret knew little of the ways of a duchess, but her sister had instructed her enough that she knew the household staff were supposed to assist her in this. As Catherine had said, they would be there to wait on her hand and foot, from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes. Personally, she found the whole thing ridiculous, as she did not need to be looked after so fastidiously. And if she were in her own home, she wouldn’t have cared to wait, happy to clean herself.
However, she was not in her own home, and she had no idea where anything was or what to do. So, she opted to wait, certain that soon she would found by a staff member.Catherine had assured me of it!
Margaret waited for a few moments before coming to a decision. Likely, the staff were still getting used to her presence in the manor, so perhaps they had forgotten. Thus, she opted to throw on a dressing gown and break her fast under-dressed, but at least not next to naked. And on the way, she would see about arranging that bath.
“Excuse me!” Margaret called to the first maid she saw, found crossing the foyer as Margaret made her way down the stairs. “Yes, ye,” she said when the maid looked about as if in confusion.
The woman was a few years older than Margaret, plain in the face, with mousey brown hair and blotchy skin. “Your Grace,” she said with a nervous bow.
“Guid morning,” Margaret said. “I was hoping I might have a bath this morning, but I could nae find a maid to fix me one. Might I inquire who is responsible for such things?”
“Oh…” The young maid blinked as she puzzled through Margaret’s thick accent. “Ah… I… do not -- do you mean the Head of Staff? That would be Mr. Jeffries, Your Grace.”
“Wonderful,” Margaret said. “Please send him to the breakfast room to see me at once. And it might do to tell him to bring some parchment and a quill, for I have some needs to attend and it's best to be safe.” She smiled warmly at the young maid, who looked at her with bewilderment. “That will be all.”
The young maid stared blankly at her and then put her head down and scurried off.
Margaret exhaled and made her way to the breakfast room, expecting to sup as it was of that time. Only when she arrived, she found it empty.
“The food has been put away, Your Grace,” a member of the kitchens told her when she called for him. There had been no one in the breakfast room waiting to attend to her, so she had needed to go searching herself. “His Grace likes to eat early, as do his daughters.”
“Yes, well, that is all well and guid, but I was hoping I might eat now. I slept in, ye see.” She laughed lightly, wanting to show that she was not angry. Just hungry. “Might ye send for the head chef and inform him that I am fixing to eat.”
“Ah…” the kitchen staff looked confused. “I will let him know, Your Grace, but I am not sure he will be willing. He is a little ah… touchy, yes, about tardiness, as he calls it. I know he likes –”
“Please,” Margaret cut him off with a smile. “I da nae mean to be a bother, but if ye let him know that I am nae fussy and will eat anythin’.” Her smile grew. “Thank ye.”
The member of the kitchen staff hurried back toward the kitchen, leaving her alone once more.
Margaret got to waiting then, expecting either food to arrive or for this Mr. Jeffries to come and see her. One minute turned into two minutes turned into five minutes. She sat there stupidly, twiddling her thumbs, counting the seconds, frustration rising because she was beginning to sense a pattern here.
When ten minutes passed by and she still sat alone, Margaret lost all sense of calm. She rose to her feet and stormed toward the kitchens, finding the same member of the staff she had spoken to earlier. “You!”
“Your Grace!” he jumped in the air. “I am sorry, but the chef said –”
“Where is Mr. Jeffries located?”
The young man blinked. “Ah… Mr Jeffries…”
“Yes,” she demanded. “Where am I likely ta find him at this hour?” She put her hands on her hips and widened her eyes at him; she was not to be treated so inconsiderately. “Well?”
“Reading, Your Grace! He likes to read.”
She frowned. “What? Why would he be –”
“Everyone knows, this is his hour, Your Grace,” the young man hurried. “He takes it every morning, one hour only, while the staff clean. The library, Your Grace.”
“Thank ye.” She nodded once before turning and storming toward the library.
Margaret was no fool, and she knew well enough what was going on. Mr. Jeffries had likely been told by her husband that she would only be here for a Season, possibly even informing him of the details surrounding the marriage – it made sense for the Head of Staff to be on close terms with their master. Thus, Mr. Jeffries had decided that Margaret was not a priority, or someone who needed to be worried about.
She had been fretting of late that she had no control or agency in her life. That she was merely a vessel being pushed and pulled by the whims of others.I am sick to death of it! And it is time that I took some agency back.
So, that was exactly what she did.
