Page 38 of The Duke
“Downstairs was in uproar at Peterson’s disappearance, nothing was right down there, and Mrs. Whitelaw was furious at the state of things, but she couldn’t say a thing not with the master just standing there watching us all… You know, I’ve never seen a duke in a kitchen before.”
“His Grace was there?” Elsie asked, unable to picture quite how Kit would manage the inevitable fall out of Peterson’s departure. After all, the idea of a male servant invading a young lady’schamber, where it is widely known, would ruin whatever prospects Lady Flora might have.
“Oh yes, indeed the duke was. He was the one who said Peterson had been dismissed. Explained why he was down there with us this morn. His Grace told us Peterson had been caught stealing. Several footmen had seen Peterson off the property. Can you imagine?”
Samson clearly wished she’d been awake to witness it, whereas Elsie would have liked nothing more than to have the memories of Flora’s distress removed from her memory forever. “His Grace said that Peterson had been let go without references, and if any of us felt any loyalty to him, that we’d best be going too.”
“I would imagine you wished to ask the footmen several questions?” Elsie asked.
“Of course I did, but His Grace told us, anyone trying to find out more about what had happened, could also go the same way as Peterson—out the door. Then he said that Mr. Moore had been placed in Peterson’s position and would be the new butler… and you can guess how well that went with Mrs. Clarke. I thought her mouth couldn’t get any thinner. She doesn’t like Mr. Moore.”
After Elsie’s initial trip downstairs to find her post, meeting the cold-eyed housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke, the bossy cook Mrs. Whitelaw, and even the then stoic Peterson, she had been put off from investigating where her letters had gone. It had been weeks since she’d given up asking Samson. But even by removing Peterson from the equation, it still left the formidable cook and housekeeper down there. A small wave of sympathy swelled in Elsie for Mr. Moore, and she agreed with Samson’s summary.
“Did you?—”
“Me and Miss Bright, she’s Lady Flora’s maid, the ginger one, we hurriedly grabbed up the breakfast trays.”
Arching an eyebrow, Elsie gazed up at her maid. From a frightened nitwit just weeks ago, to a young woman enjoying a romance, to now an excited gossip, Samson had gone throughquite a change despite her initial reluctance to leave London. Then again, since she wasn’t much older than Lady Flora, Elsie reasoned it was to be expected, and were she an older or wiser employer, she would probably have set a better example for Samson to follow. But since she wasn’t, she would at least resist lecturing her maid, and therefore devolving into a hypocrite, so instead she asked, “I don’t suppose you heard anything else?”
“As His Grace left, he told us to send for the estate manager in town, so Nealy went for him. The duke said he wanted the place readied for his departure. After that Mrs. Clarke went straight for Mr. Moore, with a dozen questions that would have been difficult to answer all in one go. Poor Mr. Moore. I tried to listen as best I could, but I could see Clary watching me, and he doesn’t approve of me—” she blushed, and Elsie realised that this was the information she had been waiting for, that Samson had accidentally let slip—what Kit had been doing and planning. Why wasn’t he in the library, or the breakfast room, or in his sister’s rooms? Elsie had lingered in each chamber in turn, in the final ensuring that Flora was comfortable and wished to nap, before slipping away. “I’m sorry miss, I shouldn’t refer to…”
“I don’t mind, Samson.” Elsie leant forward and squeezed her maid’s hand. “Here, I’m sure you haven’t had any breakfast with everything that’s going on. You have the cake. I don’t care much for raisins.” Any sort of hunger that Elsie felt had fled with the news that after everything Kit had finally decided to leave Tintagel. She jumped out of her chair, and grabbed Samson, pushing the younger woman into her seat. “You sit and eat.”
“Miss…” Samson eyed the cake with sudden interest, and unable to help herself Elsie let out a laugh. It seemed like the infectious good cheer Samson had enjoyed earlier was suddenly seeping into Elsie. If Kit was prepared to leave the estate, then perhaps he was prepared to see sense and disregard the fears of old. He could finally see that, if there was a curse, it was tied to this house, and leaving it was the best way he could escape.
“And if anyone tells you off, then you send them to me,” Elsie called over her shoulder, hurrying to the door. If luck was on her side, then perhaps she could find Kit before the estate manager did, or better yet their meeting would have been a quick one. Even if yesterday had been a goodbye, it didn’t mean that Elsie no longer cared. They had been friends before he’d kissed her, before they’d fallen on each other in the ruined ballroom… and they could be friends again.
Perhaps it was poor logic, and Elsie knew she wouldn’t have rushed in such a manner, for any of her friends normally, but she reasoned that he never had to know that she loved him. As his employee—companion to Lady Flora until he found someone more suitable—she could maintain a semblance of closeness… The very neediness of her love caused Elsie to stop in the middle of the hallway.
It was strange to feel that heady rush of want, a desire for confirmation that she was not alone in such feelings, and yet knowing she could not ask someone who was so above her station. A lone tear slipped out, and Elsie balled her fists, trying her best to stop any more from falling—she needed to gather together her strength and if needed be suppressing any feelings that might linger.
With such thoughts in mind, she walked down the corridor to Kit’s study and knocked with as much force as she could muster. He did not need to know her weakness, she could at least hold on to some semblance of pride.
“Enter,” Kit said, the tone brusque and not filling her with much confidence.
Elsie pushed the door wide, nonetheless. “Your Grace.” She moved forward, bobbed her head in greeting, and assumed a dignified pose with her hands clasped behind her back. “I am sorry to disturb you.”
Despite his forbidding voice, Kit’s reality was very different from what Elsie had been expecting. He had bounded to his feetat her entrance, his jacket was discarded, his shirt loose, and there was a smile on his lips. If she had to describe him, it would be carefree. Indeed, when he reached her, his hands encircled her waist, and he lifted her up in the air.
There was a freedom with which he spun her, and Elsie let out a surprised gasp which hastily shifted into an unexpected laugh. She clung to him, her fingers sinking into the folds of his shirt, and the study swirled around them.
“Your Grace—Ashmore…”
“I thought we had removed all formality between us,” Kit said as he lowered her down. The devil did so by placing her on his chest, so Elsie had no choice but to slide down his body. He was delightfully warm, the muscles of his chest pressed into her day dress, and Elsie had to keep herself from emitting a different kind of gasp. Hastily, she took a step back, watching Kit as he perched on the edge of his desk, his expression bright.
“I have been speaking to my estate manager, man hadn’t been a bit of use to my father, but—” Kit leant forward and touched a curl that had loosened itself from Elsie’s chignon. “So soft,” he added, then tucked the strand behind her ear. “Locke—the manager agreed.”
“Agreed to what?”
“That he is to oversee Tintagel when we go up to Town. I thought we could leave tomorrow. Or if we must the day after that but?—”
“What made you change your mind?” Elsie cut him off, she had been desperate to leave here, and now finally Kit could see the logic of it. This was the moment she had been hoping for. It meant an opportunity to finally see her sister, and to tell Kit everything she had omitted previously—that Margot was his cousin, and about the annuity. It was high time she told him everything, after all they would be in London within the week.
“It wasn’t a curse—” Kit said, moving closer to reach out and grab her hand until she was beside him. “It must have been Peterson,he’d been in the family for years, and we’d simply overlooked his involvement. I never would have considered him capable of such cruelties, but as I thought through it, he must have committed all the ‘accidents.’”
“Are you?—”
“I was convinced that it all linked back to my family, and every bad thing that has occurred to them.”
