Page 15 of His Forsaken Duchess
Blasted snow. Blasted castle. Blasted Duchess.
A knock on the door interrupted his brooding.
His head snapped up, and he scowled. “Enter.”
Potts stepped inside, his usually impassive face betraying a hint of nervousness. “Dinner is served, Your Grace.”
Cedric arched an eyebrow. “And? Send up a tray as usual.”
Potts cleared his throat, his discomfort palpable. “May I speak freely, Your Grace?”
Cedric leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Potts had served him for years—the man was a model of competence. That he would ask such a thing now was almost comical.
“When have you ever needed permission for that, Potts?”
The butler gave a brief nod of gratitude. “It is no business of mine, of course,” he began cautiously. “But the Duchess has made quite the journey, and the servants are eager to make her stay as comfortable as possible. They are most enthusiastic about making a good impression.”
Cedric’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “I see. And they require my presence at dinner to accomplish this?”
Potts hesitated, then offered a diplomatic reply. “Your Grace, the servants take great pride in their work, and the Duchess’s arrival has inspired them. We rarely entertain such distinguished company as it is.”
“Distinguished company,” Cedric repeated, the words dripping with sarcasm. He leaned forward, fixing Potts with a pointedstare. “And you believe my attendance will enhance their efforts?”
The butler met his gaze without flinching, though his tone grew more pointed. “Perhaps not, Your Grace. But it might show that the Duchess has not arrived at an empty castle or been abandoned entirely by her husband.”
Cedric stiffened, his jaw clenching. “The Duchess knows the terms of our arrangement,” he said curtly. “She does not require my company at dinner—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Potts said smoothly. “I simply note that she has already had quite an effect on the staff.”
“And on me, it seems,” Cedric muttered darkly. He waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve made your point, Potts. Now, leave me in peace.”
Potts bowed and left, leaving the door ajar.
Cedric stared at the half-closed door for a long moment before snapping the ledger shut. He stood up abruptly, growling under his breath. “Damn meddling servants.”
He barely made it two steps into the hallway before Stevenson appeared, as if conjured from thin air. The valet had two evening coats draped over his arm—one a deep blue, the other black.
Cedric scowled. “Do you have nothing better to do, Stevenson?”
“Not at present, Your Grace,” the valet replied smoothly. “Blue or black?”
Cedric snatched the black coat with a grunt. “Blue is too cheerful.”
Stevenson nodded solemnly, though Cedric detected the faintest twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Upstairs, Stevenson’s efficiency grated on Cedric’s nerves. The man moved with practiced ease, arranging Cedric’s attire and sharpening his straight razor with deliberate precision. Cedric sat stiffly, his fingers gripping the armrests as Stevenson scraped away his stubble.
“The Duchess has been well received by the staff,” Stevenson remarked casually, his tone light. “Mrs. Potts gave her the grand tour, and Cook was so inspired that he sent footmen out into the snow to procure lobsters and mushrooms.”
“How industrious of him,” Cedric said dryly. “A royal feast for our visiting princess.”
Stevenson chuckled. “Indeed, Your Grace. Even Mr. Potts has been uncharacteristically animated. One might say he aims to become the finest butler in the realm.”
Cedric rolled his eyes. “He’s doing an admirable job, no doubt.”
Stevenson laughed, stepping back to examine his handiwork. “Dinner will be ready soon, Your Grace.”
Cedric waved him away with a sigh, his mind already racing ahead to the evening. He tugged at his cravat as if it were a noose. The dining hall, the Duchess, the inevitable small talk—it was a headache he could do without.
