Page 49 of The Scottish Duke
Lorna shook her head. “No, it’s because we always wondered in the servants’ quarters. You should have had a lady’s maid, but you never employed one.”
“Privacy,” the duchess said. “I quite like my own company, and I’ve found that the more servants one has around, the less privacy you have. I did have a lady’s maid once, but she developed atendrefor my husband’s valet. It became a comedy of errors, I’m afraid. Besides, it’s not all that difficult to dress yourself if you don’t lace yourself too tight or insist on those ludicrous hoops that make it impossible to enter a doorway.” She glanced over at Lorna again. “I’m afraid I’m not all that fashionable.”
“I wouldn’t say that at all, Your Grace. I, on the other hand, haven’t been able to contemplate wearing a corset for several weeks. Nor have I been able to see my feet.” She looked at the other woman and made another confession. “I’ve only been able to fit into this one dress,” she said, looking down at herself.
“That is as it should be,” the duchess said, giving her a smile. “You’re going to have a child. No one cares what you wear. Are you feeling well?”
Lorna nodded. “Very well. The first weeks were difficult, but only two things bother me now.”
“I’ll bet I can guess what they are,” the duchess said. “Sleepiness and a need to use the necessary every quarter hour.”
Lorna nodded, smiling.
“While time and nature may blunt the memory of a great many things, you remember those last months quite well.” She sipped at her tea. “I understand MissGeddes lives with you. Is she here?”
“No.” Nan went to work every morning, just as if she lived in the servants’ quarters.
“Good. That will give us time to talk.”
The older woman didn’t speak for a few minutes, and when she did, she surprised Lorna again.
“My son says that you’re an artist. I didn’t know that. Would you be willing to show me some of your work?”
This morning she’d been reading through her father’s book, carefully inspecting each drawing to ensure it was what her father would have wanted.
“Over there, on the table,” she said, pointing next to the tray.
In seconds the duchess had retrieved the journal.
Directing her gaze out the window, Lorna concentrated on anything but the duchess thumbing through her father’s journal. No one else had ever read it.
On one page, following her father’s instructions, she’d listed the herb, its common and Latin name, and where it could be found. Below that she explained how the plant was efficacious for which ailment, and then provided a selection of recipes her father had chosen. She drew the plant on the facing page.
In all her editing of the journal, she never changed her father’s words, but she had added to the original drawings, making each the best she could.
“I confess that I’m amazed.”
She glanced at the duchess.
“I had no idea you were so talented, Lorna.”
“It’s mostly my father’s work.”
“Your drawings, though.”
She nodded.
“You are truly a gifted artist.”
Warmth raced up from the pit of her stomach. Not one person, even her father, had ever said such a thing to her, and she’d fed on the crumbs of his praise.
“Thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary, my dear. I should thank you. What a pleasure it would be to read this. You say you’ve tried to get it published?”
For the next several minutes she explained that she’d written friends of her father’s but that none of them had seemed interested.
“I haven’t given up, though,” she said. “I think my father would have wanted me to keep trying.”
