Page 58 of The Scottish Duke
She’d tested his new declaration, hadn’t she? A muscle flexed in his cheek, a sure sign that he was irritated. Perhaps her rough edges were rubbing against his. Not that he would admit to having any, but she knew the Duke of Kinross a little better than she’d admitted. He was occasionally brusque, periodically insensitive. She didn’t know if he was capable of changing or of even wanting to, but if he meant what he said, she had at least a modicum of freedom to question his behavior.
“I fluster people,” he said. When she looked at him in surprise, he continued. “Mrs.McDermott requested that I don’t address the maids. She said they giggle when I do. It stops them from their work.”
He was right about that. Whenever one of the girls had an encounter with him, it was recalled in rapturous, sighing detail at their meals.
“Because you look like a prince,” she said.
Not at the moment, however. He was scowling at her. Did princes frown so forcefully in novels?
“I never considered that Mrs.McDermott had asked you to avoid the staff,” she admitted. “I doubt, however, that it’s your sister-in-law’s problem. Nor can I imagine anyone giggling after an encounter with her.”
“I’m sorry about Mary,” he said. “She said she visited you. I’m sorry for her rudeness.”
“How do you know she was rude?” she asked.
“It’s Mary we’re talking about, isn’t it?”
She bit back her smile.
“Shall I talk to her?”
“Good heavens, no. Please don’t do that. It would make the situation worse. At least I no longer have to clean her rooms.”
There, she’d mentioned her circumstances. She could see the situation as it was and not as she wanted it to be, as Nan had always counseled. She was a former maid at Blackhall. She and the duke had a fateful encounter one night, that’s all. She was not charmed by him. She felt nothing for him but gratitude.
“She can’t be allowed to be rude to you, Lorna.”
She only smiled, not setting him straight. Mary could be rude to her, and she would be, in tiny ways that would never be seen by anyone else. She knew people like Mary. The sister of an inn owner where she and her father used to stay was of similar character. Lorna’s sheets were scratchy, her soup cold, and any comments or requests were always met with innocent eyes until her father turned his back. Then the woman would mouth some insult and Lorna knew she was being singled out for torment simply because she’d once complained to her father about the woman’s treatment.
One of the maids at Blackhall had been as sly, but Mrs.McDermott hadn’t been fooled by the girl. An accusation of theft lodged against another maid had been disproved and the sneaky lass sent home.
However, it would be better, if more difficult, if she remembered her father’s adage. When she achieved perfection, she could dictate how others behaved.
“What are you going to do here?” he asked, placing his hand on the top of the table.
She sent him a quick smile, grateful for the change of subject. She was not going to let Mary Taylor ruin her mood.
“I’m going to arrange my herbs and perhaps develop new teas.”
“Your landlady didn’t destroy your supplies?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I was able to save most of them.” She bent, and would have retrieved the small casket containing the most valuable herbs from inside the trunk, but he was there before her.
“Let me,” he said. “You sit. Tell me what to do.”
She folded her hands atop her stomach, biting back the questions that immediately came to mind.
Why was he being so charming? Why, for that matter, did he want to know so much about her? Why did she think it would be better—and safer—if he remained the aloof Duke of Kinross?
Chapter 16
Lorna perched on one stool while he sat on the other retrieving items from the small trunk.
He was surprised to see that she had a wide arrangement of bottles, from pale green to dark brown, some with stoppered tops. Others had corks carefully carved to fit.
“Were these your father’s?” he asked. She nodded, then smiled, the sweetness of the expression causing him to stop and stare at her.
“My father never threw anything away. We went from city to city carrying items we didn’t need. But he could never part with the perfect bottle or the ideal funnel. Or even mixing spoons. I’m a little more ruthless.”
