Page 41 of The Scottish Duke
Once again he wanted to say something, but words flew from him like caged birds set free.
“An hour or two more, that’s all, and then you can settle into your bed.”
She nodded and he moved away to stand in front of the poor excuse for a fire, willing it to burst into flame.
In moments Charles returned with the housekeeper and three maids, all of them wide-eyed and standing in a straight line as Mrs.McDermott marched forward to speak with him.
She was a tall woman on the thin side. Her hands were large and capable; he’d seen her beat a rug one spring morning. Her face was thin, too, her cheekbones prominent as well as the ridges where dark brown eyebrows sat ready to frown at one of the staff. Keeping her face from severity was a head of lustrous brunette hair alive with red and gold highlights and a ready smile that often curved her mouth.
She wasn’t smiling at the moment, however.
“MissGordon will be staying here,” he said. He hadn’t figured out a way to adequately explain the situation, but hoped she would be able to read between the lines. “I need the cottage readied for her. Sheets on the bed, dishes in the kitchen, that sort of thing.”
She nodded, her face giving nothing away. If she disapproved, he wouldn’t hear of it from her.
“We’ll do a fast clean, Your Grace, and schedule more for tomorrow. Would that be acceptable?”
“Excellent, thank you.”
She turned to give out her orders.
“Abigail, you’ll see that the kitchen is tidy. Hortensia, sweep and mop. Nan, you’ll ready the bedchamber.”
They all nodded and dispersed to handle their duties. He noted that one of the maids—Nan, he thought it was—waved to Lorna with her hand down at her side. Lorna smiled in return.
He followed Nan into the bedroom.
The woman who was turning the mattress was short, barely to his shoulders. Her black hair was arranged in a bun with several tendrils loose around her face. Her cheeks were plump and pink, her mouth small but curved in a pleasant smile when he appeared.
“Are you Lorna’s friend?” he asked.
She blinked at him but answered nonetheless. “Yes, Your Grace, I am. Nan Geddes, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy.
“What is she like as a friend?”
A curious question, since he’d never once asked a similar question of anyone.
“I’m not certain what you want to know, Your Grace,” Nan said, frowning. “I would trust Lorna with my life, even though we sometimes disagree about things.”
“What things?” When she didn’t answer, he tried to explain. “I want to know who she is,” he said. The truth, if she but knew it.
“Wouldn’t it be better to ask Lorna?”
“I read something recently that a man is known by his deeds, how he treats animals in his care, and his friends.”
“Does that apply to women as well?”
“I would think so,” he said.
“She works hard. Sometimes too much.”
“On her herbal remedies,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not just that. On her father’s book.”
“Her father’s book?”
Nan nodded. “Lorna is determined that it will be published. She’s drawn the most beautiful pictures in it.”
