Page 18 of The Texan Duke
“Is there anything you wish prepared for your breakfast in the future?” Elsbeth asked. “Or any other meal? Is there anything you would like to ensure isn’t on the menu?”
He looked at her strangely, as if the question she’d just asked was very odd.
“Do you like fish? We have a wonderful selection of salmon available to us. And venison if you like that as well.”
“I’m partial to chili,” he said. “But I don’t suppose you have that here.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” she admitted.
“Maybe I’ll make some for you,” he said. “I brought some peppers along, just in case.”
She didn’t have the slightest idea what to say to that. Saddles and peppers—what else had the man brought from Texas?
“So you’re responsible for statues that fall from the roof. And my meals. What else are you responsible for? Do you do laundry, too?”
She shook her head. “No, Your Grace. We have a laundress and a full staff to do that. Is there something you would like washed?”
Please, don’t let him mention his small clothes. She didn’t know what she’d do if he talked about his unmentionables. Did they discuss that sort of thing in mixed company in America?
“What are your responsibilities?”
She had the sudden thought that she’d offended him somehow. He was going to punish her by taking her job away. What had she done? As she looked at him, her mind traced back to that moment he’d walked into the kitchen. Had she stared at him too long? Had she allowed him to see that he fascinated her? Had she been too transparent?
“What are my responsibilities?”
“What do you do here, Elsbeth?”
Please don’t let him take her job away. It gave her great pleasure to make things work correctly. She liked order. She craved organization. She liked soothing ruffled feathers and keeping everything working just as it should from the hinges on the front door to the number of chickens in the roosts.
“I’ve taken on the duties of the housekeeper,” she said. “No one has objected until now, Your Grace.”
“Are you paid for your work?” he asked.
She really wished he wouldn’t frown so. He was quite stern looking when he frowned. You could forget how handsome he was when he looked at you with such a direct stare.
“Am I paid?”
“Yes, Elsbeth, are you paid?”
“Not in the way that you mean, no. I inherited some funds from my parents, plus there was a bequest from the duke. But I don’t receive an annual salary, no.”
“Who the hell decided on that?”
She didn’t know what was more offensive, the fact that he had sworn in front of her or his anger. Why was he angry?
There were certain jobs that people took on, that they did for the sheer joy of it. She didn’t require a salary. What she did she did for Bealadair, the duke, and to assist Mrs. Ferguson.
She didn’t get a chance to explain any of that to him. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a notebook and pencil and began to write. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but when he was finished, he frowned at her once more.
“We’re going to change that, Elsbeth. If you insist on acting as the housekeeper, you’ll be paid a salary.”
“That’s not necessary, Your Grace,” she said.
“Then I’ll have to hire a new housekeeper. Someone who will be paid.”
“We already have a housekeeper.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. He would, no doubt, fire the poor woman, and then what would happen?
