Page 76 of The Texan Duke
“Me neither.”
Sam sipped from his wine and watched him, his gaze intent over the rim of the glass.
“A few days, then. Until you can walk upright without looking like you’re going to fall down any moment.”
He nodded, then occupied himself by uncovering the rest of the dishes to see what was for dessert. Better that than see Sam’s grin. Or consider his words about Elsbeth.
A big puppy dog, huh?
He didn’t have a damn thing to say to that.
Elsbeth really wanted to go see how Connor was feeling, but there was no way to call on him without raising eyebrows. Of course, if she did and word got out about it, the duchess would be pleased, thinking that Elsbeth was going ahead with her suggestion.
Was Rhona daft?
The woman had just proposed the most outlandish idea and she’d been serious. No, worse than serious, she’d been intent. Determined. Elsbeth had been on the receiving end of the duchess’s determination in the past and she knew that Rhona, once she had an idea, didn’t relinquish it easily.
What was she going to do?
The easiest thing, perhaps the best thing, would be to make arrangements to take one of the carriages to Inverness and begin making inquiries about properties for sale. She should do that as quickly as possible. She needed to find a home, somewhere where she was not subject to the will of other people.
Before retiring, she visited Mrs. Ferguson, thanking the woman again for her skill in extracting the bullet from Connor’s wound.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” she asked.
Mrs. Ferguson was massaging balm into her distended, enlarged knuckles, holding her hands close to the fire.
“Once you’ve supervised a staff as large as Bealadair, you become familiar with almost any type of injury. I even helped deliver a baby once. Poor girl, one of the upstairs maids, managed to hide it until the very last.”
“What happened to her?” Elsbeth asked. She hadn’t heard that story.
“Not a sad tale, I’m happy to say. The girl married and went on to have five more children. She’s a matron now at Ainell Village. I used to see her from time to time and we would reminisce. I’ve removed an iron spike from a footman’s leg, various metal objects from stableboys—besides treating them for injuries they got from being around horses.” She smiled into the fire. “No doubt you will develop your own expertise, Elsbeth.”
“Do you resent me for taking on your duties?”
Mrs. Ferguson looked surprised. “Resent you? Why on earth would I do that? If anything, you’ve saved my job for me. Someone had to ensure that all those tasks were done, Elsbeth. Who better than someone who knows the family as well as you? But was I wrong to think it was something you wanted to do?”
Elsbeth shook her head. “I very much wanted to help. Doing something makes me feel...” Her words trailed off. “Perhaps important. Or maybe needed.”
“That you are, Elsbeth.”
Part of her wanted to tell the housekeeper what the duchess had suggested, only because she’d often gone to Mrs. Ferguson for counsel or support. Many times since Gavin’s death she’d confided in the woman. Together, they’d come up with strategies to either avoid Rhona or handle her newest demand.
But how to mention that the duchess wanted her to seduce Connor? Even the thought of it brought a blush to her face. Or was that because she wished there was a reason for her to seriously contemplate such an idea?
Life happened around you. Gavin often said that. People did things you didn’t expect, like the valued servant stealing the silverware or a footman walking away from his duty. Lovers met and loved without benefit of clergy and in violation of every societal rule.
It simply happened.
It wasn’t planned.
It certainly wasn’t suggested in such a way it was almost a command.
The duchess had always insisted that Elsbeth’s comportment be perfect. The duchess had lectured her endlessly about how to act in certain situations, how to address various personages, how not to shame the McCraights. After all, they had been generous in taking her into their home.
Yet the woman had just said something so outlandish, so foreign that it made Elsbeth’s toes curl to even contemplate it.
“What is it, Elsbeth? You have the strangest look on your face.”
