Page 109 of The Texan Duke
When she questioned those responsible for cleaning and waxing the floor, she got a few shamefaced expressions in return. Evidently someone had heard talk about a way to make it easier to polish the wood. The foolish individual had actually set fire to the section, four feet in diameter.
They could have ruined the inlaid floor. Even worse, they could have set Bealadair on fire.
Most people did an excellent job and were conscientious about their tasks, taking pride in the end result. She had discovered that if you berated people about not doing a good enough job that didn’t necessarily mean that they tried harder. The way to inspire someone was to point out their successes, not their failures. Therefore, when the five people assigned to buff the ballroom floor received a heated lecture, it was an anomaly, not a common occurrence.
Elsbeth didn’t know who felt worse when it was all over, her or the staff.
The duchess had given instructions that the serving tables were to be moved to the other end of the ballroom. She countermanded that order and made a mental note to speak to Rhona. The way the duchess had changed everything would mean that the entire kitchen staff would have to traipse through the length of the ballroom in order to replace food on the serving tables, then make their way back through the dancers and the assembled guests. It wasn’t practical, and the Duchess of Lothian would be the first person to complain about the visibility of all the servants on the night of the ball.
When the seamstress appeared at the doorway, it was almost the last straw. However, the woman was only performing her own tasks. The fact that Elsbeth wasn’t in the mood for a fitting wasn’t her fault.
She left word where she would be and followed the woman down to one of the parlors that had been set aside for her use.
“Only one last fitting, Miss Elsbeth,” the seamstress said.
She nodded, reluctantly agreeing. She hadn’t needed a new ball gown. She had an entirely suitable one that she’d worn on the occasion of Lara’s wedding. Very well, perhaps it wasn’t all that suitable, because the wedding had been held in the summer and the gown was filled with yellow roses and quite bare on the top. The garment that she donned before standing on the riser so that the seamstress could measure the hem was entirely different.
Unlike all the dresses for the McCraight women, this one had no swath of McCraight tartan draped from shoulder to waist. To the best of her knowledge, the Carews did not have a clan tartan. The color of the gown, however, a deep shade reminding her of old plums, was quite lovely.
The seamstress gestured to one of her assistants, who knelt on the floor and began pinning the long skirt. The train, as well as the bustle, would add substantial weight to the gown. She’d never been as comfortable with fashion as the McCraight women. She would much rather be in her plain housekeeper’s dress. At least it gave her freedom to move. But she did have to admit that the dress flattered her. She wasn’t displeased with her appearance in the pier glass.
Would Connor think her beautiful?
What an idiot she was being. As if his opinion mattered now. He would be leaving for Texas as soon as the ink was dry on the sales documents for Bealadair.
“Would you like me to open a window, Miss Elsbeth? You look flushed.”
How did she tell the woman that her flush was the stain of embarrassment? Not only had the duchess caught her leaving the library in disarray, but she’d lost her temper with the staff.
She was most definitely not acting like herself.
“I’m fine, really,” she said. “Thank you, though.”
She’d been embarrassed before. A man had never been involved, however. If the circumstances were different, she had no doubt that the Duchess of Lothian would banish her for being a poor example for her daughters. But the fact remained that Rhona needed her help, at least until the ball. After that, her tenure at Bealadair might well be from day to day.
Perhaps she should make up her mind about which property she wanted to buy and send word to the solicitor.
It was, unfortunately, time for her to make a change.
Of all the people she would miss, the first was Gavin. She could almost feel his spirit follow her throughout the house, his fond smile weighing her actions, his words of wisdom in the past helping her make fair decisions.
There was Mrs. Ferguson, of course, and Addy and a host of other maids and footmen who had always made the days pass with good humor and cheer. She felt, in a way, as if she were deserting all of them.
She doubted anyone would understand her almost desperate desire to be gone. Now, before she felt any more for Connor than she did. Now, before he went back to Texas. She didn’t want to be the one left behind again. First her parents had left her, and then Gavin.
This time, she would be the first to leave.
She turned when directed, stood patiently, and engaged in chatter for a half hour, most of it about the terrible accident that had almost befallen their new duke. Elsbeth didn’t inform the seamstress that she was certain that it hadn’t been an accident and as soon as she could she was going to investigate the roof to verify her suspicions.
When the seamstress told her she was no longer needed, she gratefully stepped down from the riser.
“We’ll have the dress pressed and delivered to your suite, Miss Elsbeth. You’re the last and, if I may say so, the easiest to fit.”
She smiled at the older woman. “Thank you.”
“I expected Lady Muira to have some alterations. The girl certainly does love her biscuits, doesn’t she? But when Lady Lara had to be refitted, that was a surprise.”
“I’m glad my measurements didn’t change,” she said.
