Page 44 of The Texan Duke
Mr. Glassey sat in the second of the two chairs in the small room, not looking as warm or as comfortable. At her entrance, the solicitor stood, but the duchess waved him back into place.
“Is it true?” Rhona asked.
“Is what true, Your Grace?”
Rhona frowned at her.
“Mr. Glassey said that His Grace told you he was selling Bealadair. Is this true?”
Elsbeth’s gaze went to the solicitor. She wished the man had kept their conversation private.
She stood near the door, her gaze leaving the duchess and focusing on the white, frozen landscape beyond. From here, she could see the river undulating through the glen.
“Well?”
Elsbeth glanced at the duchess. “Yes,” she said. “He told me.”
“Leave us, Mr. Glassey,” the duchess said, her gaze never leaving Elsbeth.
The very last thing Elsbeth wanted was to be left alone with the duchess while she was in this mood. Mr. Glassey, however, looked relieved to be able to escape the room.
“Of course, Your Grace,” he said. “I am at your disposal.”
When he closed the door behind him, Rhona still didn’t speak. Her eyes however, were more than capable of expressing her emotions. Elsbeth had never seen them as cold and flat as they were right now.
“You knew his plans,” the duchess said. “Yet you didn’t come to me. Anyone else would have. How very odd that you did nothing, Elsbeth.”
Elsbeth clasped her hands tightly together.
“Did you want us taken unawares?”
“Why would I want that, Your Grace?”
“By not coming to me immediately, you’ve proven to be disloyal.”
“No,” Elsbeth said. “I haven’t. It wasn’t my place to tell you, Your Grace. He might change his mind.”
“He has no intention of changing his mind, Elsbeth. He’s already announced himself to Mr. Glassey.”
Then why was she being criticized for not saying something when the solicitor already knew?
For nearly two years she’d done her very best to ensure that Bealadair ran smoothly. She had taken on duties no one wished to do. She’d never refused to perform a task with the excuse that it wasn’t her place. Nor had she ever whined or complained.
Not once had anyone thanked her, and as time passed, she realized it was foolish to want some measure of gratitude.
The McCraights simply didn’t notice what was below their noses. As long as their food was delicious and hot, they didn’t care how it was made. As long as their laundry was done, their apartments clean, they were content. It never occurred to them to care how it was done or to thank the lowly servants who worked around them.
Muira was the only one who had ever said something nice to a maid, but one person’s voice hardly made up for the actions of an entire family.
Elsbeth had made that comment, or something similar, to Mrs. Ferguson only once, and the woman’s pitying glance had been a lesson of sorts.
“Servants are invisible to them, my dear girl. They’re our betters and we simply don’t matter. The key is to accept that and move on. We have our own life, our own friends among the staff. You mustn’t think that they will ever change. They won’t.”
In Mrs. Ferguson’s words she’d heard another message, one she’d finally understood. She might be the duke’s ward, but she had never truly been one of the family.
Her position was similar to the one Miss Smythe had occupied in the five years she’d been on staff. Strange, Elsbeth could barely remember the woman, yet she’d eagerly absorbed all the lessons the governess had taught.
Did the duchess expect her to apologize? No doubt she did, as well as grovel a little. That was hardly fair, especially since she didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.
