Page 13 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“Mrs. Barnes. How may I help?”
The housekeeper replied, “With all the comings and goings of the men, some of the rooms may not be up to my usual cleaning standards.”
He smiled briefly. “Duly noted. That is to be expected with the amount of work being done in the house. Was there anything else?”
“There is an airing cupboard here on the ground floor that looks like, well, it looks like someone was recently living in it.”
He frowned before asking, “Living in it? Please show me immediately.”
The cupboard in question was tucked under the servant’s staircase in the corridor between the library and dining room. A blanket, candlestick, and several apple cores rested on the floor of the closet.
“There are cupboards on each floor, but this is the only one that looks as if someone is sleeping in it,” the housekeeper explained.
“Can this cupboard be locked?”
The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Please keep it locked at night. Was there anything else?”
“The tenants are quite happy with the repairs you’ve made to the cottages since your return. You have gone a long way to fixing the damage Mr. Sparks did to the estate and its tenants.”
He took her forwardness in stride as she’d known him since birth. She’d been almost a second mother. The housekeeper, Cook, and butler had always been a surrogate family to him.
“I hope so. When I left England, perhaps I should have thought about the effects my extended absence could have on the estate,” he admitted.
Mrs. Barnes did not argue the point. “The duchess knew you were going to leave someday. In her own way, she missed you. She even spoke to some of those dukes in your father’s club. Hoped they would convince you to return home.”
He’d been advised of his mother’s overtures. What the duchess had failed to realize was that the Duke’s Alliance was formed to help its members, not their mothers.
He heard a crash outside. Preston rushed from the room, followed by the housekeeper. A footman in the entrance hall looked as startled as his employer felt.
Preston strode outdoors to see several workers running about. “Stop! What has occurred?”
Sir Joseph appeared. “One of the man-lifts for the roof fell. Thankfully, the lift wasn’t hoisted more than a few feet off the ground. The roofing crew wasn’t gravely injured, just a few bumps and bruises.”
Preston spied Miss Davies standing next to a young man, examining his wrist, her disguise intact. He returned his attention to her father, raising a hand to shield his face from the bright sunlight.
Now that he knew there were no grave injuries, he wouldn’t loiter overly long and cause the laborers to feel uncomfortable.
“If any of the men need a physician let Winston know, and one will be sent for immediately.”
* * * * *
Marina looked up from her work to see the duke walking away. Evidently, he couldn’t be bothered to check on the young man who had been injured. She silently chastised herself. That wasn’t how things were done. A servant, probably the butler or steward, would inform the duke as to any injuries sustained by his employees.
Despite not liking the aristocracy, she did understand there was a hierarchy on the estate. The duke had to stay in his place, as did everyone below him.
Her father walked to her side.
“It looks like a simple sprain,” she said to the worker and her father, releasing the laborers hand. “Father, he should rest that hand for a few weeks and have someone wrap and splint his wrist.”
“I’ll notify his foreman,” her father replied.
“Thank you, miss.” The injured young man peered under her bonnet for too long, and she turned away.
Marina made her way to the dower house. It was warm out, and the windows in the house were open, letting in a cool breeze. The faint sound of hammering could be heard from the drawing room, so she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber at the back of the house. After taking a seat at the exquisite mahogany writing table, she looked through her notes.
Anne knocked at the open door, a tray in hand. “Some lemonade, Miss?”
