Page 80 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
“You were the last person I thought would fall for her charms,” Nash said. “You were ready to believe the worst of her.”
“I’m naturally a judgemental person, Your Grace. I judge first and think later, but I am pleased to say I was wrong about her. She truly is a woman with a lost past and not a temptress come to corrupt you.”
Nash laughed. “A temptress? I do not think such a thing has ever crossed Isabella’s mind. She is far too innocent for that. She is quite possibly one of the most pure-minded people I have ever met. Not a lewd comment, coarse jest, or curse word has passed her lips.”
“I doubt a servant would speak in such a way in front of her master, Your Grace,” Johnson argued.
“Not in front of me, but the other servants. I have watched her, you see. I wished to know what it was that put you and my sister in such distrust of her. Did she act differently around others? Did her demeanour change when no one could see her?”
“I suppose you never saw such behaviour from her?” Johnson asked, but it was also a statement.
“Not once. I have seen her distressed, angry, happy, sad, and ...” Nash’s words trailed away as he recalled the pain in her eyes. “And hurt,” he eventually said.
“I have seen these conditions, but not once did she divert from her usual nature. If someone were truly as deceptive as you claimed her to be, their nature would have shown during bursts of emotion.”
Isabella wore her heart on her sleeve and her thoughts in her eyes. At times she managed to shield what she was thinking, but those moments were few and far between.
“What will you do once her identity is recovered?” Johnson asked.
That was a rather odd question for his valet to ask. The natural answer would be to return Isabella to her family and life before her accident.
“Why do you ask?” Nash enquired.
The valet looked down, scratching the side of his face. He only did this when he was uncomfortable with a subject.”
“Come, come, now Johnson,” he urged the valet. “Do not start something and then leave it hanging in the air. What is it that you wish to say? Spit it out.”
“It isn’t my place to say, Your Grace,” the man said, not meeting his eyes. “I am but a servant.”
“You are also a man I have known for many years, one who knows everything about me. I do value your opinions, although I do not always accept them.”
“I’m afraid this opinion might lose me the prestigious position of being your valet,” the man claimed.
“And break a centuries-old tradition?” Nash asked. “I think not. Very well, I give you my word that there will be no repercussions to your opinion. You know my word is my honour.”
Johnson nodded. “I know that well, Your Grace.”
“Then speak your mind, Johnson,” said Nash, starting to lose patience.
The man took a deep breath and released it heavily. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I believe you have developed atendrefor Isabella. You are attached to her, and I’m afraid it will pain you to let her go.”
Stunned, Nash could only stare at his valet. This was the last thing he expected the man to say, and the first thing Nash wished to do was lash out at him for speaking such a private thing aloud, but he had given his word not to punish the man. Johnson was looking at him as though he expected Nash to grow horns or order him to jump into a cauldron of boiling water.
It was unlike the valet to be so fearful, but perhaps there was a reason. Accusing a master of having feelings for a female servant was not something that would be taken lightly by anyone in Nash’s position and would mean an immediate dismissal or worse.
“I apologise profusely for speaking on the subject, Your Grace,” said Johnson, his voice strained with fear. “It is not my place.”
“You are right,” Nash agreed. “It is not your place. However, I suppose I can understand why you have raised the subject. I do give Isabella more attention than is wise, and I speak about her quite a bit.
Even Ellie scolds me whenever Isabella’s name comes into the conversation. However, I’m curious to know why you have surmised my actions to be the result of atendre?”
Johnson raised his eyes, showing some hesitance to the question. “You have never behaved like this with any other woman, Your Grace. Your face lights up whenever you see Isabella, and you are happier in her presence. I am usually in your company when she enters the room.”
Nash’s cheeks warmed, appalled at his transparency. Was it possible that his valet was not the only one to notice his reactions to Isabella? Nash found he was too afraid to find the answers to his question.
To Nash’s relief, the topic of discussion was dropped in favour of the approaching men on horseback. As they jumped down and greeted Nash, he couldn’t help wondering at their fine clothes but rough appearance.
These men obviously did well in their work trade, but no amount of money or well-cut clothing could change who and what they were.
