Page 41 of The Phantom Duke
“I do not know about this morning, Your Grace. She didn’t have much yesterday.”
There was disapproval in Mrs. Whitby’s voice. Her world revolved around food and feeding those in her care. It offended her greatly if one of her charges did not eat as much as she thought they should.
Damien frowned. “You don’t know about this morning?”
“Her Grace was not out of her bed when I took breakfast up, and I thought I would give her some privacy before I went back for the tray,” Mrs. Whitby said.
Damien tossed down the paper, steepling his fingers. He felt guilty at the way their abortive attempt at intimacy had ended, felt guilty at misreading her intentions and for those perverse words he had said to her.
But then she was not unwilling. I did not overpower her by any means.
“If I might speak plainly, Your Grace?” Mrs. Whitby asked.
“I am not the duchess, Mrs. Whitby. I do not wish my staff to speak plainly to me,” Damien said.
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Whitby said, resolutely.
Damien arched an eyebrow and looked at her. She cleared her throat, shifted her feet and wiped some dust away from the table with a corner of her apron.
“The lady seems to be pining. I do not think she takes well to being indoors all the time or alone. I think that is why she does not eat much.”
“Thank you for your insights, Mrs. Whitby,” Damien said, dryly. “Why do you think I advised her not to tire her ankle? So she can heal faster and go wherever she damn well pleases. I’d much rather have my duchess resting than limping through the crumbling ruins of Winterleigh.”
“Of course, Your Grace,”Mrs. Whitby said quickly, then hesitated.“Only… my opinion is that, at times, your advice may be perceived as orders.”
Damien’s expression cooled. “I don’t care how others misinterpret my words. Besides, she is my wife, and she promised to obey.”
His attention might have wandered during their vows, but his body had snapped to attention during that one part. For all her defiance, Maria had sworn toobeyhim as a good wife ought.
Mrs. Whitby cleared her throat. “You don’t care, Your Grace?”
“Why should I care?”
“Because you have me check on Her Grace every day. You show care, Your Grace.”
“You mistake the desire for an uncomplicated life with care. I merely wish to avoid the inconvenience of calling for Simon’s services,” Damien said. “That will be all.”
He waved a dismissive hand, knowing he was being rude but uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Very good, Your Grace. I will check on your wife now, if it pleases you,” Mrs. Whitby said, stiffly.
Damien held up a hand. “I will do it,” he said impulsively.
He caught the barely suppressed smile on her face, and his lips twitched.
Yes, Mrs. Whitby, I thought you would like that. I am taking an interest in your latest charge.
He told himself it was only because it was in his best interests that his housekeeper remained content and happy with her job. He did not want the trouble of replacing her.
Still frowning, Damien left the study and climbed the stairs, his thoughts returning inevitably to his wife.
Not that she’s ever left my damned mind since I brought her to this cursed house.
He didn’t know why he got so angry all of a sudden, but despite the perfectly rational reasons for limiting Maria’s movement, Mrs. Whitby’s words stung like a thorn under the skin.
He paused outside Maria’s room and knocked. Silence.
Damien knocked again, sharper this time, but there was no answer. Muttering under his breath, he opened the door and strode through her rooms.
