Page 48 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“That is your name?” James asked. “Ned what?”

“Ned Gardener.”

“How old are you?”

“Eleven.” At a glare from his mother, the boy added, “Sir. Milord.”

James would have thought him younger from his meager frame. All three children had hollow cheeks and wrists that showed every bone. That wasn’t right. “And so you are Mrs. Gardener?” he asked the woman.

“Yes, milord.” She stood straighter. “I was married in a church and all.” As if she knew more questions would come, she added, “My husband died in an…accident. I was taking in laundry, but it weren’t enough to pay for our lodgings. So we was turned out.”

“’Cause that doxy would give her more,” said Ned.

“Ned!”

“Well, she would,” the boy mumbled.

“Will he send us to the workhouse?” whispered one of the children behind his mother. She made it sound like the pits of hell.

“We ain’t going there,” declared her mother. “I’ll find someplace. Never you mind.” She sounded deeply frightened and yet stalwart. James had to admire such determination against the odds.

He’d never hired a staff. Hobbs had come to him without effort, on a friend’s recommendation. He’d employed no other servants. This forlorn family was hardly suitable for a duke’s household. But his household was not exactly ducal at this point, was it? Rather the definition ofnotin fact. Perhaps this woman was sent by Providence? On both sides of the transaction? Coincidence at least, he acknowledged. To be considered surely? “Can you cook?” he asked her.

“What?”

“I am in need of help in the house. Particularly cooking.” After the toothsome scones, he simply could not face another greasy pie. “As well as some help shifting things.” James examined the skinny boy. Not much muscle there, but once he was properly fed… “Perhaps Ned could do that. And run errands. Accompany you to the market, I suppose.” The other children peeking out from behind the woman’s skirts were girls. Smaller. James was no good at judging ages. “What are your names?” he asked them.

They ducked out of sight. “Jen and Effie,” said their mother.

“Too young to be working, but…”

“I kin work,” said the larger one, reappearing. “I kin scrub. And peel taters. And tend chickens. I ain’t afraid of chickens.” Her small face was taut with anxiety, every muscle visible.

James felt a pang. “How old are you…Jen?”

“Eight. Plenty old enough to work.” She spoke as if she’d heard this phrase very often in her short life.

“I see. Well, would all of you like to work for me?”

The desperate hope that appeared in the woman’s eyes pained him. “The house is in a poor state,” James added.

“It’s daft,” said Ned.

“You’ve been inside?”

The whole family froze like rabbits spotting a snake.

“I looked through the winders, like,” replied Ned.

“Ah.” The boy seemed quick. James imagined that he’d slipped in to see what he could pilfer. James didn’t blame him, though that must stop now. “Well then, you have seen that there’s much to do.”

“I’ll take any sort of work, milord,” said the woman. “We all will. Don’t matter how hard.” Her breath caught in her haste to assure him. “I can cook plain dishes. Not like you’re used to mebbe.” Her face creased with distress.

“They must be better than what I’ve had lately.” James made up his mind. This had unfolded felicitously. More for the Gardeners perhaps than for him, but…he would try it out. Where was the harm? “Come into the kitchen where it’s warmer, and we will set out a plan. Wages and so on.”

Mrs. Gardener took a step forward as if she still didn’t believe he meant it.

“I have scones,” James said.

---