Page 50 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

Aunt Valeria looked up from her notetaking.

Nodding a dismissal to the servant, Cecelia read the words. James wanted more money. He asked politely, promising to return any sums advanced. This meant he was still at the ducal town house. She let the sheet of paper fall to her lap.

“What has a street urchin to do with you?” asked her aunt.

“My…friend merely employed him to carry the message.”

“Lacking a servant?”

“I suppose,” Cecelia said, conscious that it was an evasive answer.

“And which friend would that be? Surely not one of your young ladies? That makes no sense.”

Aunt Valeria gazed at her, waiting for an answer Cecelia did not wish to give. Not for the first time, or the hundredth, Cecelia noted how much her aunt resembled Papa. Both of them were plump and blond, with a bland air that disguised acute minds. She recognized the glint in her aunt’s blue eyes now, from years of seeing it in Papa. Aunt Valeria was curious, and she wanted her curiosity satisfied. She would not stop until it was. She didn’t care particularly about the underlying issue, but she would not be mystified. “It is a request for aid,” Cecelia tried.

“Some charitable endeavor?”

Could James be defined so? Hardly. Unless one theorized that exile amid piles of discarded furnishings was good for him? Cecelia allowed herself a nod.

“It is no use giving money to street children,” said her aunt. “That is a bottomless pit. You will make no difference.”

“I know that you think so.” Aunt Valeria had no interest in philanthropic endeavors, though she could sometimes be brought to feel for individuals.

Her flicker of interest exhausted, the older lady waved this aside and returned to her work.

Cecelia reread the note. Procuring the funds was no obstacle. She managed her father’s affairs and was well known to his banker. But if she refused wouldn’t James have to go home? And was that not best?

In the end she decided it wasn’t her decision to make. She would do as he asked one more time.

***

Later that day, once more in her drabbest gown, Cecelia returned to Tereford House, retracing her previous route. She found the stables empty and was disappointed that James had turned the poor family out. The back door was again unlocked, and she slipped through, to be surprised by sounds of conversation from the kitchen.

Quietly, she pushed the inner door open and discovered the woman she’d last seen in the stables bent over the hearth. A little girl of perhaps five stood next to her, staring at whatever was sizzling in a pan with avid anticipation. The woman poked at it with a toasting fork.

The child turned her head and noticed Cecelia. She gasped and clutched her mother’s skirts. “There’s a lady.”

The woman straightened and turned. She looked better. Her clothes were still ragged, but her face and hands were very clean and her hair was braided and coiled into a tidy bun. She dropped an unpracticed curtsy. “Good day, miss. His lordship said you might come.”

“He…did?”

“He said he expected you would.” She set aside the fork, wiped her hands on an apron that was more substantial than her gown, and added, “Go and fetch him, Effie.”

The child rushed out.

“Would you care to sit, miss? It ain’t proper, being the kitchen and all, but there’s no other room, er, suitable. And I scrubbed everything clean.”

“Thank you.” She examined the low stools and rejected them. “I am Cecelia Vainsmede.”

“Emmaline Gardener,” the woman replied with another bob. “Missus,” she added as if Cecelia might have some doubt.

“You’ve moved in from the stables?” Was it possible that James hadn’t even noticed? No, of course not.

“To work for his lordship,” was the reply.

“I’ve hired the whole family,” said James’s voice from the doorway. He came in, wearing the same clothes as before, only dustier. He had shaved and washed, however, and brushed back his dark hair.

The first little girl trailed after him. Two older children followed. They congregated around their mother. “Mrs. Gardener, Ned, Jen, and Effie,” James added, pointing at each one as if to prove he knew their names.

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