Page 12 of The Duke's Pet

“If you ask me His Lordship has finally lost his mind, sending into York for companionship. All these years he’s been alone, working and now this.” She waved her hand in the direction of Jemima. “How can he expect a slip of a thing to heal his wounds?”

“His wounds?” Jemima asked.

“I think she’s talking about his grief,” James said quietly. “He lost his wife.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Mrs. Cook said. “No one will ever take Lady Madeline’s place in his heart, no one.”

Jemima had no wish to enter the duke’s heart, only to serve her time here then escape the estate with a little something of value in her pocket and a job to go to.

Yes, I can do it. I can take a trinket as payment for my virginity. It’s only fair.

“This way,” Mrs. Cook said. “No point dallying around here all day gassing.”

“Good luck.” James passed her basket.

“Thank you.”

As she followed Mrs. Cook to what was a servant’s entrance beneath the imposing steps leading to the house, the wheels of the carriage crunched into the distance.

The interior was dark and cool and Jemima headed down a long corridor that had crates and boxes stacked on either side. Soon they emerged into a large kitchen.

At the center stood an enormous oak table littered with bags of flour, pots of herbs, rolling pins, and baking trays. A long black oven dominated one wall and opposite was a row of cupboards. A window surrounded by hanging copper pans looked out over a courtyard.

“This is my domain,” Mrs. Cook said. “Please do not enter here and move things around. In fact that would be wise to remember in all rooms at Hillcrest. The duke does not like his work to be touched by anyone other than himself; he’s most particular about that.”

“I have no intention of interfering with his work.” Jemima paused. “I heard he’s a botanist. What is that?”

“He studies and paints.”

“What does he study and paint?”

She flapped her hand. “Things.”

Jemima wasn’t sure if Mrs. Cook didn’t know, or couldn’t be bothered to tell her.

“Where shall I put my basket,” she said.

“Over there, in the corner, but tuck it under the chair so I don’t trip over it.”

Jemima did as she’d been asked. Walking past the oven, she noticed the sweet scent of pastry and cherries. Her stomach clenched and her mouth watered. She hoped she’d be offered some pie, if there was some to spare later on.

“How many staff are here?” she asked.

“Just me and James.” Mrs. Cook picked up a ball of dough and sprinkled it with flour. “You now as well, I guess, if you can be called staff.”

Jemima watched Mrs. Cook knead the dough. “It’s a big estate for only two staff.”

“We both work hard.” She puffed as she banged the dough down and worked it with enthusiasm. “Another thing you’d do well to remember.”

A sudden trill rattled around the kitchen, seeming to bounce off the pots.

“That’s His Lordship.” Mrs. Cook looked at the complex bell system. “Calling from his study.”

“Calling for what?” A new wave of nerves washed through Jemima.

“What do you think?” Again Mrs. Cook tsked. “You, girl. He obviously heard you arrive and wants you.”

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