Page 11 of The Duke's Pet

“What are you doing?” The driver frowned as he walked past.

“Getting out.”

“We’re not there yet.” He shut the door. “This is the gate house. This is where I live. Hillcrest is over that rise.” He pointed to the left.

“Oh, I see.”

She studied the direction he’d gestured to. A long straight driveway lined with oak trees stretched into the distance. To each side grassland gave way to more ancient trees and a herd of deer who were staring their way.

“We have farther to travel, please wait.” He nodded for her to sit back.

She rested onto the soft seat, wondering at the size of the house that was simply for a member of the duke’s staff to occupy. Now she looked closer she could make out a stable block too, and a large barn to the right of the gate house.

Soon they were traveling up the long driveway. It was impossible to stop her nervousness. Jemima squeezed her hands together to stop from shaking and despite the warmth of the sun a shiver went up her spine, base to tip, several times.

Eventually the duke’s majestic home came into view, the likes of which she’d never seen before. It had more windows than she could count, was at least four floors high—perhaps more owing to the rooftop windows—and had an enormous entrance approached by a wide set of stone steps flanked by pillars.

A sculpture sat before it, rising from a ring of water dotted with lily pads. It was of a hunter and stag standing side by side, as if at peace with each other for once.

The coach drew to a stop, the wheels settling on the gravel.

The driver opened her door and reached in for her bag.

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled and held out his hand for her to take. “You are most welcome, Miss Jemima.”

Her feet sank into the stony ground and she looked up. The sunlight twinkled off the windows and a light breeze lifted her hair.

“I come up here twice a week,” he said. “To see if there are any errands to be run, but other than that I stay at the gate house, caring for the horses and ensuring the duke is undisturbed.”

“And your name is?”

“James.”

“Thank you, James, for bringing me here.”

“He pays me to do his bidding, the way he does everyone here at Hillcrest.”

She swallowed as a tight knot of regret tugged her belly. It had been a slow, painful slide to this point in her life but this was the only way back up that slippery slope.

“Ah, here is Mrs. Cook. She will see to you now.”

A short stout woman appeared from the side of the steps, as though there was another entrance beneath them.

“James?”

“Over here, Mrs. Cook.” James stepped forward, urging Jemima with him. “She doesn’t see so well,” he said quietly. “But is very good at her job of tending the duke.”

As they approached Mrs. Cook, Jemima could see that the older woman had a milky glaze to her eyes as though the dark center was fogged.

“This is the delivery?” Mrs. Cook asked.

“Yes, this is the young woman His Lordship requested.”

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “No good can come of this.”

“That is not for us to discuss,” James said, “or to judge.”

---