Page 58 of The Duke's Pet

Jemima didn’t know, and without Emily there to ask, she’d have to keep on wondering.

She poked the fire and set another log on it to keep the bedroom warm as night fell. She then tidied around, emptied the water, and shook out the blanket. It seemed Mrs. Cook had done nothing but straighten the bedding.

Jemima was surprised she’d found the time to do that; the poor woman must be run ragged with all the jobs she had to do.

Eventually Jemima wandered back down the stairs. She let her hand slide down the bannister and kept her chin tilted. It was good to be dressed properly in fine clothes and to feel that if someone did walk into the hallway or knock at the door, she was properly attired.

“Ahh, you’re back.” The duke looked up from his painting when she stepped into his study.

“Yes, Sir.”

“You took your time.”

“I tidied a little.”

He frowned. “You don’t need to do that.”

“It will be a nice room to retire to, for us, later.”

His face softened. “I suppose you are right, though tidiness is not something I think of often.”

“I know.” She raised her eyebrows and glanced at the tables littered with the debris of his painting and documenting.

He chuckled. “Andyourhair is not tidy.” He came over to her and plucked a leaf from the back.

“Oh.” She felt over her head, wondering what else was in there. He was right; she had forgotten to comb it.

He smiled. “It’s okay. I will do it.” He pulled open a drawer, then another and another. “Where is it?” He glanced around. “Ah, yes.”

From the cluttered dresser he retrieved a brush. It was silver with lots of spiky metal teeth. The handle was engraved with a swirling pattern.

“And a twig,” he said, showing her a tiny brown stick that he’d tugged from the back of her hair.

“Oh, I really should have fixed it upstairs.”

“There is no brush upstairs. My wife, she...” He paused. “She would often sit in here and brush her hair as I worked.”

“I’m sorry you lost her.”

“It was a long time ago.”

Jemima paused. “Did she have very long hair?”

“Yes, long and dark, not like your fair locks.” He gently teased a knot from the top of her head. “And it didn’t have this unruly curl either.” He pulled the brush downward, tugging softly on her scalp. “But then again, you are a little unruly altogether.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? It makes it more fun.”

She went to turn, needing to see his expression, but he used his free hand to keep her facing the fireplace.

“Was your wife disobedient, Sir?”

“Sadly she had little time to be, we had such a short marriage and she was taken ill so soon after it. But...”

“But?”

“She did have her moments of defiance before we were wed, yes.”

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