Mrs. Jensen gasped as she brought a hand to her mouth.
“The world is not as kind and gentle as we would wish,” he said as he took a long drink of his whiskey. The anger at the world’s injustice bit at him.
The housekeeper nodded, “What is your ultimate goal? The end game?” she asked as she studied him. “Hide her here? Train her so that she could work somewhere else? Weave her into the household staff? There will be some resentment at a new interloper with the Duke’s preference.”
So typical he thought. This was the woman who had taught him how to play chess. She always thought three moves ahead.
Shrugging his shoulders, he glanced back at the fireplace. “I really hadn’t thought it through.”
Mrs. Jensen scoffed and gave him a look that let him know she wasn’t surprised. “The woman isn’t from the working class and most definitely not the streets. She speaks as if she has been exposed to books. I don’t know why I think that. But I assume you know what I mean. Perhaps a merchant’s, or clerk’s daughter,”
He scoffed. “Well, I know she’s not a Lady. She’s too intelligent. None of them could have survived for a day down there. Let alone a year.”
She studied him for a moment. “She is rather pretty. At least once you get past the dirt and grime.”
He laughed as he nodded. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
The woman scowled at him, “The day you don’t notice a pretty girl, Your Grace, is the day we bury you.”
He smiled at her but chose to keep his thoughts to himself. If Mrs. Jensen knew what he really thought she’d hide the girl in the bowels of the house and never let her within a dozen feet of him.
“Yes, well, I expect you can turn her into a competent maid.”
She frowned up at him. “I could turn a fish monger’s brat into a competent maid. But, something tells me it would be a waste on this woman.”
Again, he chose not to reply. This was now his housekeeper’s project. He would keep out of it. Something told him, the more he was around the woman, the better chance of him making a dishonorable mistake. No, better that she remains Mrs. Jensen’s problem.
The woman sighed heavily then said, “Very well, Your Grace, as per your desires, I will turn her into a competent maid.”
He laughed, she loved reminding him when he was acting too haughty and full of himself.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen. As always, I knew I could count on your wise counsel.”
Her eyes narrowed as she stared up at him, “Sir, you know perfectly well that your charm doesn’t work with me.”
A wide smile crossed his face because he knew the exact opposite to be true.
“But, Your Grace,” she continued, “don’t be surprised when she leaves us. The woman wasn’t born to be a maid. There is something in her that cries out for more.”
He nodded as a sudden feeling of dread filled him at the thought of Young Ann leaving his world.
.o0o.
Ann woke to her bedroom door opening and a sharp light hitting her eyes.
Grainger! Was her first thought as her heart jumped, making her scoot to the far back corner of the bed.
“Mrs. Jensen sent me,” a young woman said as she lifted a candle while she gave her a quizzical gaze. “You are to wear this,” she added as she held up a gray striped dress draped over her arm. “We have to wear the same type of dress and apron. The cost will be taken from your wages.”
“Um … Thank you,” Ann said as she fought to remember the night before. A Duke had saved her. This house. A position on staff. All of it flooded into her.
The young woman studied her with a sharp scowl. Ann studied her back, two women cataloging and judging. The woman was about her own age, slightly plump, her hair up in a tight bun covered with a white cap, wearing a striped cotton dress and a linen apron that Ann assumed was a mirror of what she was expected to wear.
“I’m Mary,” the woman said. “Mrs. Jensen says I’m to see to you. Why we need another maid I will never know. Jenny and I are perfectly able to do our job.”
The hesitant look in the woman’s eyes made Ann cringe inside.
“But,” the woman continued as she laid the dress and cap across the other bed, “what His Grace wants, His Grace gets.”
Ann’s stomach clenched as she realized all of her hopes had not been answered after all and that she had been pushed into another world with its own set of problems. A new hierarchy with its own set of rules.
A bell chimed from down the hall. Mary’s face drained of color. “Hurry,” she hissed. “Mrs. Jensen will have my insides on a platter if we’re late.”
The girl looked terrified. Ann quickly got dressed, finding the uniform a little tight across the chest. As she placed her cap on her head, she raised an eyebrow at Mary.
The other maid examined her quickly then grabbed her hand and drew her out into the hall. The two women hurried around the corner and down a short flight of stairs to another hall just down from the kitchen.
Two footmen and two young scullery maids were standing tall, their backs against the wall. Mary hurriedly fell in line and let out a long sigh of relief before pulling Ann to stand next to her.
A deep frown crossed Ann’s brow as she tried to understand what was happening. Only a moment later, Mrs. Jensen stepped out of the kitchen and stopped before the first footman. She looked up and down, examining him closely, then nodded before moving on to the next person in line.
Ann’s stomach clenched into a tight ball when Mrs. Jensen stepped in front of her with a deep scowl. The woman looked as if she had found a mouse in the parlor. An abomination that could not be allowed.
Her eyes slowly examined every aspect as she reached up and brushed lint off of Ann’s shoulder. Finally, the older woman nodded, then turned away and said, “Let us break our fast.”
Ann’s stomach rumbled as the delicious scent of bacon washed over her. A hazy feinting feeling filled her, making her reach for the wall to stop herself from falling.
Mrs. Jensen stopped and turned back to ask, “How long since you have eaten?”
Taking a calming breath, Ann fought to retain awareness. Should she lie? she wondered as shame filled her. No, that would be a dangerous habit to fall into. Especially with this woman.
“Three days,” she whispered.
Mrs. Jensen frowned as she slowly nodded. “Sit, we will have you back to snuff in no time.”
Ann sighed as she slid into the bench behind the table loaded with bacon, eggs, fresh bread, and three different jams plus orange marmalade. Her stomach gurgled again making her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.
As she ate, she noticed that Mrs. Jensen kept a sharp eye on her. Ann pushed it aside and focused on the food in front of her. How had she become so lucky? Closing her eyes, she silently sent up a prayer of thanks, then a silent thank you to His Grace. Once again, the man had rescued her.
When the meal was complete, Mrs. Jensen placed her fork across the top of her plate then simply lifted a single eyebrow. It was as if she had barked a command. People pushed away from the table to hurry and begin the day.
“Come on,” Mary said as she took her hand and started back up the stairs. “We need to be quick before His Grace comes down. Mrs. Jensen hates it when we disturb His Grace.”
Ann nodded as she hurried after the girl. She agreed with Mrs. Jensen, the last thing she wished was to run into the Duke. The thought sent a tingle of fear through her. What if he had changed his mind? Perhaps the daylight might clear his head. Could she once again find herself cold, alone, and hungry?
A fierce sense of determination filled her. She would be the best maid ever known. It was not what her father had wanted for her. But then, he had long ago lost any right to complain.
For the next few hours, she helped Mary. First, by cleaning the fireplaces. Then, dusting and taking the parlor rug out back to be beaten. Mary seemed to know what to do without being told.
“Mrs. Jensen has a routine,” s
he said as if reading Ann’s curious frown. “A different rug each day. Today was the parlor’s.”
As both of them carried the rug back to the parlor Ann glanced up the stairs, terrified that she might see the Duke coming down. She was going to have to get over this fear, she realized. Surely, she could not spend the rest of her life avoiding the man.
“When do we clean upstairs?” she whispered to Mary.
The other maid frowned and shook her head, “Mr. Sawyer, His Grace’s valet will let us know when the rooms are free.”
Ann swallowed hard, of course.
While they were moving the small table and two stuffed chairs back onto the rug, Mary stopped for a moment and pushed her hands into the small of her back as she studied Ann with a frown.
“At least you don’t shirk,” she said as she turned and started for the next job. A sense of happiness filled Ann. She was relatively certain that might be more than she could ever hope for from her fellow maids.
Chapter Six
The Duke of Bedford pulled up short after entering his Library. Lilac and rose, he thought as he sniffed at the air, then smiled to himself. Miss Ann Parker had been in his library not long ago. After only five days and he would know that scent anywhere.
Shaking his head, he glanced out the window to the back garden. He was willing to wager a large sum that Albert the gardener would find some of his flowers missing.
Five days? How was it possible? In all that time he had barely seen the girl. Nothing but quick sightings as she hurried down a back hall or dipped into a side room. Like a ghost, he thought. Either that or the girl was avoiding him.
The thought bothered him for some unknown reason. He wasn’t a monster. His staff was loyal and well taken care of. He didn’t yell or bluster. No stomping or storming about like an East wind. So why should she fear him?
Taking a deep breath, he pushed it aside to focus on the letter from his agent in the North. The man was concerned about this year’s harvest and a mill that needed to be repaired. He sighed to himself. He would need to take a tour of his estates after Parliament was dismissed.
Months away, but it would be best to give the man advance warning. Agents hated being surprised.
Next was the reports from the tin mine in Cornwall. The new pumps were working well and had already paid for themselves he realized. A shudder passed through him as he thought about the men working deep underground. Yet they were paid more than factory workers and would have rebelled at the thought of the mines being taken from them.
He was preparing to review the report about the Sheffield foundry when there was a slight knock at the door.
“Yes,” he called out, pleased at the idea of a distraction from his paperwork.
His heart jumped when Young Ann stepped in and quickly curtsied. Dressed in a maid’s uniform with a starched white apron. The woman still looked as beautiful as any Lady of the ton.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” she said. Her face as white as her apron. Her large eyes filled with fright. She was probably terrified he was going to yell at her for interrupting him, he thought with a sinking realization.
“Yes,” he said, giving her a quick smile, trying desperately to reassure her.
She swallowed, then curtsied again before stepping aside and announcing, “His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, Sir.”
Brock frowned as he stood up. Ian stepped in, nodding his thanks to the maid.
“Ian? Did we have plans?”
His guest started to reply, but the Duke of Bedford held up a quick hand to stop him, then turned to see Miss Parker pulling the door closed.
“Ann,” he called out, stopping her before she could get away.
The girl froze for a moment, then turned back to him, her face still as white as before. “Yes, Your Grace?”
He noticed Ian looking at him then back to the maid. Brock ignored him. “Why are you announcing my guests? Where is Brewster, or one of the footmen?”
Her eyes grew even wider as she swallowed hard. “Um … Sir … Um.”
The Duke sighed heavily as he realized what had happened. “Brewster has left, hasn’t he?”
The young girl blanched then nodded.
“What?” Ian asked as he poured himself a whiskey. “Does that make five in the last four years?”
“Six,” Brock answered as he shook his head. Butlers had difficulty working with Mrs. Jensen. She refused to give up control. He knew it was all his own fault. But he couldn’t force the woman to change. Especially because the household ran so smoothly. And most important of all, it was drama-free, just the way he preferred it.
The maid continued to look at him, her hand on the door, obviously desperate to be allowed to leave. He could well imagine that she wished desperately not to get involved with the problems he was having in retaining a butler.
“And the footmen?” he asked. “Either James or John should be available.”
Again, the girl swallowed hard. “John is ill. James is helping cook, Sir. I … I heard the knock at the front door and assumed you would not want your caller waiting.”
He smiled to himself. She had seen a need and jumped in to fill it. He could never criticize someone for that.
“Of course,” he said to her with as gentle a tone as he could muster considering he had just lost another butler. “Would you please inform Mrs. Jenson that I would like a moment of her time.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said as she hurriedly curtsied before she left, gently closing the door behind her.
“Really, Brock. I don’t know why you even hire a butler,” Ian said. “Just let Mrs. Jensen run things like she already does.”
Brock snorted. “What would our friends think? A Duke without a butler. Half of London would laugh, the other would scoff in scorn.”
“Since when did you worry about what other people think?” his friend asked as he studied him over the top of his glass of amber liquid.
Brock shrugged his shoulders. “The truth, I don’t want my mother having one more thing to complain about.”
Ian nodded as he smiled. He knew perfectly well how disagreeable mothers could be.
Before they could delve into the matter deeper, a soft knock at the door drew his attention as Mrs. Jensen stepped in without being summoned.
She curtsied quickly, folded her hands before her, and stared at him, waiting. He could see it in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks. The woman was angry. His heart jumped. He didn’t want her pinning this on Young Ann for informing him.
“So, Mr. Brewster has left us I take it?”
“Good riddance,” she said and he could have sworn she wanted to spit on the ground and curse him. But she had been a part of this world for so long that she pulled herself back.
Brock raised an eyebrow in question. “And why did the man not inform me himself?”
Mrs. Jensen took a deep breath and said, “Because I didn’t give him an opportunity. You would have killed him and this family doesn’t need the scandal.”
A sick feeling filled him, “What happened?” he asked slowly.
“Young Ann caught him in the linen closet with someone,” she growled.
Brock frowned, “That is surprising. I would have thought the man didn’t like women. And neither James nor John would put up with such a thing.”
“It hardly wasn’t a woman,” she snapped. “Women can fight back. It was a thirteen-year-old girl. Lizzy.”
“Our scullery maid?” Brock growled as an anger began to build inside of him. “Where is he?” he demanded as he started for the door.
“He’s gone, Your Grace,” she said as she stepped between him and the door and shot him a frown that told him she would not be budged. Once again, she was stopping him from making a terrible mistake.
“The girl is fine,” she added. “Embarrassed, frightened, but fine. Luckily Ann discovered them before anything irreversible could occur. She said she had a feeling and was on the lookout. I do believe that Ann’s … experience in the
rougher parts of town served us well.”
The Duke ground his teeth as he fought the anger inside of him. The thought of anyone bothering one of his employees fired every protective instinct. And a young girl. Poor Lizzy. “Is there anything we need to do?”
Mrs. Jensen shook her head. “She desperately wants to pretend nothing happened. It would destroy her if this became a scandal that followed her for the rest of her life. She wants to become a lady’s maid someday. This type of rumor could hurt her chances. I’ve shifted the room assignments and placed her with Ann. The girl views her as her hero. I thought it might help her past this.”
Brock forced himself to take a calming breath. The injustice of this world once again rearing its ugly head. No, Mrs. Jensen was right, he realized. Killing the man, while satisfying, would only make things worse.
“So, we do nothing?”
Mrs. Jensen smiled slyly. “Without references, the man will have difficulty finding employment. Especially after I spread the word of what an animal he is.”
“She’s right,” Ian said from the corner studying him over the top of his glass of whiskey. “Let Mrs. Jensen handle this. She is much better at these types of things. Subtly has never been your strong point.
Brock sighed internally. It went against every instinct he had, but he allowed his head to overrule his heart and nodded his acceptance.
“Please make sure,” he said, “that Ann knows how thankful I am of her quick action. She is to be commended.”
Mrs. Jensen sighed visibly, obviously pleased that she had avoided another catastrophe. Dukes killing butlers was the type of story the newspapers would just love.
“But,” he continued, “I will not be hiring another butler. Let London gossip.”
She frowned for a moment, then nodded. He could see it in her eyes. She had chosen to fight the subject another day. This was not the time she had decided. He smiled to himself. He knew the woman too well.
“Having one more maid than we need will help,” she said shooting him a quick look. She was still perturbed by having Mis Parker thrust upon her obviously.
A Duke's Desire (The Duke's Club Book 1) Page 4
