The duchess hid for a week. At least, that’s what it felt like to Adam. She didn’t go anywhere. Nor did she entertain visitors. No one came to call.
After his last encounter with the duchess he’d gone to Mrs. Thigpen, knowing that the woman would know the answer to his question.
She insisted on him joining her for lunch, and since the meal was a beef-and-pork pie, he wasn’t adverse. When he finished and he put his fork down, he complimented Mrs. Thigpen on the talents of the cook. For a few minutes he listened as she detailed all the dishes in which Grace excelled. When the housekeeper was done he leaned forward and dropped his voice. Although there was no one else in the staff dining room, he didn’t want his question overheard by anyone passing in the corridor.
“Olivia, I have a favor to ask. I realize that what I’m asking is somewhat intrusive, and I apologize for that. My curiosity, however, demands an answer.”
“Of course, Adam. What do you want to know?”
“Who does the duchess mourn?”
She sat back in the chair and regarded him solemnly. Had he overstepped? For several moments he thought she wouldn’t answer him, but then she sighed.
“Georgie,” she said. “Her son.”
When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “We didn’t think the poor dear would survive it,” Mrs. Thigpen said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “It was such a terrible dark time. She doted on Georgie. I think he was the light in her life.”
She didn’t add, and he was probably wrong in assuming, but he wondered if her son was the only bright spot in the duchess’s life. He could only assume what marriage to the duke had been like.
He’d gotten to the duke’s thirties and had to read page after page of the man’s bragging about his conquests. The duke had been proud of his sword—as he’d called it—and the wide swath he’d cut through the female population. From what Adam had read, he hadn’t limited his swordplay to London, but had taken advantage of more than one young girl who’d come to work at Marsley House.
He hadn’t respected the man in India, a feeling that had led to loathing soon enough. His memory summoned up images of the duke ordering the rebels to be blown from cannons, reason enough to despise the man. The more journals he read, the more his opinion was reinforced. The Duke of Marsley was morally bankrupt and ethically challenged.
“The darling died in the accident, of course,” Olivia said. “Drowned, poor mite. I can still hear the duchess’s scream when she was told.”
She shook her head, her attention on the tabletop, but Adam could see that she was reliving that moment.
“Why does no one ever mention his name? Or say anything about him?”
Mrs. Thigpen glanced at him. “It wasn’t for lack of love for Georgie. We all loved him as well. But it was out of respect for the duchess. Poor thing, to lose her husband and her son in the same accident. We all decided—the previous majordomo, the stable master, the land steward, and me—not to mention the child. And we gave the order that the staff was not to speak of either of them, for her sake.”
He only nodded in response. He didn’t have a thing to say.
As the days passed he started to look for her. She hadn’t come to any of the public rooms. He’d even unbent enough to ask Ella where the duchess was.
“Why would you want to know?” she asked, giving him a narrow-eyed look.
“I need to speak with her about a matter.”
“I’ll tell her you need to see her,” she said, but he didn’t believe her.
If it suited her purposes, Ella would say something. If not, she’d remain silent. It wasn’t loyalty to the duchess as much as it was power. People like Ella hoarded information because it might prove valuable to them in the future.
Nor was the Silent Service forthcoming with information. He was never told more than he absolutely needed to know. The temptation was to do the same in return, to keep back a few details to protect oneself. He’d run into those kinds of people, too.
“Where is she?” he asked, a mistake the minute the words came out of his mouth.
“Is that any of your concern?”
The tone of Ella’s voice was one of disdain, as icy as the duchess.
Except that the duchess hadn’t seemed cold a week ago.
He watched as the maid sauntered off without another word. Too bad he didn’t have the power to dismiss Ella.
Over the past two months he’d established a pattern of behavior for himself as majordomo. The week was filled with approving expenditures or meeting with the upper staff or interviewing the maids and footmen. He believed in information filtering up the chain of command. He was also able to head off any misunderstandings about new rules and regulations that he’d initiated.
Every morning he inspected the staff along with Mrs. Thigpen. That was another change—he wanted to ensure that the staff knew that the housekeeper was well respected and someone they could go to if they had a problem.
Unless there was a visitor expected—which rarely happened at Marsley House—he did not man the door. Instead, a senior footman was assigned that position along with a junior footman in training. Adam was a stickler for training, and no doubt it was because of his time in the army. He never wanted to be surprised. Instead, he believed in preparing for every contingency.
He’d been woefully unprepared for the duchess. Nor had he counted on her father.