Liz whipped her head back to the man fitted against her. Each honorific from Mr. Todd’s lips hit her like an arrow spearing its target.
Oh dear.
If she’d been paying attention she would have noticed that the fabric of the jacket beneath her hands was finely woven gabardine. Yes, he was missing a cravat, a faux pas for a man of his station, but the shirt underneath was linen. And Mr. Todd would never have condescended to answer questions from anyone but his employer.
“Now, thank Your Grace for saving your neck, and apologize for your disrespect, girl,” Mr. Todd ordered.
She swallowed hard. If the duke tossed her out now she would never get the letter. She met his stare, and straightened her shoulders as best she could. The action only pressed her chest closer into his.
“I am very sorry, Your Grace; I didn’t know who you were. Please accept my apology, and my thanks for stopping my fall.” She pushed gently against his chest, and this time the duke set her aside.
“My new chambermaid, you say.” Montague circled her, his eyes examining every inch of her person. Her serviceable clothes, which before had seemed tidy and modest, now felt threadbare and ill fitting. “She is not in uniform.”
“Not yet, Your Grace,” Mr. Todd said. “After I’ve shown her around, she will be sent to her room to change.”
Liz bristled at being discussed as though she couldn’t speak for herself, but kept her expression even. As a servant, and a lower one at that, she was meant to remain silent.
“I apologize most humbly for the disorder, Your Grace. All will be put to rights immediately.” Mr. Todd grasped her elbow and Liz instinctively jerked from his grip. The duke raised a golden eyebrow.
“Miss Smith, you are one of those things that need to be put right.” Mr. Todd’s round stomach quivered with indignation. “May I remind you that your employment is in its infancy and can easily be lost? The Duke of Montague’s service requires the highest of standards. If you are unable to meet said standards you will be discharged immediately.”
Nodding her head, she stared at the floor, her best imitation of humble agreement. Her nails dug deeply into her palms at the insult of being spoken to such. Growing up as a member of the gentry hadn’t prepared her for the treatment suffered by the servant class. This past year had shown her how blind she’d been to the way the world truly worked.
Montague cleared his throat, demanding her attention. Pointedly, he looked down at her hand, and his full lips thinned. Liz hesitated, slowly uncurled her fists. The duke nodded, and turned to his steward.
“This is the girl’s first day. Be lenient. I am certain she takes direction well and will be an asset to your management of the estate.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Todd said with a stiff bow. The duke turned on his heel and strode out of the room without a second glance at Liz. She sketched a curtsy to his retreating back.
“You are most fortunate the duke was in a forgiving mood, Miss Smith. Come, I will show you to your room and you must prepare for your duties.” Up the staircase and down a long hall they walked, Mr. Todd imparting some remaining information along the way. The mealtimes for the maids (six in the evening), the day of the week she would have a free afternoon (Saturdays), and the moral expectations that each member of the duke’s service was expected to adhere to.
The female members, at least. “There will be no fraternizing with those of the male persuasion who serve the duke. And you are not to go into the village without an escort. Unmarried woman who are caught in a compromising position shall be released from service immediately.” He stopped in front of a small wooden door. “Here are your quarters, Miss Smith. You share with Miss Molly Davies. Have you understood everything that I’ve told you?”
“Yes, Mr. Todd.” She entered the spartan room, and sagged with relief when the door closed behind her. Two small beds separated by a rickety desk, a table with a washbowl on it, and two wardrobes were the room’s only furnishings. Her trunk rested in front of one of the wardrobes.
Liz flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. So that was a duke. She’d seen one across a ballroom during her season once, surrounded by society much more important than the Wilcox girls. But never stood before one. Never spoken to one. Imposing, humorless creatures apparently. He was rougher than she’d expected. Far from the pampered and soft nobility whom she’d previously encountered. A broad, firm chest. Arms like bands of iron wrapped around her middle. She rested a hand on her stomach. Definitely not a man who relied on servants to open doors for him or carry his packages.
Sighing, she stood and opened her wardrobe. Four uniforms, black with thin white pinstripes, hung on a wooden rod, the rest of the closet empty, waiting to be filled by her meager belongings. She dressed in a work gown, loose in the bust but well pressed and made of India cotton. Tying the apron at her back, she headed downstairs to begin her work.
She picked up supplies and met with two other maids. They both seemed young and vapid, giggling about the local village lads. But as they showed her around and explained their techniques, Liz could tell that they took their employment seriously. Working for a duke held prestige and brought a large salary, and they wouldn’t risk either with slipshod work.
They introduced her to Molly, Liz’s chamber-mate, a bold girl with green eyes that turned up at the corners and a playful smile. She assured Liz that they would have a capital time rooming together and said it with such certainty Liz didn’t dare to contradict her.
The study had already been cleaned that day, so Liz was sent to the library to give it a quick dusting and polish. She trailed her fingers over the leather-bound spines as she swiped the books with her cloth.
It was all very organized, first by time period and location, ancient Greece, medieval Europe, then by subject matter. She paused by a translation of Aristotle’s De Anima. She hadn’t been allowed to pursue her education as much as she would have wanted. It wasn’t worth the money to hire a tutor for a girl, her father had said. But she’d learned as much as she could from the books in their small library and what she borrowed from neighbors.
But no education could have prepared her for her life now, so perhaps her father had been right in that respect. It would have been a waste of money.
She scrubbed all the wood surfaces within reach until they gleamed in the afternoon light. With a last look at the floor-to-ceiling books, she headed downstairs for an early dinner.
Peggy patted the seat next to her at the long table in the kitchen, and Liz wended her way through the crowd. The servants ate in three shifts, and the seating arrangement at the table seemed to fall according to the category of service one was in. The cooks and footmen sat in a row with the maids across from them. Except for Liz. Apparently she’d broken ranks by sitting next to Peggy, who gave her a wink. The groomsmen and gardeners sat at the far end of the table, closest to the door.
Trays of food crowded the table, and everyone helped themselves to what they wanted. Mr. Pike reached for a slab of meat stacked on a platter. He caught her looking at him and scowled.
Peggy spooned some mashed potatoes onto Liz’s plate, and leaned in close. “I wanted to apologize, for the spot of trouble you got in this afternoon.”
“Why should you apologize for it?” Even though the food smelled delicious, she ate sparingly. The first thing she would do for Amanda after getting her out of Newgate would be to cook her a feast. No, second thing. A bath first.
Peggy blushed. “Well, those dogs were worrying a poor kitten out in the yard, so, to distract them, I put out a joint of ham.” She tore a piece of bread. “I didn’t think they would get so out of hand with it, yammering to bring the house down. They were like a pack of wild, well, dogs.”
“That’s quite all right. I didn’t have any real trouble.” Insulted her employer, apparently. Didn’t bow and scrape quickly enough. Almost lost her position before she even lifted a dustrag. But none of that was Peggy’s fault. “And the duke was able to subdue the dogs with one word. It was really quite extraordinary.”
“Yes, the duke has that way about him, that’s for sure.”
“Does he live alone here? Has he any family?” Family who might interfere with her spying.
“Sadly, no, poor dear,” Peggy said. “His mother died first, when the boys were young. Then his little brother died. That just about broke the old duke’s heart. It wasn’t many years later that he passed, too.” Her gaze left Liz’s face and trailed down to the end of the table.
“So he is alone.” Made it easier for her, but the knowledge didn’t lift her spirits.
“Well, there is the odd cousin and whatnot, but the duke doesn’t have much to do with that lot.” Peggy twisted her napkin around a finger, took a deep breath. “Excuse me for a minute, dearie.”
Jumping to her feet, she grabbed a tray of desserts from the counter. She carried it down the table and held it in front of Mr. Pike with a smile. He ignored the sweet confections, and pushed away from the table. The outside door slammed shut behind him.
Peggy’s shoulders rounded, and she placed the tray on the table for the other grooms. Before she’d reached her seat, the tray was empty of everything but crumbs. Her chair creaked a protest when she settled back down.
“I can’t understand a man who doesn’t like dessert.” Peggy poked at the scraps left on her plate.
“That does seem to be a fatal character flaw.” Liz sipped her tea, struggling to keep her lips even.
Peggy spread her fingers out, fan shaped, against her breastbone. “I’m sure it’s not so serious as all that. But I don’t have much to offer a man, except I can bake something fierce. It would be nice if he would . . .” Peggy trailed off, her thoughts on what she wanted out of Mr. Pike remaining unknown.
Trying to change the mood, Liz asked, “So what happened to the kitten?”
Peggy waited a beat. “I expect nothing. Cats roam wild all over this county.”
“That’s a shame. A kitten would make a lovely companion,” Liz said evenly. “And keep the kitchen and storerooms free of mice.”
The cook nodded. “That’s what I think, too. But some”—she glared at Mr. Todd at the head of the table—“don’t feel that way. ‘No person in the service of the duke shall condescend to own a pet.’” Her impression of the steward was high-pitched and stilted, far from true, but Liz understood who she meant nonetheless.
Peggy turned back to her tea. She didn’t see Mr. Todd’s stern mien soften into a look of longing as his eyes swept her plump form.
“Well, I’d best be going, dear. I’ll see you for breakfast.” Peggy walked past Mr. Todd with her nose in the air. She went to the counter and filled her teacup from a blue pitcher, and swept from the room. Mr. Todd deflated. Cutting himself a piece of her cake, he took a morose bite.
Finished with her meal, Liz cleared her place and walked to the counter. She tipped the blue pitcher towards her. It was filled with cream.
* * *
A scraping noise froze Liz to the spot, slippered foot paused in mid-air. She waited in the dark hallway, ears straining. Nothing. She inched forward. It would most likely be some time before she became accustomed to the sounds of the enormous house.
Reaching the door of the library, she eased it open. The odors of leather and bay rum teased her nose, and a tingle skittered down her spine. She recognized the scent. The duke must spend a lot of time in that room.
Once inside, she risked lighting her candle. She hadn’t wanted to chance getting caught making a search for the letter in the dark of night. It seemed safer looking for the missive while engaging in her cleaning duties when her poking around could be excused. But a trip to the library for reading material couldn’t get her into too much trouble. Probably. And besides, she had nothing else to do.
She didn’t know what the consequences would be for borrowing a book from the duke’s library. Maybe nothing. But Mr. Todd would most likely disapprove. Which was why she shouldn’t be here. But it was only nine o’clock and she needed some sort of occupation for the rest of the evening. An escape. And when she’d toured this room earlier in the day, with its floor-to-ceiling walls of books on three sides, her fingers had itched to browse the titles.
Molly had chattered nonstop until falling asleep ten minutes ago. Liz couldn’t fall asleep yet, not even knowing she would have to wake at five in the morning to begin her day. Thoughts of her sister, her father, and what lay ahead wouldn’t let her be, leaving her restless. The peace of mind that came with losing herself in a book was worth the risk. If she were left to her tangle of emotions her nerves would make her task more difficult.
Wandering to the contemporary section, she read the titles. A volume by Lord Byron caught her eye. His work had never been allowed in their home, on morality grounds her father had said.
She dug her nails into her palms, the sharp bite of pain drawing her focus, turning her thoughts from her father. His vicious hypocrisy. She took a deep breath. Well, she would read it now. Pulling the leather-bound tome from its place, she rearranged the books to hide the space left behind. Her candlelight illuminated the French literature section, and she removed a slim volume of poetry from the shelf. Perhaps she and her sister would move to the Continent after her release. Her French needed practicing.
Clutching the two books to her chest, she blew out her candle and started to the door. A creak, a rustle, sounded outside in the hall. Liz gulped down her breath, waited. There it was again. Someone was coming this way.
She scanned the room for hiding places. Underneath the desk looked safe, but she didn’t think she had time to reach it.
She ran to the wingback chair, her toe catching on the edge of the rug. Stumbling, she flung her hands out, the books tumbling to the seat, but stopped herself from falling on her face. Dropping to her knees, she huddled behind the chair. She pulled her elbows in tight, tried to make her body as small as possible.
Her breathing was loud, ragged in the silence. She pressed her face into her knees, hoping her skirts would muffle the sound. And waited.
The dim glow from a candle traced a pattern on the carpet next to her. Dizziness crept over her as she waited for discovery. Her mission would end before it had even begun. A minute passed. Two. Blood thundered in her ears. Whoever was at the door must have heard her thundering heartbeat.
If she weren’t frozen to the spot Liz would have kicked herself. This excursion had been reckless. She could no longer engage in such whims.
Her ennui just might have resigned her sister to the hangman’s noose.