Page 37 of Unbound Duchess

“Strange indeed,” Mrs. Bradley agreed, then went back to her list. “Oh, yes. More wood has been chopped, and every fireplace has been given an extra cache of logs. The chimney sweep finished his cleaning an hour ago, so there should be no unexpected issues as the house prepares to burn more fires.”

Ellen nodded absently as the housekeeper continued down her list of completed chores, trying desperately to keep her mind on the house and not the person who owned it.

“Oh, and there is one more thing, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bradley said after she reached the end of her list. “A package from the local modiste has arrived for you.”

Ellen’s gaze shot up as her brows furrowed in confusion.

“For me?” she asked. “Are you sure it is not for Miss Madalene?”

Mrs. Bradley checked her notes once more, then shook her head.

“No. It is for you, Your Grace,” she replied.

“How?” Ellen asked, sitting up. “I have not ordered anything. I have not even been measured.”

Mrs. Bradley gave her a small smile as she shrugged her shoulders.

“I genuinely do not know, Your Grace,” she answered. “Only that your handmaid, Lily, is in your quarters, waiting to help you try them on.”

“Strange,” Ellen muttered, glancing outside.

“Is there anything else, Mrs. Bradley?” she asked, staring at the garden beyond.

“Oh, um, yes, Your Grace, I almost forgot,” Mrs. Bradley answered. “Because of this weather, as you can see, the garden blooms have begun to wither. I thought that, if you were still wanting fresh flowers in the house, we should place an order with the local florist. Miss Madalene has ordered from him in the past, and he is quite remarkable with his selection.”

Ellen contemplated the choice. Letting the last of the blooms in the garden wither on their stems, or giving them a last bit of life with the warmth of the fires and water in the vases.

“I shall go out into the garden and inspect the flowers myself shortly,” Ellen announced, rising from her chair.

Mrs. Bradley’s eyes widened as she shot up from her chair.

“Yourself?” she asked, her voice rising to a unique pitch of surprise.

Ellen could not help but laugh.

“Yes, by myself,” she answered. “It is no trouble. I have plenty of time between now and dinner.”

“But your dresses⁠—”

“I will attend to the dresses later,” Ellen swiftly replied. She paused and thought for a moment. “Actually, do me a kindness and send Lily to me in the garden. I wish to speak with her and see if she knows about them.”

“And she will stay, of course, and help you,” Mrs. Bradley said, wringing her hands.

Ellen raised an amused brow.

“No,” she replied. “I will not need an attendant. A basket and shears will suffice.”

“But, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bradley insisted as she and Ellen moved to leave the women’s parlor. “It is cold. It may rain. There is no need to trouble yourself when we have so many gardeners willing to attend to your request.”

“My request,” Ellen clarified, stopping at the open doorway to face Mrs. Bradley one last time, “is that I have my solitude and comfort, Mrs. Bradley. Surely you will not deny me that request?”

Mrs. Bradley’s panic became clearer, but she shook her head as she wrung her hands.

“No, Your Grace,” she said defeatedly.

Ellen gave her a curt nod and turned to walk away again.

“Send Lily to me,” she called over her shoulder.