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“Hmm... so it is. In any case…” He turned his head. “You can come out now.”
Nora blinked, barely keeping her expression in check and properly expressionless as a woman came around the bookshelves, from the area where the couch was hidden. Her hair was mussed, her dress creased, and her face curiously devoid of powders or gloss. Though she didn’t need it, with her thick, glossy chestnut locks and her fine porcelain skin. Deep brown eyes and a pert nose, and a perfect, lovely white smile. She was, in a word, stunning.
And clearly had been up to... activities with the Duke. Activities that Nora did not want to know or think about.
“Right then. I need you to help Annabelle here out of the house and to the carriage. Without my lady mother seeing her.”
“My lord?” Surely he didn’t mean…
“Help Annabelle get outside and to the carriage. Before my mother catches on to the fact that I’m late for breakfast and guesses as to why. Or worse, comes up here and sees for herself.” He waved a distracted hand. “You can manage that, can’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” And so she could. No one ever paid much attention to quiet Nora, the Dowager’s maid. She took a deep breath and throttled back her feelings of outrage on the young woman’s behalf. From the expression on her face, the young woman the Duke was saying a quick farewell to didn’t find the matter nearly as alarming as she did. “If you’ll follow me, my lady?”
“Of course.” The lady stopped and tipped the Duke a wink. “Until next time, Arthur darling.”
He smirked, smug and relaxed as he leaned on one hip against the desk. “Until next time, gentle lady.”
Nora bit back a comment and ushered her from the room. The back stairs were closer and would avoid passing the Dowager’s rooms or the morning room where she commonly had her breakfast. At this hour, Nora herself was the only one who used them, or perhaps the butler, though he wouldn’t be coming down until breakfast was done, not unless there was a caller at the door.
It was a matter of moments to guide the lady down the steps—she seemed to know them well, so perhaps it was the normal route—to the floor below, then down a short hall, out a side door into the garden, and around front.
The carriage was already waiting as if this was quite the usual thing. Perhaps it was. The Duke was rumored to be somewhat of a rake.
It was that which led her to come to a stop just before they reached the carriage. For all that it was no longer her place to be concerned with such things; she couldn’t help being worried. She didn’t want someone else trapped in her circumstances, or worse. She swallowed and breathed deep. “Ah... my lady, I beg your pardon, but... might I be permitted a question? Even if it is... an improper one for my station?”
The lady, Annabelle, laughed. “Well, I do not see why not. After all, this is not exactly a situation for your station either.” She smiled. “You may ask.”
Nora took a moment to make sure her voice was properly meek. “The Duke... he is not... he is not coercing you? Or... using you unfairly? Taking... advantage?”
“My, what a sheltered young thing you are if you think I am being taken advantage of.” The words should have stung, but there was no malice in them and nothing more than lazy amusement, the kind a cat might show after a bowl of cream, in her face when Nora looked up.
The lady continued, smiling slightly. “No, dear, it’s nothing of the sort. Say, rather, that I am taking advantage of his known penchant for... indiscretion, shall we say? To amuse myself.” One hand gently tipped Nora’s chin up. “It is sweet of you to ask, especially circumstances being what they are between us, and I do thank you for the consideration. Misguided though it is. But you’ve nothing to worry about on that score, little miss.”
Nora nodded, ducking her head as she was released. “As you will, my lady.”
“You are a quiet, sweet little thing. Farewell, then. Perhaps we shall encounter each other again, in less... compromising, circumstances.” With that, the lady stepped away, stepping up into the carriage with graceful steps. Less than a minute later, the whole conveyance was out the gate and out of sight.
Nora heaved out a frustrated breath of air. “Concerned... if you knew what I knew, Miss Annabelle, about fickle men of thetonand their ways, you might be a good deal more concerned. As you should be.”
But there was nothing she could do about it, even if she wanted to. She had been lucky enough that the lady hadn’t been offended by her question and had her punished for impertinence. With a final sigh, she went back inside to see to the rest of the flowers.
* * *
Arthur watched his mother’s maid and his lady friend slip out the door and heaved a sigh of relief. It would have been better if Doyle, his valet, had been the one to answer the summons or steady, dependable Bradstone. Both of them could be trusted to keep his affairs to themselves, even if Bradstone would have been silently disapproving for the rest of the day.
On the other hand, if it had to be someone other than those trusted two, then his mother’s meek little maid was probably the best option. She was such a quiet, solemn little thing; he doubted she had anyone shecouldgossip to. Never mind anyone shewouldgossip to. And she had to know he could have her dismissed if she carried tales to his lady mother.
He could do with a bath, some fresh clothing, and perhaps a bit of a nap, for all it was early morning. He and Annabelle Norburn had made a rather a late night of it. He adjusted his cravat once more, made a final attempt at getting his hair somewhat tamed, and left the study.
He was halfway to his rooms, just passing the Morning Room when his mother’s voice stopped him. “Arthur.”
He debated ignoring her. He was the Duke, after all. Surely he could conduct himself how he wished in his own home.
“Arthur.” There was no mistaking the steely summons in her voice this time. He sighed and diverted his steps to the morning room.
As expected, a light breakfast was laid out; toast, tea, fresh fruit, and porridge. His mother, graceful as ever in the lightweight robes she often wore to breakfast, was reading the papers. Her silver hair was tucked up in an elegant bun, and a gently steaming cup sat at her elbow.
Arthur mustered up the best smile he could. “Good morning, Mother.”
