“Good morning, miss, my name is Maisie. I’m to tend to you as a lady’s maid while you’re staying here. His Grace thought you might be hungry. May I come in?”
Harriet nodded mutely, and the girl came in to place the tray on the bed. Toast, a jar of marmalade, a hard-boiled egg, and some peaches were all set on a pale-blue-and-white pattern set of china. A tiny vase of chrysanthemums filled the air with their sweet floral perfume. The duke must have a hothouse on his grounds somewhere. It was far too cold for anything to grow outside this time of year.
“Tea or coffee?” the maid asked.
“Er… tea, thank you.”
“A bit of orange pekoe, all right?” Maisie’s lilting Scottish accent was bright and cheery. It managed to put Harriet at ease a little.
“Orange pekoe? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s from Denmark.”
“Does it taste like oranges?” Harriet asked as the maid began to prepare a cup.
“His Grace says it’s not a flavor, but a reference to the noble house of Orange-Nassau, who brought the tea to Europe a hundred years ago. He says the pekoe is the top bud of the tea plant.” The maid handed her a hot cup of tea, and the scent was divine.
“And how did you come to learn so much about it?”
Maisie chuckled. “I often pester His Grace, when he’s in a mood to talk. He knows quite a bit about a lot of things. He’s traveled all over the continent, even as far as Bavaria.”
“Oh?” Harriet found herself wanting to know more about him, but she was afraid of him, and the fact that she couldn’t remember fully what had happened the night before between them only strengthened those concerns.
“He’s…” The maid paused as she retrieved Harriet’s muddy muslin dress off the floor. “Well, he’s quite gentle and scholarly, when he’s not in a black mood.” Maisie eyed the clothes in her arms thoughtfully. “Oh, dear. You cannot wear these again. Too torn up to repair, not with my poor sewing skills. I’ll see what I can find for you.”
“Oh, please, I don’t want to be any trouble, and I really must leave, at any rate. Did Mr. Grindle find my coach driver, Mr. Johnson? He was injured when I came here last night.”
“Oh, aye. A pair of our grooms found him. Mr. Johnson’s leg is broken, but Dr. Axel set it, and your man is resting in the servants’ quarters. The groom who found him happened to say you had no luggage?” Maisie asked.
“I didn’t.” Harriet lay back against the pillows, feeling suddenly very tired again.
“Never you mind then, miss. Like I said, I’ll find something for you to wear. Now eat up and sleep.” The maid turned to leave.
“But—”
Maisie halted and looked over her shoulder. “Yes, miss?”
“The duke… Did he…?” She blushed and stared down at the bedclothes she clutched hard enough that her knuckles were white.
“Did he what, miss?” Maisie inquired, her tone softer now.
“I don’t remember much after dinner. He gave me something… Laudanum, I think.”
“Aye, he did. Your shoulder was badly out of joint, and His Grace said you were close to hysterics. He had the cook put a bit of it in the wine and carried you up here. The doctor set your shoulder and tended to your cuts. I changed your clothes myself.” Maisie gave her a meaningful look of reassurance.
“Then he didn’t…?” She still couldn’t voice her fears.
“No, miss. That’s not his way. He’s…” Maisie hesitated.
“He’s what?”
“It’s no’ for me to say, miss.”
“Please tell me. Surely you know of his reputation.”
“Well that’s the thing, miss. He’s more bark than bite. He was hurt once, a long time ago, and he does not let anyone get too close anymore. But he’s a good man, once you get him to trust you. At least, that’s been my experience.”
Harriet watched the maid collect her wet stockings from over the back of a chair, her pensive expression brightening a little as she faced Harriet again.
