“Of course, I am sorry for my hasty words.”
“While you are here though, I must say a word about Her Grace… I must offer a report on how the affairs of the house are settling.”
“What has she gotten up to now?” Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Be brief. And know that my son is the only concern of mine in this marriage.”
Mrs. Callahan looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “As you say, Your Grace. But I must tell you, this house and everyone in it is very much enraptured with Her Grace. The cook, the staff.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. “She is a wonder.”
“A wonder how?”
“In the days and weeks she has been here, she has memorized the names of every member of the staff, from the head footman to the lowliest scullery maid. She has asked each of them about their duties, not to criticize, but to understand the way things work.”
“Really?” Benedict asked, sitting in the chair across from her.
“The cook was complaining only this morning that Her Grace had spent two hours yesterday simply watching him work, asking about his suppliers and his budget. She made Miss Flaherty, the new head parlor maid with the poor eyesight, a simple poultice for her nightly pain, and she did it herself. She did not order me to do it…”
“Some sort of Highland magic I suppose…”
“Her Grace went to the stillroom, mixed it, and delivered it with her own hands. Someone of her standing, mixing herbs for a maid because she was in need…” Mrs. Callahan’s words fell away as she continued shaking her head.
“And my son?” he asked, the question escaping him before he could stop it.
Mrs. Callahan smiled, this time with a genuine, warm expression that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Lord Oliver adores her, Your Grace. Truly. He talks to her about his lessons, and she listens to every word. They share a love of stories from what I have overheard.”
Benedict leaned back, feeling the sting of the whiskey in the back of his throat.
A woman who asked for nothing and expected less.
That was what he had been told. What he had seen, however, was a woman who gave everything and took satisfaction from her work. A woman who was, in fact, everything he had hoped for in a wife.
“That is all, Your Grace,” Mrs. Callahan said, rising slowly to her feet. “Forgive me for the imposition on your late arrival; it was not my intention.”
She dipped a curtsey and walked toward the door.
“Mrs. Callahan,” Benedict said, his voice a little hoarse. “Thank you.”
She did not turn back but simply paused at the door. “Good night, Your Grace. I pray you sleep well.”
He watched the door click shut, leaving him in the dim light of the library and alone with his lingering thoughts.
Whatever will I do with this wife of mine?
Chapter Ten
“Yer Grace, may I have a moment of yer time?” She asked, her voice as sweet as a bonbon.
Isla was nothing if not persistent. After a week of solitary dinners in his quarters, she finally managed to corner Benedict outside of his study with a proposition.
“Yes, Duchess,” he said, averting his gaze from her eyes.
“It has been over a week since I came to Ealdwick…”
“I am aware of the passing of time.”
“Aye,” she said nervously, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Well, I was wonderin’ if tonight… ye could make time to dine with Oliver and me?”
“Fine.”
She immediately jumped in. “But ye never dine with us! Oliver would be overjoyed! It’s been ages since we’ve all sat together properly, and it’s far more cheerful than your usual solitary meals, I daresay. Ye mustn’t refuse!”
