“And so, instead of making your curtsy, you became a servant,” he guessed, his expression darkening.
She forced a smile she didn’t feel—dwelling on the past had never done her one whit of good, and none of it could be changed. “I did what I had to do.”
“How did you begin in service?” Sedgewick asked next.
His intense regard and proximity here, in the confined space that was solely hers, heightened her awareness of him. She thought back to her first situation when she had been a green girl of sixteen. It was difficult to believe that nearly ten years had passed since she had left her siblings and Mama behind. She hadn’t been able to visit often, preferring to send everything she could home to them rather than waste it on the cost of travel.
“I began as a maid of all work for a wealthy widow,” she said. “I was fortunate to find an excellent situation. The character she provided me enabled me to become a chambermaid next, and then the sudden illness of a housekeeper at yet another situation allowed me to fill the role. I suppose I proved myself suited to the task.”
“And these letters of character were provided to Her Grace, I presume.”
“Are you interviewing me for the position of housekeeper, Your Grace?” she asked, the notion belatedly occurring to her, and not without a sharp pang of disappointment she had no right to feel.
He was not interested inher. Rather, he was interested in her qualifications. Her background.
He inclined his head. “I reckon I am, Mrs. Yorke. I’ll admit that you vex me mightily with your propensity for flouting my authority at every turn. However, Blackwell Abbey is cleaner than I can recall ever seeing it, the household is running with an efficiency I wouldn’t have thought possible, and just this morning, I enjoyed the best breakfast I’ve eaten in years, followed by an excellent luncheon. Although it aggrieves me to admit it, your unparalleled skill at managing my home and domestics leaves me somewhat in awe.”
He was in awe of her. For her housekeeper skills, of course. Her stupid heart tripped over itself anyway.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she managed, astounded by his sudden sea change.
Naturally, it was for his own comfort. It behooved him to keep her in his service. Joceline knew she was a good housekeeper. However, she hadn’t expected the arrogant Duke of Sedgewick to acknowledge her skill or be moved by it.
“Will you stay at Blackwell Abbey, then, Mrs. Yorke?” he asked, an earnestness in his tone that struck some part of her.
She had never intended to leave, but Joceline knew she needn’t tell him that. Instead, she thought of the fifty pounds she could send to Mama and the children. The duchess had been firm that it was only to be hers if the Christmas decorations remained in place.
“What of the holly garlands and Christmas trees?” she ventured.
He raised a brow. “If having my drawing room and library festooned in greenery and filled with trees will keep you here, then I suppose it must stay.”
Joceline couldn’t contain her smile. “That is wonderful news, Your Grace. I would be pleased to remain here at Blackwell Abbey.”
The duke nodded and rose to his full, impressive height. She stood as well, trying not to take note of what a dashing figure he cut and failing miserably. His dark-gold hair brushed his broad shoulders, and a hint of whiskers shaded the bold slash of his jaw.
“Is there a Mr. Yorke, madam?” he asked suddenly, startling her with both the question and the unexpected nature of it.
“No, Your Grace,” she answered swiftly. “There is not.”
“Are you a widow, then?”
“I’ve never been married, Your Grace.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, and she held her breath, doing everything she could to keep from looking at his mouth or to think about what it would be like to close the distance between them and slip her arms around his neck. To rise on her toes and press her lips to his. To tug at his necktie and unbutton his shirt and reveal the muscle and man beneath his country tweed. To remove his gloves and discover what he was hiding from the world.
But she could do none of those things.
The Duke of Sedgewick simply nodded, looking unmoved, whilst she was inwardly waging a battle of epic proportions.
“Good day, Mrs. Yorke,” he told her politely.
And then, he left her room just as stealthily as he had invaded it, leaving her behind with a racing heart and the flames of longing she could not afford to fan.
CHAPTER 5
“Flowers.”
Quint stared bemusedly at a vase in the great hall, which was placed upon a table he’d never seen before. He knew who was responsible for the vibrant blossoms without needing to ask. For the table as well. The only thing he didn’t know was how she had managed to find the flowers in the midst of winter or where she had discovered the damned table.
