“Mrs. Yorke,” he greeted, his voice lacking the ice she had come to expect.
In fact, unless she was mistaken, there was just the tiniest hint of warmth in his baritone. She clutched her skirts tightly, nervousness creeping over her. A cold, frosty Duke of Sedgewick felt somehow easier to face, given the very personal nature of the news she was about to impart.
Standing by the wall of books, he was dressed informally in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat paired with tweed trousers that hugged his long, lean legs, his dark-gold hair brushing his shoulders. The leather gloves that were perpetually in place obscured her view of his large hands as he plucked the spine of a book from its shelf and opened it to examine the frontispiece, quite as if they had all the time in the world for a leisurely conversation.
The action reminded her that she was standing at the threshold staring at him like a dolt. She hadn’t come to the library to swoon over the duke’s undeniably handsome form. Nor had she come to ogle him as if she were some innocent debutante meeting her first suitor. The Duke of Sedgewick washer employer, and she was his housekeeper. Their worlds were as disparate as summer and winter. She must not forget it.
“If Your Grace has the time to speak with me, I require some direction concerning the bedchamber we are preparing for Her Grace,” she said, gratified that her voice sounded calm and smooth when, inwardly, she felt anything but.
He lowered the book, his unusual gaze intent upon hers. “Whatever the matter is, I trust your judgment, Mrs. Yorke. You have my leave to do whatever you must.”
His mild trust in her only served to heighten her worry.
She clenched her skirts even more tightly, her knuckles aching. “Forgive me, Your Grace. It wasn’t my intention to trouble you this morning. However, I chose the largest of the closed bedrooms for Her Grace’s comfort, and it would appear that the chamber belonged to…another.”
His expression instantly changed, his bearing stiffening as he snapped the book closed. “The household has distinct orders that the duchess’s bedchamber is not to be disturbed.”
“Perhaps the household once did, but in the absence of a former housekeeper to consult, the order was never conveyed to me,” she countered gently. “I was simply seeing to the opening of the room that seemed best suited to Her Grace.”
He tossed the book to a nearby table without regard for its binding. “You have opened it?” he demanded sharply.
Oh dear.Here he was, the Duke of Sedgewick returned. A snarling beast who would as soon bite as accept a hint of kindness.
“I-I am sorry, Your Grace,” she stammered. “I will see to it that the maids close it at once. Is there another room that is appropriate for Her Grace? We will ready the chamber of your choice instead.”
But he was already stalking past her, his countenance hewn in granite.
“Your Grace?”
“Attend to your other duties, Mrs. Yorke,” he bit out over his shoulder, his booted strides taking him to the threshold. “I’ll see to the room myself.”
Instinctively, Joceline hastened after him, not wanting him to bellow and frighten her maids when she was at fault for this dreadful mistake. She couldn’t chase after him, however, so she flitted back into the servants’ stair and took the steps two at a time, her skirts hiked in an undignified display she had no time to worry over. She was breathless by the time she reached the duchess’s bedroom, the duke stalking down the opposite end of the hall like a thunderstorm about to unleash a torrent.
“Stop,” she cried breathlessly when she reached the threshold.
All eyes turned to her, the chatter and flurry of movements abruptly ceasing.
“Out, all of you,” she directed. “At once.”
“But, Mrs. Yorke,” Mary protested, “we were just beginning to?—”
“Resume your routine duties for the day,” she interrupted sharply, aware that they had a scant few moments before the duke arrived. “Be gone.”
“Yes, Mrs. Yorke.”
The maids filed from the bedchamber past her, moving toward the servants’ stair she had recently exited. And none too soon. The last maid had just disappeared behind the safety of the closed door when Sedgewick reached her.
“Chasing away your precious little chicks before the evil wolf arrives?” he asked snidely.
She had clearly violated their temporary pax. The man who had carried the holly wreath for her despite the thorny pricks of its glossy leaves was nowhere to be seen now. In his place wasthe same man who had sacked her for decorating his drawing room with greenery and Christmas trees.
“I was merely trying to ameliorate the damage I’ve inadvertently done,” she defended.
“Such a pretty vocabulary you have, Mrs. Yorke,” he mocked.
She would not be intimidated by him, however. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m honored you noticed.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why did you dismiss the maids?”
