“That was not what I was asking, Mrs. Yorke.”
Her stomach tightened, dread coursing through her. For if the butler hadn’t been suggesting she was too young to fulfill herduties, then she knew what he had been saying, and it was an even greater insult.
“I am afraid you will have to enlighten me,” she told him coolly.
“Your age matters because I’ve never known a housekeeper as young as you appear to be, and one can only find oneself wondering at the reason. Why should Mrs. Joceline Yorke, above all other housekeepers in England, have found herself in the most powerful position in a household at such a youthful age?”
“I am five-and-twenty,” she defended herself tightly. “I would hardly deem that youthful, nor so extraordinary a feat to become a housekeeper at my age.”
Mr. Dunreave took another calm sip of his tea. “Tell me, Mrs. Yorke, did you closet yourself alone with the master of the last household where you were employed?”
And there it was, the ugly, raw implications the butler was making against her. Even worse, he was partially correct. Shehadbeen inappropriate and scandalous with the Duke of Sedgewick—she must not think of him as Quint ever again—but she had never previously conducted herself thus with another master of the house. Indeed, aside from the furtive loss of her innocence with a handsome footman when she had been younger and more naïve, she had taken immense care to be above reproach at all times.
It rankled that the butler would suggest she had risen to the role of housekeeper through any means other than her own determination and hard work.
“No, Mr. Dunreave,” she said with cool firmness, holding his stare even as every part of her vibrated with indignant fury. “I have never previously closeted myself alone with the master of the house. And nor, I may add, did I do so today. I merely answered His Grace’s summons. He wished to speak about the Christmas menu, as I already told you.”
“For over an hour? My, His Grace certainly did have a fair amount to say on the topic of plum pudding and mince pies.”
The censure in Mr. Dunreave’s countenance and his tone were both undeniable.
Over an hour? It was difficult to believe she had been ensconced in the library with the duke for that long. But perhaps it was true. She certainly had been lost in him, particularly when they had begun kissing. It had been as if all time had ceased to exist. As if there was nothing and no one but him. She had never known anything like it, and she had an instinctive feeling to her core that she never again would.
She forced a smile. “I suppose he is rather opinionated on the matter.”
“And yet, His Grace has not taken an interest in the menu in two years,” the butler observed.
“Mr. Dunreave, is there something you wish to say?” she demanded, losing her patience. “If so, I wish you would do so.”
“There is indeed, madam,” he told her, frowning. “When you arrived, I did my utmost not to judge your youth and beauty, nor to assume you had attained your position as housekeeper by making yourself improperly familiar with the masters of the houses where you served. However, I have witnessed far too much to remain silent about my suspicions. I feel it is imperative to warn you that if you wish to remain here at Blackwell Abbey, you would be wise to stay far, far away from His Grace. The duke has endured more suffering in his life than most, and he does not deserve to be lured by the wiles of a Siren.”
Well, she thought. At least he had finally spoken plainly. It certainly explained his guarded nature where she was concerned. He had always been politely aloof, occasionally looking at her as if she might be hoping to filch some of the silver when he was sleeping. It hadn’t been the silver that had concerned him after all. It was the Duke of Sedgewick.
She gripped her tea so tightly that she feared her cup might break, trying to keep her unruly emotions in check. “You have my word that I do not have any intention of luring His Grace, and I most certainly am no Siren, nor do I have wiles. But let us be perfectly clear. Are you threatening my livelihood, Mr. Dunreave?”
“I need not threaten your position at all,” he bit out. “The dowager duchess is a woman of iron principle. When Her Grace discovers you have been acting the slattern with His Grace, she will dismiss you herself.”
Heat rose to her cheeks, because again, the butler was not wrong. She had been the one to kiss Sedgewick. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself shamelessly against him. And she had wanted far more from him than mere kisses. However, it hadn’t been to gain any sort of favor. What she felt for him was honest and true. She couldn’t defend herself with such a decree, however. If she confessed to what had occurred in the library, Mr. Dunreave would see her summarily tossed out on her ear, with nowhere to stay and no hope of finding a new situation.
“I can assure you, sir, that I will conduct myself with nothing less than the utmost of honor and dignity. I have no designs upon His Grace.”
“See that you do, madam,” Mr. Dunreave said gravely. “I am a lenient man, and I am willing to give you a final chance. However, if there is the slightest hint of impropriety between yourself and the duke, I will be left with no choice other than to inform Her Grace of my suspicions. I can assure you that however much sway you may think to hold over the Duke of Sedgewick, Her Grace holds far more. She will see you gone in the blink of an eye. Do you understand me, Mrs. Yorke?”
“I understand you perfectly, Mr. Dunreave,” she returned with what dignity she could muster. “If you will excuse me, Ishall leave you to enjoy the remainder of your tea. There are a great many matters requiring my attention.”
Without awaiting his response, she took her leave, fear warring with outrage. It was as she had known when she had walked into the library earlier, what she had known when she had kissed the duke, and it was the tenet that had guided her these last nine years of service. She did not belong to the charmed world of the aristocracy, and she never would. She was a servant, bound by the strict code of rules that governed her conduct.
And she would need to stay far, far away from the Duke of Sedgewick.
The lives of her mother and her siblings depended upon her, and she couldn’t afford to risk their futures over whatever fleeting fancy the duke might feel for her. In the end, dukes didn’t marry housekeepers. Just as she had been nearly decimated by the disappointment she’d suffered upon realizing she wouldn’t have her Season with her aunt, she would only be crushed when the duke slaked his lust and had his fill. It was the age-old warning every woman in service knew by heart.
One could never dare to reach above one’s station. Because when the inevitable fall came, it was impossible to survive.
CHAPTER 8
Quint was still reeling from the scorching kisses he’d shared with Joceline when his mother joined him in his study. He’d abandoned the library after righting the table as best as he could, leaving the broken glass to the dutiful efforts of a chambermaid who had arrived to discreetly whisk away the lingering evidence of his sins. Of course, the girl hadn’t known what the reason was for the broken glass, nor was it her place to ask. But he had not been without guilt as he fled the scene of his crime, nor did he think he would ever be able to look upon that table again without recalling Joceline seated upon it, emerald eyes burning with passion, her lips dark and swollen from his kisses.
“My darling Sedgewick,” the dowager duchess greeted, enveloping him in a perfumed embrace that didn’t feel entirely genuine.
