“I trust my secretary to do the job.”
“Yes. But how economical if, at a glance, you could do so yourself and not be forevermore depending on strangers to do the job.”
“That depends on the reliability and trustworthiness of those strangers.” He toyed with his glass.
“And their honesty and entire lack of duplicity. I find not too many people have those qualities.” Why did she have the feeling they were no longer talking about arithmetic?
“Touché.” He lifted his glass and a slight smile played about his lips.
There was silence and puzzled gazes as the remaining guests attempted to follow their conversation.
“Fiddlesticks,” the dowager said. “It is not a shame for a woman to have a head on her shoulders that she might take advantage of once in a while. Having come to this momentous conclusion, I suggest we turn to a more pressing pastime: pudding.” She signalled the footmen to bring in ices, trifles, candied fruits and tarts decorated with sugar-paste.
Lucy’s gaze remained locked with the duke’s. Flushing, she tore her eyes away.
For there was something decidedly smouldering in his stare.
Chapter 10
The next day, the gentlemen went out shooting with the male guests. The ladies remained behind, embroidering or walking in the gardens.
Lucy could have screamed with frustration and boredom. She couldn’t bear sitting in the drawing room, listening to their gossip. She’d rather clear out fireplaces. Her legs felt like there were invisible ants were crawling up and down them, and she kept tapping her toes on the floor to shake them off. Her pulse beat erratically every time she thought of the duke. On top of being angry at him, she was annoyed at herself for wanting to burst into tears every time she thought of Henry. The gardener. Not the duke. Confound it. How confused she was! She’d jabbed her thumb as she tried to embroider, and now the silk was smeared with blood.
Lucy threw down the embroidery frame, jumped up, and decided to look for little Bart. Where could she be? She asked Felix the footman in the hall.
“She has her basket in the duke’s study, Miss,” he replied.
In the study! Now that she didn’t expect.
“Miss. I know it’s not my place, but on behalf of the servants here, thank you for your intercession the other day. No one has ever asked for a pay increase on our behalf. You are our very own heroine now.”
Lucy blushed and waved it away. “Nonsense, Felix.”
“I thought you would like to know that cook will send you a special treat. If there is anything you ever need from us, you need but ask.”
“Make sure Jimmy and Jem are always well-fed.”
“Yes, Miss. They will receive the best from the kitchen.”
Lucy smiled. “Thank you, Felix.”
He bowed and left.
Lucy waited until he turned the corner, then she whisked across the corridor.
The duke’s study was locatedin another wing. She’d never been there.
Lucy speculated if she should go there. He spent more time in his study than out of it. Yet she knew he was out riding with the male guests. She could feign a headache and, coincidentally, explore his study.
It tookher a while until she found the study. It was a male domain, filled with evidence that serious work happened there. There were bookshelves stuffed with books that looked heavily used. His desk was disorderly and covered with piles of paper.
A familiar pipe rested in a black marble stand next to a pile of paper. It was the same pipe he’d handed to her. She brushed it with a finger. Something flooded through her, wrapping tightly around her heart like hot lead, taking her breath away.
Henry and the duke. She could not reconcile the two. It was impossible. Why did he lead this double life? Why the charade? Who was the real person? The duke? The gardener? Could both be real? She didn’t understand anything anymore.
A yipping came from under the desk.
“Bartimaeus,” Lucy murmured.
