Maggie jumped, her heart tightening.
“Your Grace,” she managed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
In the harsh glare of daylight, the duke seemed even more tired than before. He strode forward, smiling faintly, and passed a hand over Emma’s head. She beamed up at him, all adoration, and Maggie felt a tug in her chest, as though a string were all tied around her heart. Glancing up, she found the duke’s eyes on her.
“I hope you weren’t made too uncomfortable at breakfast,” he murmured. “That was not my intention.”
“I can manage myself, your Grace,” she said softly.
He smiled faintly. “So I observed. You glared at Lord Farendale most effectively. Well done—I can’t abide the man myself.”
She allowed herself a small laugh. “Nor can I.”
“Believe it or not,” he went on, “my aunt is most impressed with you. She and Mrs Thornton are old friends, and if Mrs Thornton approves, that carries weight.”
“That is kind to hear,” Maggie said, flushing. “I hope you don’t mind my taking Emma for a pianoforte lesson here before the picnic. She was quite eager.”
“Of course, I don’t mind. I am glad, actually. I think…” the duke hesitated, shaking his head. “I think I’ve kept this room shut up for too long. Someone told me that if my beloved sister could see me now, she’d be upset. I’d hate to upset her.”
He fell silent. Maggie said nothing. After a moment, he gave a small shake of his head and looked at her again.
“I know it’s rather improper, but I was wondering if we could play some music together,” he said, all in a rush. “It’s been so long.”
Maggie’s heart warmed, its beating echoing throughout her whole body.
“Of course,” she managed at once. “Shall I play, and you sing? If you’d like.”
He nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
***
Music drifted up along the hallways, and Jenny recognised the tune ofGreen Grow the Rushes.Mrs Thornton had remarked on it earlier and said that it felt like old times, having music in the house again.
Jenny’s arms ached beneath a mountain of linens. Lady Farendale was no trouble, but her husband and daughter were enough to try the patience of a saint. Lady Constance had already demanded her sheets be changed a second time, claiming they hadn’t been properly washed—a lie, as Jenny had seen them herself, white as snow.
Ordinarily, she’d have no part in the laundry, but with only one maid brought from the Farendale household and endless demands besides, every hand was needed. She missed the nursery and hoped that, with Maggie here, she wouldn’t be relegated back to the kitchens.
That was a fear which tickled the back of her mind every now and then. Work as a nursemaid was good, but what about when the children got too old to need you? Where would you go?
Swallowing, she pushed the worry aside—no time to worry, there was work to be done—and set off along the hall. She rounded a corner and almost immediately walked straight into something solid.
No—someone.
“Oof,” said a familiar voice.
“Mr Middleton,” Jenny gasped, clutching the linens, grateful they hid her burning face.
Simon leaned around the heap of fabric, grinning. “Miss Miller! What a pleasure. You’re looking well today.”
She felt heat climbing into her cheeks. “You’re the only one who calls me Miss Miller, you know. You ought to call me Jenny.”
Some people might call her impudent, speaking to a gentleman like that. Simon might not be titled, or even very wealthy, but hewasa gentleman, through and through.
He smiled, eyes crinkling up at the corners. He had such a lovely smile, the sort of smile that made onewant to grin along with him.
“Well, then you must call me Simon,” he said lightly.
She couldn’t help smiling back, despite the weight of the linens and the work awaiting her. “Perhaps I shall. I’m sorry I bumped into you.”
