“Did she just say …?” Diana couldn’t finish the question.
“Excuse Jessie, Your Grace,” Laura said, busying herself with the closet again. “She is not herself these days.”
“But she just …” Diana trailed off and turned away, feeling her hands tightening around the chain of her reticule.
No, she couldn’t let this go.
She walked past Laura, aware that the maid seemed to be doing her best not to intervene and kept her gaze firmly in the closet. As she passed into the corridor, she had to hurry to catch up with Jessie. By the time she found her again, she was walking down the staircase, swinging her brass bucket so that dust from the charcoal fell on the carpet.
Is she not supposed to be the maid here?
“Jessie!” Diana called to her. The maid froze on the stairs and turned around. Diana walked down the staircase, eagerly trying to reach the maid’s side. “Would you care to explain what you just meant with those words back in my chamber?”
Diana didn’t feel like herself. Usually, she would shy away from any such encounter, but she still had a fire burning within her after her husband’s threatening behaviour the night before, and if her suspicion was right that Jessie was the woman warming his bed, then she wanted to know the truth.
“I can say what I like, Your Grace,” Jessie said tartly, lifting her chin higher, as though she held a position much grander than a maid that attended to the fireplaces.
“So … your insult was wilful?” Diana asked. “Pray, what did I do to deserve such slander?”
“I have seen enough of your behaviour in these walls, Your Grace. I know what kind of woman you are.”
Diana stumbled back, nearly tripping on the stairs. She held the reticule up between the two of them as if it were some sort of shield.
“Are you …” Diana cleared her throat, trying desperately to build the courage to speak her mind. “Are you above stairs so often as to observe my behaviour, as you so describe?” It was a leading question, one that made Jessie smile with satisfaction.
“I rather think someone likes it when I am above stairs,” she said with a smile, looking tempted to giggle like a little girl. “Good day, Your Grace.”
Oh my … it is true! She must be the one sharing Gilbert’s bed.
Diana had no words. She watched the maid go with a slackened jaw, uncertain what to say or feel.
On the one hand, she wanted to thank the maid. At least Jessie was doing what Diana did not want to do! On the other hand, it was all so wrong. Diana was being humiliated, laughed at by a maid who was taking her place in the duke’s bed.
Diana felt a tightening around her throat that threatened her with tears, just as Jessie hurried off towards the staff quarters, nearly bumping into someone else as they walked through the doorway from the other side. When Mr Arnold reached the bottom of the steps and looked up to Diana, his smile faded.
“What has happened?” he asked.
***
“It is her, isn’t it?” the duchess asked for what had to be the third time.
Owen looked at her across the carriage. He longed to be sat beside her, but with the carriage curtains lifted, he could not risk being seen sitting beside her as they journeyed towards Bath. Once they reached the townhouse, they were to change to a sedan chair, to escort Diana to the modiste, but until then, he had the privilege of being alone with her.
“Your Grace, please do not make me say it.” He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to say the words aloud.
“Jessie is the one in my husband’s bed, isn’t she? That is why she glares at me so much and why she hit her brass fire bucket against my chair the other day.” She spoke hurriedly, leaning forward off the coach bench as they were jostled from side to side.
“I …” Owen opened his lips to tell her, but he couldn’t discern her expression. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“If Jessie is sharing his bed, then at least that lessens his demand on me, does it not?” she said, bearing a small smile.
“Wait …” Owen leaned forward, tilting his head to the side, watching her curiously. “Are you happy about this?”
“That is difficult to answer,” she said, shaking her head. “Yes, when I consider I do not have to go back to his bed.” Hearing that she had been there before made Owen flinch. He hated the thought of the duchess having to suffer the duke’s touch. There was little doubt in Owen’s mind that the duke was rough with her, probably taking just what he wanted and giving her no pleasure at all. She shuddered, clearly in memory of when the duke had touched her.
“I hate to think of him with you in that way.” The words escaped Owen before he could stop them. She looked to him in surprise before he hurried to speak. “I know that is wrong; please forgive me. He is your husband –”
“Mr Arnold, you do not need to apologize for such a thing,” she said, smiling back at him. It broke another barrier down between them. They sat there for a minute, smiling at each other like giddy children before she went on, “As I say, I am relieved Jessie is filling the place in his bed, but still … she hates me, doesn’t she? She probably laughs at me. That thought … it’s just too much to bear.” She clasped her hands together and bent her head forward, looking down at her hands.
