Her diligence was endearing, and I smiled faintly. “Thank you, Nelly. I should like that.”
Steam filled the adjoining washroom, curling through the air with the faint scent of lavender and soap. For a short time, I allowed myself the comfort of it—the warmth of the water, the gentle clink of porcelain, and the sound of Nelly quietly humming under her breath as she laid out my gown.
When I emerged, wrapped in a robe of pale silk, another knock sounded at the door.
A second maid entered, carrying a silver tray laden with tea, toast, and fruit. Her pale golden hair was pinned in careful curls beneath her cap, her features sharp and pretty. The sort of prettiness that drew notice and trouble.
“Breakfast, Your Grace,” she said, setting the tray down on the small table by the window. Her tone was polite but brisk, and though her curtsy was deep, her eyes never quite met mine.
“Thank you,” I replied, studying her more closely. “You’re not one of the usual maids.”
“No, Your Grace. Mrs. Ashby asked me to bring your tray this morning while she’s occupied with the Dowager Duchess.”
Nelly’s smile faltered just slightly as she moved to tidy the wardrobe. “Lydia helps wherever she’s needed,” she explained quickly. “She’s usually in the kitchens.”
Lydia offered the faintest smile, but it was thin and uneasy. I noticed the smallest hint of something between them—not quite animosity, but discomfort—before Lydia bobbed another curtsy and excused herself, leaving the scent of rosewater and starch in her wake.
When the door closed, I could have sworn Nelly made a quiet sound of disapproval.
I turned to Nelly, who was still smoothing a fold of fabric that didn’t need smoothing. “She seems…” I began carefully, “quite efficient.”
Nelly hesitated, her fingers stilling. “She’s been here longer than I have, Your Grace.”
“I confess, I feel like I know very few of the staff,” I said casually, sipping my tea. “There’s so many, yet I feel as though I never see anyone save you and Mrs. Ashby.”
Nelly moved across the room, fluffing the pillows vigorously. “The house is so large, Your Grace. Can’t say that I know them all either.”
“And Lord Blackthorn? Does he know them all?”
Her eyes darted toward the door. “We don’t… not really, no. Mrs. Ashby doesn’t allow us to speak to him directly unless he comes to us.
I frowned. “You’re notallowed?”
Nelly shook her head. “It’s always been that way. His Grace is private, and Mrs. Ashby says it keeps order. Onlythe senior staff are permitted to approach him—the butler, his Valet, the footmen, and Mrs. Ashby herself.”
I tilted my head, feigning casual interest. “No one else?”
Her voice lowered, barely above a whisper. “Well… and her.”
She motioned toward the door with her head as she neatly tucked the folds of my sheets. There was a noticeable distaste sticking to her words as she said them.
I sipped my tea again, then set the cup down carefully. “Oh?”
Nelly made a face, lost in her task of making the bed. “The others say His Grace is… fond of her.”
The words landed like cold water.
Nelly’s face blanched as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, forgive me, Your Grace. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean…”
“It’s quite alright,” I replied softly, though my throat constricted. “There are many reasons why my husband might be fond of a particular maid.”
Even as the words left my mouth, bile rose in the back of my throat.
Fond of her.
Nelly’s cheeks flushed, but she only nodded.
“I should help you dress,” she murmured quickly. “Lady Havenshire will beexpecting your company soon.”
