“You should not be doing such chores.”
“As my servants are off delivering messages and gathering clothing, either I go for breakfast, or we starve.”
He would make her allow him to make up for the inconvenience, whether she liked it or not.
“Where is your maid?”
“I gave her permission to spend the holiday with her family. My uncle has more than enough servants if I need assistance.”
She was in need of assistance now, not that Leopold would mention such to her as he would not embarrass her. He also liked her mussed appearance. The traveling dress was wrinkled for having slept in it three nights in a row and each side of her golden hair had been braided and pulled away from her face and tied with a now limp ribbon behind her head with the rest of her hair tumbling down her back.
Bethany stood, shook out her gown then frowned. Lastly, she blew out a sigh. “I shall return.”
After Bethany saw to her most urgent concerns in the necessary behind the inn, she requested a tray brought to the chamber. She’d not allowed a servant from the inn to enter the chamber since they had first arrived, but she didn’t want to remain in the common room where people dined, or even in the taproom for a tray of foodstuffs to be given to her.
Not only had she been horrified at her appearance when she caught her reflection in the mirror, but the whispers from the others gathered at tables disturbed her.
How could anyone know who she was or the guest recuperating above stairs?
Except, Claybrook was a duke, a title that invited speculation and gossip.
As she turned to return up the stairs a man stepped into her path. Bethany quickly stepped backward.
“I understand you are the one seeing to the care of the Duke of Claybrook.”
She would not answer a stranger’s question. Anonymity was necessary in this situation, or she risked being ruined.
“Lady Bethany, this is the Constable Merryweather,” the maid offered as she came forward.
Bethany didn’t think this hamlet was large enough to employ a constable. They did not even have a shop that provided clothing for the male residents.
“From Gravesend,” he added as if he had read her thoughts.
She took in the information but said nothing as she was not going to confirm that Claybrook was here.
“A few of our less respectable Gravesend residents attempted to sell a Cabriolet,” he offered. “These two could not even buy an ale to share, but turned up in fine, though ill-fitting clothing, which drew suspicion, and I was asked by the magistrate to discover how they came by such a vehicle, which led me here.”
“What did you do with the men?” she asked.
“Nothing, as of yet. We have no proof that they didn’t find the cabriolet, horse and clothing abandoned in the wood as they claimed.”
Bethany nearly snorted. “As if such would be left behind.”
“Unless the owner died,” the constable commented, and she supposed that was a possibility.
“Is the Duke of Claybrook here and might I have a word with him?” the constable asked.
“I will take you up to him. I am about to deliver his morning meal,” the maid answered.
“You will do no such thing,” Bethany argued and took the tray from the girl. “If you will excuse me.”
She turned her back and marched up the stairs. She would not say a word to the constable, nor did she wish the comely maid to be in the chamber with Claybrook while he was naked in bed.
Chapter Seven
Leopold was becoming restless waiting for Bethany to return.
What was taking so long?
