Justin scanned the daily report from his solicitor. Years ago, he’d instructed the man to keep the thing to one page. All Justin required was a certain set of figures to ensure his estates were running smoothly. Fortunately, he was quite skilled at numbers and it took him no time to evaluate both the solicitor and the report. He made his rounds to speak to his tenants quarterly and otherwise, he enjoyed his life in London. The less responsibility, the better. Just as Father had taught him.
A tentative knock pulled him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he called absently, assuming it was the butler or the housekeeper with another question about the twins that he’d no doubt refer to his mother. What did he know about young ladies’ debuts and their endless requirements? He was quite happy to pay the invoices that seemed to arrive on his doorstep hourly and leave the details to Mama.
He glanced up as the door to his study opened. In walked…Madeline? He blinked and shook his head. He had to be seeing things. But when he looked again, Madeline still appeared to be standing just inside the doorway to his study.
She had turned pale as a ghost and her mouth fell open.
She was dressed as a servant—black gown, white apron, and white cap—and she held a piece of paper in her hand.
What the devil?
He stood in a rush of confusion. “What are you doing here?” The words flew from his lips as he searched her face.
“What are you doing here?” came her equally shocked reply.
“This is my house.” As explanations went, it barely scratched the surface, but his mind was still struggling to catch up.
“You’re the Marquess of Whitmore?” she asked in a tone that implied she didn’t believe it.
He bit his bottom lip and winced. Damn. “Yes.” What else could he say?
“But you said…” Her brow was furrowed, and she looked as if she wanted to turn and run.
He closed his eyes briefly. “I said my surname was Whitland. A slight variant. It is Whitmoreland.”
“You said you were a mister,” she replied in a high-pitched voice that Justin found adorable even while guilt spread through him.
“Actually, I never said that,” he replied, still biting his lip. “You assumed it and I did not correct you.”
“And I…” Guilt washed over her fine features. “Didn’t tell you the truth either.” Her shoulders slumped, and she glanced down at the floor. “I’m a lady’s maid. Your sister is Lady Elizabeth?”
Justin expelled his breath. Hands on his hips, he shook his head. It suddenly made sense. All of it. “You’re Eliza’s new lady’s maid?”
Madeline nodded. “Yes. She hired me this morning after I was—”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “After you were what?”
Madeline hung her head. “After I was sacked by Lady Henrietta Hazelton.”
Justin rubbed his forehead between his thumb and forefinger and stared at the ceiling. If it had all made sense a moment ago, now the entire story somehow made perfect sense. It made sense and it was unbelievable at the same time. Obviously, Eliza had been paying close attention during their talk at the Hazeltons’ ball. She’d somehow learned Madeline was a maid, and she’d installed her directly in his house. But what was this about being sacked?
“You were Henrietta Hazelton’s maid?” He asked it as a question, but he already knew the answer.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And she sacked you because…?” Nausea roiled in Justin’s gut. He’d asked another question to which he feared he already knew the answer.
Madeline let out a shaky sigh before replying, “Because she found out I had borrowed her clothing and her jewelry to attend the Twelfth Night Ball.”
Justin closed his eyes as more guilt washed over him. Wave after wave this time. Bollocks. Damnation. Hell. And bollocks again. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Madeline. I’m afraid that is my fault.”
“Your fault?” she repeated, the crease in her brow becoming more pronounced. “How could it possibly be your fault?”
He groaned and winced. “Because I’m the one who brought Henrietta the missing earbob and asked her if she knew anyone at the party named Madeline.”
She was quiet for a few moments, obviously allowing the information to settle into her mind before she finally shook her head. “No. No. It was my fault, my lord. I shouldn’t have borrowed Lady Henrietta’s things. It was an outrageous thing to do. I deserved to lose my position. And I will understand if you decide to sack me on the spot. Only, I hope you will believe that I did not know this was your household when I came here this morning.”
“I believe you,” he replied. “And while I admit I’m certainly surprised to learn you’re a maid,” he straightened his shoulders, “I have no intention of terminating your employment. After all, I’m responsible for the fact that you lost your other position. I’m not about to toss you out.”
