Stritch stared at her. “I don’t understand, Your Grace. Do you no longer require my help in dressing?”
“I no longer require your help at all, Mrs. Stritch. You are dismissed from your position.”
Mrs. Stritch positively goggled at her, then all at once the thin veneer of respect she’d pasted on fell away entirely. “Why, you vulgar little upstart. You can’t dismiss me. The duke won’t allow it. He chose me specifically to keep an eye . . .”
Mrs. Stritch trailed off, but it was too late by then.
“Keep an eye on me?” Had he, indeed?
Well then, even more reason to let Mrs. Stritch go. “I am the Duchess of Montford, Mrs. Stritch, and I may dismiss you as I please.” Prue jerked her chin up. Underneath her bravado she was shaking, but it seemed London was going to test her mettle right away, and meekness would get her nowhere.
And while itwasrather presumptuous of her to dismiss her lady’s maid not even a full day after she became the duchess, she would not employ a servant she didn’t trust. London was going to be difficult enough as it was. The last thing she needed was Mrs. Stritch hanging over her shoulder, subtly scolding her at every opportunity and then reporting her failings back to Jasper.
How dare he assign a servant to spy on her, as if she were a wayward child! His Grace was in for a rude awakening if he imagined she’d permit such high-handed behavior!
No, indeed. It wouldn’t do. The woman had to go, and now. “Shall I call one of the footmen to see you out?”
Mrs. Stritch gaped at her for another moment, then she tossed the gray gown onto the bed, turned on her heel, and marched across the room and through the door, the hems of her skirts flying in an outraged arc behind her.
Prue flinched as the door slammed closed. “Well, that settles that. I do hope she doesn’t intend to ask for references.”
She returned to her desk and sat for a bit, waiting until her nerves were steady once again, and there’d been plenty of time for Mrs. Stritch to gather her things and leave the house, then she’d—
Thump!
What in the world? Was Stritch lingering in the hallway? She jumped to her feet and thrust open the door, a tirade worthy of a duchess building in her throat.
But it wasn’t Stritch. Instead, A young woman with an unruly mop of curly dark hair stuffed under a cap two sizes too big for her head was in the hallway, struggling with a coal hod. She wore a drab blue gown with an enormous apron over it, and when she looked up and saw Prue watching her, all the color drained from her face. “Y-Your Grace?”
“Hello.” Prue ventured farther into the hallway. “What is your name?”
The girl’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Finally, she blurted, “It’s Sarah, Your Grace.”
Prue hid a smile. What would this girl think if she knew the Duchess of Montford was nearly as nervous as she was? “Very well, Sarah. Would you be so kind as to help me dress today? Mrs. Stritch is no longer in my employ, and I find myself rather suddenly in need of a lady’s maid.”
The girl glanced behind her, then back at Prue. “Me, Your Grace? Y-you wantmeto help you dress?”
“I don’t see why not. You do know how to button a dress, do you not, Sarah?”
“Aye, mum—I mean, yes, Your Grace.”
“Very well then, we’ll start with that, shall we?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Sarah took a few hesitant steps into the bedchamber, and her gaze fell on the gray gown lying on the bed. A timid smile rose to her lips. “Oh, how pretty, Your Grace!”
“I think so too, Sarah.” Prue smiled back. “I think so, too.”
CHAPTER19
He had nothing to feel guilty about. Not a single, blessed thing.
His marriage—all twenty-seven hours of it—was going precisely as he’d intended it would. So, while it may have appeared to an uninformed observer as if he’d sneaked out of his own house this morning, that was most emphaticallynotthe case.
He had an engagement, that was all. It was a perfectly ordinary thing, for a gentleman to have an engagement, and if hewasa trifle early—or perhaps more than a trifle—it was only because it was unforgivably rude to keep one’s friends waiting.
There was nothing amiss in that. Punctuality was a virtue, and virtues often required sacrifice. So, if hehadhurt his new wife’s feelings when he’d rebuffed her innocent attempts at seduction this morning—if hehadleft her alone and forlorn in her bed, her face as white as the bedsheets—itwasn’tbecause he was alarmed by the rush of tenderness that had overwhelmed him when she’d kissed him.
Not at all.
