“You look very fine, Mrs. LaCroy, you don’t have to peek in the looking glass for confirmation.”
The duke had crossed into the room. “But do wipe Markham’s fingerprints from the mirror. I think he tried to take it with him.”
“When did he do that?”
“The night I seized Hamlin. I left him cowering in here when there was an uproar in the hall. But you know the chaos of Markham’s household.” He sailed his hat to the sofa, a perfect pitch with it landing on the center cushion. “You never told me why you worked for Markham.”
I took my cloth to the beautiful edge of the gilded mirror and swiped at the delicate filigree, making certain the grubby prints were banished. “Chaos, you say. The man knows how to soil things.”
The duke came farther into the room. His movements were quiet. The strain in his jaw showed the great effort it cost to make his footfalls silent. “Selective hearing? You don’t have to tell me, but it remains another secret you’re keeping from me.”
I didn’t reply and instead put more effort into shining the mirror, testing how it rocked. I’d never noticed that before. Something was behind it.
Repington moved to the sofa and started to lower himself but stopped. “This thing is very comfortable and too soft. It’s almost as difficult to get out of as the rocker in the nursery.”
Hmmm. Was that how I’d take Lionel? Leave the duke stranded on the sofa? No. That wouldn’t do.
Arriving at the big desk, he rested against it. “Should we talk schedules or your resignation?”
“Schedules, Your Grace, unless you’ve changed your mind again. I hear that is something men in your position do.”
His brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing in particular, but aren’t men of your ilk flexible, given to whims?”
“My ilk?”
“R-rakes, sir. Lady Shrewsbury explained . . . your popularity.”
His face lit up like the grand chandelier shining with strength and joy. “I suppose popularity can make one flexible. Sit, LaCroy.”
I stuffed my rag in my pocket and came to the chair he pointed to, a nice mahogany klismos seat. One I’d ordered.
He rubbed his hip. “Don’t know about flexibility anymore, changeable perhaps. Is this an appealing trait?”
“Not at the moment, Your Grace. Your flexibility is quite frustrating. You offer employment at night and rescind it in the day. It’s quite taxing.”
He chuckled and swiped at his hair. It was thick and definitely more brown today than blond. But the eyes he cast upon me, they were ever clever and clear. Clear like ice or glass prisms made to sparkle.
He leaned forward. “I wonder what other offers you’ve had extended, then rescinded. Never mind. It’s just one more question I have about you that shall torture me.” He pulled his hands together. “I’m still revising a schedule for Lionel. Until a replacement is found, if I decide to find one, you’ll need to comply with my requirements.”
“May I ask, Your Grace, that you make up your mind about this termination business or please stop repeating it. Do you want me to dread seeing you?”
“No. I’d rather you not. I’m looking for a reason to decide firmly in your favor. Other than being dishonest when we met, you seem to be a very kind woman and very loving toward my ward. You and Mrs. St. Maur work hard. Instead of remaining idle in the nursery where no one would bother you, you’ve come down and helped with the washing and cooking. The men are raving about your food.”
Was he truly torn, or merely toying with me? I looked down and kicked my slippers against the leg of the big old desk.
“Help me, Mrs. LaCroy. I don’t want you to dread seeing me.” His voice was soft and sweet like honey. “I’d rather you’d enjoy spending time with me . . . in the mutual care and concern of Lionel.”
The way he looked at me, it was as if he meant something else. Maybe this notion was only in my head. I was never a good judge of intentions or feelings. Or men.
“I have a question, ma’am.”
His countenance remained a cross between a repentant fellow and a scalawag. Now I had to know his thoughts. “What type of question?”
“A personal one.”
“Yes, sir?”
