Page 45 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“Of course, we have plenty—”

“Just until word arrives from my aunt in Dover.”

“You may stay at Craven House—err, with me—for as long as you need.” Marce fell into silence as the girl eased into the chair, wincing when her backside touched the red velvet covering. Even if Rowan arrived that very day to toss her from Craven House, Marce would make certain all her charges were well taken care of. There was space at Lady Chastain’s home or at one of her siblings’ empty residences. “Are you injured? Should I send for a physician?”

“No, madam.” She gave her head a solid shake. “I do not need a doctor.”

“May I ask a few questions before Darla shows you to your room?”

“Yes.” It was a simple reply, but the way Abbigail’s shoulders slumped told Marce that she’d need to be selective and quick with her inquiries lest the girl decide to flee.

“Is someone looking for you?”

“No.” There was a deep sense of surety in her tone.

“Does your aunt know to write you here?”

“Yes.”

“If your aches and bruises worsen, you will tell me immediately?”

The girl’s eyes snapped to Marce and searched her blue depths. Marce did her utmost to appear open and poised as she folded her hands before her on the desk. Seeing women beaten and bruised never grew easier and always filled Marce with a deep sense of sorrow.

Finally, the girl whispered, “Yes.”

“Very good.” Marce grabbed the list that always sat on the corner of her desk and read down the page. “Are you agreeable to sharing a room with another woman?”

When Abbigail simply nodded, Marce went back to her list. She had only six women staying at Craven House at the moment, with only one who remained all hours of the day. The others were working toward stable employment and gaining their own accommodations. “You will room with a woman named Natasha. She is quiet and reserved, but friendly when coaxed from her silence. You will get on very well.”

“I will endeavor not to outstay my welcome, madam.”

“When was word sent to your aunt?”

“My maid—errr, a friend, sent a letter via the post yesterday.”

“Then it will be at least a week before we can expect to hear anything back,” Marce said with a small smile of reassurance. “Until then, you can settle in. We eat at eight o’clock, two o’clock, and seven o’clock each day. Everyone is to be in their rooms from nine o’clock each night until the morning. That is my only rule, and no one is to disobey it.”

In the back of her mind, Marce prayed she had a week’s time before the duke—or one of his associates—arrived to take possession of Craven House. Ellie’s solicitor thought it would take at least several weeks to secure a new house.

Now Marce could add Abbigail to the list of people who’d suffer if Rowan made good on his threat. Never had she fully reconciled the far-reaching effects of her decision to end their arrangement. It was not just she and the duchess who were gravely injured, the women under Marce’s care would be impacted, as well. With any luck, a new home would be secured with all due haste, and things would progress as normal. Or what was to become her new normal.

“Can you abide by that rule?” she asked.

“Yes, madam,” Abbigail said with a confident nod.

“Last question before you retire to rest,” Marce said, her voice softening. “May I ask what happened?”

The girl glanced over her shoulder to the open door, but Darla was wise enough to have moved out of view.

“It is just us, Abbigail,” Marce coaxed.

“My father…he thought I’d ruined myself, but I didn’t, I swear to it. I never—”

“You needn’t explain anything to me.” Marce stood and called Darla back into the room. “Please see Abbigail to her bedchamber—with Natasha—and have a bath brought up for her.” She paused, turning her attention back the girl. “I will have Darla procure two gowns and underpinnings for you. Are your shoes suitable for the time being?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Please let me know if you need anything else.”