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The maid exited the room, closing the door behind her, and the duchess turned back to Elizabeth.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Much improved, Your Grace.” She lowered her head self-consciously. “Although my appearance would suggest otherwise.”

The noblewoman moved closer. “May I see?” Elizabeth slowly raised her head and stood perfectly still as the duchess placed a gentle finger on Elizabeth’s chin and slowly rotated her face. “It looks horribly painful.” She offered her a sympathetic smile. “But if there’s any good news to be had with such an injury, it’s that I don’t believe you’ve broken your nose.” She lowered her finger. “It’s one thing for a young man to break his nose; it’s quite another for a young lady to do the same.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

The duchess stepped over to the desk, took a seat in one of the chairs, and began pouring a cup of tea. “I remember the day the young viscount did that very thing. He fell out of an apple tree and came running into the house, howling at the top of his lungs while blood dripped all over the hall floor.” She chuckled at the memory and lowered the teapot. “Milk and sugar?”

For a moment, Elizabeth could only stare. She was the innkeeper’s daughter. No one waited on her. Unless you counted Mrs. Parkin. And this was about as far removed from one of the vicar’s wife’s formal teas as Elizabeth could imagine. She was barefoot, disfigured, and dressed in a nightgown, and the Duchess of Kelbrook was casually describing her brother’s bloody nose while pouring her tea.

Holding the elegant milk jug above the teacup, the duchess gave her a questioning look, and Elizabeth realized she had yet to respond.

“Yes, to both. Thank you.”

“Forgive me for being blunt, but it seems to me that in your condition, you should be sitting down,” the duchess said, pointing to the other chair.

Elizabeth immediately took the seat. With trembling hands, she smoothed the voluminous nightgown across her knees and cleared her throat. “I must thank you, Your Grace, for your kindness and the kindness of the viscount. When I came to the manor, I had no intention of imposing upon you like this.”

The duchess nodded and handed her the teacup. “You came inquiring about Reynard.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Do . . . do you know of him?”

The noblewoman poured herself a cup of tea, added milk and sugar, and stirred it thoughtfully. “I do. I have known him since his infancy.”

Hope swelled in Elizabeth’s heart. “Do you know how I could get word to him?”

“May I ask why you feel the need to contact him?”

Placing her cup and saucer on the table, Elizabeth pondered what to say. Where did the Duchess of Kelbrook and the Viscount Langton stand on the issue of smuggling? Did either of them dabble in it themselves? How much did they know of what occurred in Little Tilbury and, more particularly, at The Fox and Hare Inn? She had already admitted to fleeing from the marriage arrangement her father had made for her. Could she also explain her need to escape the wide net cast by the Lamhurst Gang? And if so, why should the duchess believe that Reynard might facilitate her escape when he, too, was a smuggler?

For the first time, Elizabeth paused long enough to consider the question herself. Her flight had been so spontaneous, so emotion driven, she had not considered the possibility that Reynard would be unwilling to help her. Or worse, that he might return her to her father. Her focus had been solely on making contact with him. Now that that appeared possible, she was suddenly besieged with doubts about the man she hardly knew.

“I must leave Little Tilbury,” she said, a hint of the desperation she felt leaking into her voice.

“To escape the marriage you mentioned last night?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands together and took a leap of faith. “And the smuggling.”

The duchess raised her eyebrows. “I have heard rumors of smuggling occurring in Little Tilbury. Is it so bad that you feel the need to flee?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The words hung between them. The duchess waited, but Elizabeth was not willing to provide any further details.

“I see.” The noblewoman took another sip of her tea. “And yet, I was under the impression that Reynard himself has participated in some smuggling.”

She knew. Elizabeth’s grip on her own fingers tightened. “He is one of the few people of my acquaintance who is not from the village. I had hoped he would know of someone far from here who may be in need of a maid or the like.”

“And perhaps go as far as to give you a recommendation?”

Why did it suddenly sound so callous to offer an injured man assistance only to claim payment in kind a few weeks later?

“If he was so inclined, I would be most grateful,” she said. “I’ve been told that recommendations are worth a great deal to those required to hire a houseful of servants.”

“They are indeed.” The duchess appeared thoughtful. “What proficiencies do you claim, Miss Doyle?”