Duchess Beware (Secrets & Scandals Book 2) (15 page)

Approaching the door where the aroma of ham and fresh baked bread floated on the air, enticing entry, her stomach growled.  Satisfied to have found the kitchen without much difficulty, she entered the room.

The conversation ceased abruptly.  Only the short man dressed entirely in white, sporting a thin, curling mustache and dark, beady eyes, continued to work, furiously whisking the contents of a bowl he held to his chest.

Turning from the little man’s unmerited contempt, Silver took note of the others.  A hefty woman stood before the savory contents of a large cooking pot; a younger girl working nearby held a knife to a peach; beside her, another young girl had her fists deep in a pile of dough; and at the room’s long wooden table sat a beak-nosed man who held a cloth to a silver bowl.  All stared wide-eyed at her.

The rear door leading outside opened and a strapping woman, perhaps even taller than Silver’s own height, bustled into the kitchen.  She pulled a green cloak from her shoulders, not paying any attention to the room’s occupants, when she began to speak.  “Dreadful place, my sister’s,” she said as she hung her cloak on the coat rack, “I don’t think I’ll ever visit again.”  When no response came, the woman turned to survey the room, following the direction of everyone’s gaze.

Silver could see the woman trying to place her identity.  Then, as if coming to a conclusion, the bewilderment lifted.  “I’m Mrs. Birch, head housekeeper,” she said, striding forward.  “Have you been introduced to the rest of the staff?”

Shaking her head, Silver wondered who the housekeeper thought her to be.

“This is but a small portion of the staff,” Mrs. Birch continued, sweeping the room with an arm.  “Francoise, the chef, Mrs. Wiggins, under cook, Alice and Mary, scullery maids, and Mr. Beakly, the under-butler.”

Oh, dear, Silver thought as she suppressed a giggle.  Mr. Beakly certainly had an apt name.  His hooked nose looked exactly like a beak.  “How do you do?” she said with a smile to the stunned group.  Her eyes strayed to Mr. Beakly.  “It is very nose—nice,” she corrected with haste, feeling her cheeks heat, “to meet all of you.”

Mrs. Wiggins smiled, laughter lurking in her kind brown eyes.

“Have you been assigned a duty yet?” Mrs. Birch asked.

A duty?  Then realization hit and she swallowed a giggle.  The woman thought her a servant.  “Actually, I have.”

The housekeeper didn’t look too happy with that vague answer.  “And what—”

Just then, a maid popped her head in the doorway.  “The guests are demandin’ their mornin’ chocolate,” she said as several bells above the door rang out.  “An’ be quick about it.  They’re as cross as ‘ungry bears, the lot of them.”  Then the girl disappeared.

Mrs. Birch frowned at the bells that had just fallen still, then at the entire room.  “Why didn’t someone tell me the guests had already arrived?”  Met with silence, her frowned deepened.  “What has gotten into all of you?” she demanded, placing beefy hands on rounded hips.

Mrs. Wiggins took a step forward.  “His Grace has also returned—”

“He has?  Lor, Matilda, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“His Grace returned with a bride,” the under cook said with a twinkle in her eyes.

“A bride, you say?” Mrs. Birch said with raised brows.  And when the room nodded in unison, the stocky woman staggered to the nearest chair and plopped down onto it.   “Goramidy,” she breathed, “I take leave for the first time in twenty years and look what happens.” She turned back to the under-cook, her eyes pleading.  “Tell me she ain’t one of the peahens.”

The undercook glanced to Silver then back, her round cheeks blooming with color.  “Er, no, she’s—”

“Oh, thank our merciful Father in heaven for that,” the housekeeper said in relief, plopping a plump hand over her generous bosom.  “I vow I would have tied a boulder ‘round my neck and pitched myself into the lake had His Grace married Lady Isabella.  Of course, the other two peahens are nearly as bad…”  She halted and looked up at Mrs. Wiggins with a frown.  “Why are you making such an awful sound, Matilda?  If you got the back-door trots, why, there’s the back door.”  She jabbed a stubby thumb over her shoulder.

Unable to help herself, Silver began to laugh.

Mrs. Birch swiveled her head and slowly came to her feet, her knuckles settling over her wide waist.  “And what is so amusing, missy?”

Everyone gasped, then they went still, as if awaiting her reaction.  Just as she opened her mouth to respond, Daniel sauntered in.

“There you are, darling.  I have been looking everywhere,” he said, halting beside her.  He looped an arm around her shoulders and continued, not paying any attention to the others.  “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?  I was hoping we’d break our fast together.”

Before she could answer, Mrs. Birch made a choking noise and crumpled back down onto her chair.  “God save me,” she whispered, closing her eyes and shaking her head from side to side.

Daniel frowned at the housekeeper and Silver spoke before he could ask the questions forming in his eyes.  “I am very pleased with your staff here, Daniel, and feel they serve you well.”  She pulled him toward the door.  “I would love to have my morning meal with you.  Will you lead the way?”

Nicely distracted, he smiled that devilish grin that made her toes curl and her stomach perform somersaults and led her from the room.  She followed him into a gigantic dining hall and came to a halt.  Would she ever get used to such opulence? 
Probably not.
  The enormous wooden table had intricately carved scrollwork along the sides, its polished surface glistened to a mirror shine, and at least fifty ivory silk cushioned chairs neatly lined the perimeter.  At either end of the spectacular room were white marble fireplaces, where five people standing side-by-side could easily fit.  After noting the colorful Persian rug sprawled across the floor and the elegant tapestries on the walls, her eyes lifted and widened.  Hanging from the cherub painted ceiling were two enormous chandeliers made of what looked like pure gold and glittering crystal drops.

Silver blinked, coming out of her awe-struck state, and realized Daniel had been speaking to her.

“…Have more privacy eating our meal in here instead of in the morning room with the others.”  He turned.  “I hope you don’t mind?”

Her husband quite amazed her at times.  She smiled.  “Of course I don’t mind.”  But her smile melted away when he seated her at one end of the long table, then walked down and sat at the other end.  The seven golden candelabras restricted her view of his handsome face.  She’d talk to him about the seating arrangement later.

A servant had just poured her tea when the door opened and eight ladies—four young, four elderly—entered the room.  She groaned inwardly, then caught a glimpse of Daniel’s face through the candelabras.  He didn’t look any happier. 
Good.

Of course, everyone flocked to his side of the table.  Everyone but the dowager duchess who continued to give Silver a withering glare.

A part of her wanted to move, knowing she sat in the dowager’s usual chair.  But only a small part.  Instead, she lifted her chin and defiantly stared back.  The woman narrowed her eyes just before turning toward the empty chair to Daniel’s right, opposite his sister, Victoria.

Silver bit her lip, wondering how she would ever gain the dowager’s approval.

****

Victor had just swallowed the last of his coffee when his butler entered the room with lips thinned in annoyance.  “Yes, Gibbons?”

“Pardon, milord, Mr. Colin Pennington to see you.  I explained you were not receiving visitors, but he is adamant.”

With a sharp sigh, Victor placed the newspaper he’d been reading aside and rose.  “Where is he?”

He entered the drawing and found Colin pacing before the fireplace, his pale features set in haggard lines, and his disheveled clothes smudged with dirt—no, no…blood.  Blood that had dried to the color of rust.  He frowned and closed the door.  The sight should shock him, but it didn’t.  Victor knew the young man had a terrible temper, especially when he drank.

Colin looked up and relief flared in his eyes.  “Thank God you haven’t departed for London yet.  I need your help.”

Crossing his arms, Victor did not bother to hide his disapproval.  “What have you done?”

Colin’s shoulders slumped.  “I…”

“What?”

“I-I was doing a bit of shift-work when the bloody strumpet insulted me.”  He sounded angry, yet his eyes were fearful, desperate.

“And…?” Victor asked, knowing there had to be more to the story. 
Much more.

The younger man swallowed visibly and glanced down at his stained hands.

He shook his head, correctly guessing the reason for the dried blood.  “When did it happen?”

“Sometime yesterday.  I-I had a few drinks, and… I can’t recall much.  I passed out—”

“Is she alive?”

Without glancing up, the little fool shook his head.

Swearing inwardly, he took a step forward.  “Where is she?”

Colin’s head snapped up.  Hope sparked in his dull brown eyes.  “Will you help me, then?”

Instead of agreeing to anything, he nodded to the door.  “Show me.”

When he opened the drawing room door, Victor noticed a maid scampering away as though she had been listening to their conversation.  His rage rose swiftly, nearly blinding him.  “You there,” he snarled, “get back here.”

She froze with her shoulders slumped and head down.  Then slowly, she turned, her wide brown eyes filling with tears and her chin trembling.

He gnashed his teeth.  “Do not make me repeat myself.”

She shuffled forward and began to sob.  “Please, milord, I ain’t done anythin’ wrong.  Please.”

Victor fisted his hands at his sides, wanting to deal with this problem right away.  But Colin shifted nervously at his side, reminding him he had another pressing matter to attend to.

“Gibbons,” he called, then continued when the man halted behind the maid, “hold this little chit until I return.”  He ignored the woman’s hysterical wails.  “Has my horse been saddled for my morning ride?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He turned to Colin.  “Let’s go.”

Two hours later, Victor removed his coat, not liking how warm the day had become, and rolled up his sleeves.  He turned to Colin and raised his brows.  Instead of showing him, the dimwit pointed to an area between two white oak trees several yards away.  He shook his head and began in that direction.  A crow cried out overhead and he thought it appropriate.  A bit macabre, like pages from a Walpole gothic horror, but fitting the scene coming into view.  Blood had been splattered across both tree trunks, a white hand with purple fingernails poked out of a pile of brown leaves, and the wooden handle of a knife jutted up out of the dead girl’s chest.

Victor kicked aside three empty wine bottles and kneeled before the body.  The little fool had tried burying her with leaves, but each gust of warm wind exposed more of her mutilated corpse.  The crow squawked again, and another answered in the distance.

Colin shuffled closer, his eyes darting everywhere but where the naked body lay, and shifted nervously from one foot to the other.  Thankfully, he remained closed-mouthed.

Victor squatted down and used a stick to scrape away the remaining foliage to better examine the young girl.  She must have been dead at least a full day.  No doubt Colin had passed out, given the amount of wine bottles littering the area.  Ignoring the hint of rotted flesh starting to rise up from the body, knowing the day’s heat sped up the decomposition, he observed the dozen or so puncture wounds in her chest.  The deep crimson gashes were striking against her grayish-white skin, and her milky eyes had sunk deep into her skull.  Her hair was nearly the color of the liquid that had oozed from her wounds, and it didn’t match the golden curls at the apex of her legs.  He rose to his feet and heaved a great sigh.

“Return to my house at once, Colin, I’ll take care of this.”

Gratitude flitted across the young man’s face, and he nodded.  “Thank you, Victor.  I’ll never forget this.”

He cocked a brow and pointed the stick at him.  “Worry not, my reckless friend, I shall make certain you never do forget.”

Chapter Thirteen

While Daniel met with his land-steward on business, Silver decided to explore the grounds.  She wished Prudence were here and they could walk among the lovely flowers together.  Deciding not to venture too far from the mansion, as her sense of direction had always proved nonexistent, she strolled along the paths of the formal garden, taking note of the marble statues along the way.  They were exquisite, their expressions so lifelike, she expected them to jump down from their pedestals and start a conversation with her.

After two hours of wandering Silver grew restless.  Her books hadn’t arrived.  Aunt Prudence hadn’t arrived.  Daniel was busy.  Lady Victoria was entertaining her guests between music lessons and tapestry work.  Silver pulled a face.  And the dowager duchess did not want her company.

What on earth was she to do?  Go mad with boredom?  Is that what duchesses did?

Shaking her head, she headed back to the mansion.  She refused to spend her days with nothing whatever to do.  Surely, there was something besides needlework and spreading gossip.  From what she could tell, Daniel had many businesses to run.  Surely she could be of some use to him?

Entering the solarium from the rear door, Silver jerked to a halt at the sight of Victoria’s three friends in the adjourning room.  They hadn’t noticed her.  She was just about to call out a greeting when she caught a few words of their discussion coming in through the open door and realized they were talking about her.  She crept closer so she could hear better and hid behind a huge potted palm, her stomach clenching into a tight knot.

“…And all that appalling red hair,” Sabrina sneered, pouring more tea into her cup. 

“Why, no one who is anyone has red hair.” Charity flipped a honey-gold lock with two fingers.  “The gel has no good qualities.  Grandmamma says so,” she added in a shrill voice that made Silver cringe.

“Indeed,” Isabella huffed, seated on the sofa between her two friends.  “I haven’t the vaguest notion what the duke could possibly see in that Amazon.  Have you noticed how big she is?  Why, most men aren’t even so…so…”

Silver held her breath.

“Large,” Charity supplied when Isabella faltered for the right word.

Placing a hand over the knot of shame burning her middle, Silver closed her eyes for several seconds.  These people were not at all different than her aunt, uncle, and cousins.  They would often have such horrible discussions.

“Yes, yes.” Sabrina lifted a pink frosted cake to her mouth.  “It must be from all the food she inhales.”

“La, I’ve noticed that.”

“The gel has no manners,” Charity said.  “Grandmamma says so.”

Silver glanced over her shoulder at the rear door and bit her lip.  Yet her feet wouldn’t move in that direction.  For some awful reason, she had to hear what they said.  With a sigh, she craned her head around the palm blades for a better view and continued to listen.

“And those hideous rags she calls clothes.” Sabrina wiped pink crumbs from her pale blue skirt.

Isabella wrinkled her nose.  “Quite so, Rina.  My maid said there are homeless in London better dressed than that.”

Silver inspected her dull gray dress, frowning when she found the frayed hem and small rip near the right pocket.  Then she looked at Isabella’s ice blue silk walking dress with dark blue stripes on the puffed, petal-shaped sleeves and on the hem.  The contrast between the two was striking and the hot ball of shame in her middle burned even brighter, rising up to scorch her cheeks.

“The gel has no sense of fashion.  Grandmamma says so.”

Bowing her head, Silver didn’t think she could listen to anymore.  Until a tiny voice inside her reminded her who Daniel had married.  She was the duchess.  This was her home, and those within should not speak about her in such an ugly manner.

“Yes, and—”

The door opened, interrupting Sabrina. 
Thank God.
  Silver had just convinced herself to step away from the plant and give the three lack-wits a tirade they’d not soon forget.  Perhaps it was better this way.  She didn’t wish to embarrass Daniel or Victoria.  Gradually, she moved several of the blade-like fronds to see who entered the room.

“You’re late, Victoria.  We’ve begun without you.”

Silver swallowed hard.  Her new sister-in-law’s true feelings would be revealed.  Would Torie sit and listen to her friends’ venomous words?  Would she add to them?

“Do forgive my tardiness, Sabrina.” Torie took the empty chair opposite the sofa where the three sat.  “My dance instruction lasted longer than expected.”

Isabella shook her head.  “Why does your grandmother insist you continue with those silly lessons?  I stopped taking them two years ago.”

Torie leaned forward to pour her tea.  “Unlike you, I still need them,” she said, spooning a small dollop of honey into her cup.

Silver went still.  Had that been a hint of sarcasm tinting her sister-in-law’s words?  Surely not.

“Then why does she insist you continue your music lessons?” Sabrina asked.  “I’ve never heard anyone play the pianoforte better than you.”

Torie’s cheeks filled with color, and she took a sip of her tea before replying. “You’re above generous.  Truly, I don’t play so well.”

Sabrina placed a fresh cake over the pile of pink crumbs on her plate.  “You forget that Mr. Penworthy is also my music instructor.  He is forever singing your praises and wishing I could play with one quarter of your elegance.”  The girl halted from biting into the cake she’d raised to her mouth and frowned.  “Mr. Penworthy says I have the finesse of a
vache
, whatever that means.”

Silver clamped a hand over her mouth, strangling a burst of laughter.  Though poorly pronounced, she could recognize the French word for cow.  Her hilarity increased as she watched the slightly plump Sabrina bite into a fourth cake.  She had to turn around and take several steps back to keep from erupting with laughter.  After several deep breaths, she was back in control and resumed her position behind the palm.

“The word isn’t familiar to me, either,” Torie said as she poured more tea for Charity.  “But I am certain Silver will know its meaning.  We should ask her.”

“Silver?” Isabella asked, her dark eyes going wide.  “How would she know?”

“The gel has no intelligence,” Charity said.  “Grandmamma says so.”

After giving Charity a reproving glance, Torie turned to Isabella.  “I am certain the word is French, and Silver happens to speak French fluently.”

Isabella snorted and shook her head.  “Surely you jest.”

“I am most serious, Isabella,” Torie said sharply.

“Goodness, Victoria,” Sabrina stated with a nervous giggle, “you sound as though you actually like the Amazon.”

Silver leaned forward, cursing inwardly when the plant shook slightly.  She held her breath and waited for the four in the room to notice.

Instead of glancing toward the palm, Torie stabbed Sabrina with a steely gaze not unlike those given by the dowager.  “That derogatory term must never again be uttered.  Have you any idea what my brother, the duke, would do if he heard you use it?”  Torie placed the saucer cradling her teacup down onto the table before her and stood.  “I can assure you that you do not want to find out,” she added and left the room, her back as stiff and her chin held high.

Silver, like the other three, stared with mouths agape at the empty doorway.  It took her several seconds to identify the warm sensation filling her chest.  Among the admiration and respect, she also found genuine fondness for her new sister-in-law.

Like champagne bubbles, excitement rose within her.  Having someone near her age—someone who understood her, someone with whom she could share things without being mocked, someone who wanted to be her friend—had been something she’d wanted a very long time.

Focusing back onto the empty threshold, Silver smiled.  For the second time in her life, first being her marriage to Daniel, the impossible just became possible.

Now, she had to make her new family proud of her.  That meant becoming a real duchess.  Fortunately, she knew where to begin and retreated back through the solarium to find another way in to the mansion. 

Silver found a door to one of the salons and stopped the first servant she found, then headed up the stairs.  Five minutes later, a hesitant knock sounded at her door.  She smiled at the prompt attention of her summons.  “Enter, please.”

The door inched open and a small, round face with an askew mobcap sitting on raven curls peeked around the dark wood.  “Y-You wished to see me, Your Grace?”

“Yes, Molly, please come in,” Silver stated, wondering if she were ever going to get used to being addressed as ‘Your Grace’. 
Probably not.

The maid scurried into the antechamber and performed a shaky curtsy.  “Your Grace?”

Observing Molly’s trembling hands, she softened her voice.  “Everyone has a special skill.  Some simply do not realize their ability right away and must try different things in order to learn what it is.  Do you understand my meaning?”

The maid’s large, blue eyes filled with tears and she nodded.  “Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered and hung her head.

Silver grew confused.  “I’m not certain you do.”

Molly sniffed.  “Y-You wish me to leave for not confessing to the dowager duchess that I was the one who broke the dishes.”  She lifted her tear-streaked face.  “Not that I blame you, Your Grace, I would throw me out, too.”

Biting back a smile, Silver shook her head.  “No, Molly, that’s not what I am trying to say.”

It took several seconds for those words to penetrate.  “It’s not?” Molly dabbed her wet cheeks with a corner of her wrinkled apron.

“No.  What I am trying to say is for some reason, everyone keeps insisting I need a lady’s maid.  I would like the job to go to you.”

Molly’s eyes went round.  “Me?”

“Yes.”

“B-B-But I’m not…I can’t…I’m…I’m…I’ll wreck everything, Your Grace.”  The maid’s cheeks grew crimson.

“Nonsense.  You’ll do fine.”

“But a lady’s maid to a duchess is…I never thought…” Molly’s voice trailed away.  Then, taking a deep breath, she continued.  “Are you certain you want me, Your Grace?”

“I am certain.”

Those blue eyes filled once again with tears, then she smiled in gratitude.  “Oh, Your Grace, you’ll regret it, but thank you.  Thank you so much!”

“You are welcome.”  Silver smiled and nodded toward the door.  “Now, go fetch your belongings.”

After sputtering more words of appreciation, the maid spun around, almost knocking over the Chippendale table, then rushed to the door and nearly collided with Prudence.

“What was that?” her aunt asked.

Silver grinned.  “That was my new maid.”

“Heaven help us,” Prudence said, shaking her head.

She stood and walked to her aunt.  “I’m so glad you’ve arrived,” she stated after a brief embrace.  Then her features turned stern.  “Though it took you long enough.”

“I do apologize, child, but I had to stop and see that Venetia was feeling better.”

The elderly lady had been ill a long time, and Silver had been thinking only of herself.  “Oh, Aunt, how insensitive of me.  How is Venetia?”

Prudence walked to the chair next to the one Silver had just vacated and sat.  “It’s hard to say,” she answered at the end of a long sigh.

“What do you mean?” she asked, resuming her former seat.

“Venetia was perfectly fit until her son ran off to Gretna Green last spring with that milk maid.”

“Do you mean Venetia’s illness stems from disappointment?”

Prudence gave a loud sniff.  “No, child, I mean Venetia is faking her illness in hopes her son will feel guilty enough to move back home.”

Silver’s lips twitched.  “Without the milk maid?”

“Precisely.”

She could not resist a small chuckle.  How wonderful to have the old dear back.

“How does it feel to be a duchess?” her aunt asked a moment later.

“Like everyone is inspecting me through a microscope,” she said at once.  “And Torie, Daniel’s sister, has informed me London is even worse.”

“You and Lady Victoria are friends?  That is wonderful.”  Prudence patted Silver’s hand.  “And don’t worry over much about London.”

She sighed and nodded.  “Yes, I know.  It’s just…” her words dissolved, and she looked down.

“You’re hedging, child.”

Silver ceased from picking at her thumbnail and lifted her head.  “What if I embarrass Daniel?”

Prudence shook her head, waving a hand before her nose.  “Oh, bosh.”

“No, I mean it.  I never thought it necessary to know all of Society’s rules.  What if I do something completely improper?”

Prudence grew still, her usual calm obviated by the fire burning in her eyes.  “Then you hold your head up high, look Society directly in the eye, and dare one of those hypocritical blue-bloods to explain that you did something wrong.  Mark me well, child, you shan’t find that an easy feat for any of them.  You are the Duchess of Huntington now.”