An Ideal Duchess (21 page)

             
“Your name is Maggie, isn’t it?”

             
“Yes, Your Grace,” The housemaid bobbed a deep curtsey. “Would you like me to fetch Miss Bowen for you?”

             
Amanda pulled a face: Bowen was the stern, gimlet-eyed lady’s maid the Dowager Duchess hired to tend to her needs. To report her missteps to her mother-in-law was more like it, which led to Amanda feeling even more awkward over her place in Bledington.

             
“No—would you help me dress for the day?” Amanda gestured for Maggie to follow her into Bron’s bedroom and through the connecting door.

             
Maggie’s brown eyes widened at her as she stood on the threshold of Amanda’s bedroom. “M-me, Your Grace? I’m only sixth housemaid!”

             
“It isn’t so difficult a task that you cannot assist me,” Amanda laughed. “Open my wardrobe—well, first open my curtains to let a little light in here—choose something, and then help me dress.”

             
“But my hands, Your Grace,” The housemaid hid her hands behind her. “They’re not fit to handle such delicate materials.”

             
“Nonsense!” Amanda walked to the wardrobe and opened the doors. “They are only clothes.”

             
She pulled out the shallow shelf holding her tissue-wrapped teagowns, practically the only item of clothing she could wear, and pushed aside the violet-scented tissues to retrieve one of rose-colored satin and lace. Maggie remained rooted to the floor and Amanda sighed in amused exasperation. She tossed the teagown at the housemaid, who gasped in shock and rushed to catch it in midair.                             She grinned when Maggie clutched the bundle of satin and lace to her chest, her expression one of mute horror.

             
“There, now you’ve touched my clothing,” Amanda turned back to the wardrobe and opened the other shelves holding her shirtwaists, stockings, and drawers.

             
She tossed those to Maggie as well, who caught them in quick succession. She closed the wardrobe and beckoned for Maggie to help her remove her dressing gown and nightrail, and felt rather smug over this flash of inspired rebellion. Bowen could not forbid her to dress and go downstairs if Amanda was dressed and downstairs before the lady’s maid could come up after her breakfast. Maggie’s lady’s-maiding went off without a hitch, and Amanda unbraided her plait, moving to the dressing table to fetch her hairpins from the silver hairpin box, where she pinned her hair into a Psyche’s knot.

             
She examined herself in the mirror. The loose folds of the teagown disguised her expanding waistline, and she grew irritated that everyone still insisted she should not take part in any entertainments. This restriction rankled more so when she thought of Bron in London during the beginning of the Season, which would have been her first as the Duchess of Malvern.

             
Oh well
, she sighed inwardly,
this little one wasn’t entirely to blame for her misfortune
, and she touched her belly. The sound of movement from the hall alerted her to the gradual awakening of the house, and there was a chance Bowen was already on her way upstairs!

             
“Thank you, Maggie,” She turned to smile at the housemaid. “Now the next task is to bring me breakfast in the library, where I shall spend my day reading the books of my choosing.”

*          *          *

              Maggie preened with the importance of her task as she hurried downstairs to the servants’ wing to deliver Her Grace’s instructions. Wouldn’t her Mum be proud of her for being singled out by Her Grace? The thought of being plucked from the ranks of housemaids to become Her Grace’s lady’s maid made her jump a little on her toes with glee, and in her excitement, she nearly collided with the footmen making their way from the men’s quarters to the servants’ hall.

             
“Here now Maggie,” Rob, second footman held her by the shoulders. “Where’s the fire?”

             
“You mustn’t make me late, Rob,” Maggie pushed his hands away. He was known to be entirely too friendly with the maids.

             
“Late for what?” Cedric, first footman scoffed. “Scrubbing Their Graces’ chamberpots?”

             
The other footmen, and the hallboy passing by, laughed uproariously. Maggie glowered at them and lifted her chin.

             
“I’ll have you know that Her Grace has asked me to bring her breakfast.”

             
“On what planet, Mags? Certainly not on this one, not as long as Miss Bowen is Her Grace’s lady’s maid.” Cedric looked incredulous and amused.

             
“You never know, Cedric. Things can change,” Maggie advanced, forcing them to part to allow her to pass.

             
She sailed down the corridor towards the steamy kitchen, where Mrs. Alcock ruled with a sharp kitchen knife and a tin soup ladle. Scullery maids and kitchen maids scrubbed and chopped vegetables, stirred sauces in the copper pans, and tended to the massive iron range, all under the critical eye of the cook. Maggie hesitated, her courage failing her a bit at the sight of Mrs. Alcock’s domain, but the sensitive cook spotted her immediately through the steam.

             
“Aye, what do you want?”

             
“Her Grace,” Maggie cleared her throat. “The duchess wishes for me to bring her breakfast to her in the library.”

             
“And who are you? Isn’t Miss Bowen the young duchess’s lady’s maid?”

             
Maggie blushed hotly when a kitchen maid tittered. “She requested my help.”

             
“I’ll have to see what Mr. Fowler thinks of this,” Mrs. Alcock wiped her hands on the soiled kitchen towel slung over her broad shoulder.

             
“What are you doing in the kitchen, Maggie?”

             
She turned at the sound of Mrs. Finch’s soft, Derbyshire-inflected inquiry. The housekeeper’s naturally stern expression deepened.

             
“She seems to think the young duchess has asked her to bring breakfast in the library,” Mrs. Alcock marched towards them.

             
“Her Grace
has
,” Maggie lifted her chin.              

             
Mrs. Finch’s mouth twisted and she looked over her head at Mrs. Alcock, who promptly threw up her hands.

             
“I must cater to the whims of a breeding woman, I see!” Mrs. Alcock sighed loudly. “Disrupting my kitchen!”

             
“Just this once, Maggie my girl,” Mrs. Finch raised her wispy brows. “Don’t make a habit of stepping on everyone’s toes by sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

             
“Yes, Mrs. Finch.” Maggie composed her face into a contrite expression, and the housekeeper nodded her approval.

             
Mrs. Alcock grumbled as she handed Maggie the tray laden with Her Grace’s breakfast and tea, but Maggie was too excited to care. She walked carefully down the corridor towards the door leading to the ground floor (she stopped briefly at the servants’ hall to stick her tongue at Cedric, who sat facing the door eating his breakfast—Miss Bowen was there as well, thankfully with her back turned away from the door!), and used her shoulder to push open the door and entered the vast Saloon. She reached the library just as Mr. Fowler stepped from the dining room. The butler stared at her for a moment, obviously taken aback by her appearance, and then bore down on her with an expression of furious disapproval.

             
“Your Grace, your breakfast,” Maggie fumbled one-handed with the doorknob.

             
The young duchess opened the library door and Maggie gave her a wide-eyed glance. Her Grace darted a glance at Mr. Fowler and then gave Maggie a brief wink.

*            *          *

              “Fowler,” Amanda called airily over her shoulder as she moved aside to allow Maggie into the library. “It was so kind of Maggie to fetch my breakfast when Bowen failed to hear my ring.”

             
The butler’s expression faltered little, with the exception of the small twitch in his cheek. But he bowed, nonetheless, with a murmured, “Yes, Your Grace.”

             
Maggie shot Amanda a grateful glance as she lurched towards the table to set the breakfast tray down, saved for the moment from being harangued by the butler. Amanda smiled coolly at the butler and walked towards the silk-covered mahogany settee beside the low table, sinking carefully onto its deep cushioned surface.

             
“Maggie—”

             
“Will you pour my tea, Maggie?” Amanda hastily interrupted the butler.

             
“Yes, Your Grace,” The housemaid bobbed a curtsey and nervously reached for the teapot, perching the strainer over the delicate tea cup and pouring the steaming brown liquid over it, filling the cup to the brim..

             
“You may return to your duties, Fowler,” Amanda smiled graciously at him.

             
He looked thoroughly affronted by his inability to circumvent her demands, and when he bowed coldly and departed, she grimaced at the notion that she may have made an enemy of the butler. She pushed all thoughts of him aside, and looked about the library, pleased by the novelty of being downstairs. In fact, she thought as she selected a novel from the circular revolving bookcase beside the settee, it was rather unusual to be alone in Bledington, free of calling guests, any of the bizarre relations residing in Bledington, and the excessive number of floppy eared, spotted dogs her mother-in-law declared a special Malvern breed.

             
She had nothing against dogs per se, and found the Malvern spaniels rather endearing and adorable, but she was against allowing them to scamper about the house, leaving droppings or puddles the poor housemaids were expected to clear away. She made an attempt to speak with the dowager about this, but her mother-in-law had merely looked at her as though she were asking to get rid of the dogs.

             
“The housemaids are expected to clean the entire house, under any circumstance.” The Dowager had intoned, and Amanda left it at that.

             
She shook her head in annoyance and cracked open the book, grateful that its pages had already been cut, for her back now ached dully with pain, and she felt incapable of rising from her chair to fetch a letter opener. She relaxed against the back of the settee, feet propped on the cushions of the mahogany duet stool, to read Meredith’s
Diana of the Crossways
. She tilted the book to her nose to peer over it to examine the breakfast tray. 

             
“My word, Maggie, what on earth did you bring me for breakfast?”

             
“A slice of Mrs. Alcock’s game pie, fried smoked salmon, blackberry jam tartlets, and buttered crumpets, Your Grace.” Maggie gravely named each item, ticking them off with her finger.

             
“Don’t forget the four lumps of sugar in my tea,” Amanda teased the housemaid.

             
“Four lumps, Your Grace,” Maggie removed the lid from the sugar basin and used the small tongs to drop four lumps into the tea cup.

             
“Thank you, Maggie,” She pushed herself to sit and accepted the cup Maggie stretched out to her.

             
The tea was warming and filling, but not so much of the latter that Amanda had no appetite. She reached first for the blackberry jam tartlets, only just recalling her manners after the first gooey, decadent bite of pastry and the stillroom’s blackberry jam. She stifled a moan of satisfaction; she was prohibited from enjoying the seductive planes of Bron’s body, but she was not prohibited from enjoying her food. She wiped the jam from her lips with a handkerchief, aware of Maggie standing quietly beside the door, her hands clasped behind her back.

             
“Will that be all, Your Grace?”

             
“Would you like a tartlet?” She picked one up and held it towards Maggie.

             
“I daren’t Your Grace, it wouldn’t be proper.”

             
“I wouldn’t tell, Maggie.” She ate the tartlet, licking her fingers clean.

             
“It would spoil my breakfast,” But Maggie’s argument sounded rather half-hearted, and her eyes fastened to the blackberry jam tartlets on the tray.

             
Amanda nudged the tray in Maggie’s direction with a welcoming smile. Maggie huffed and then reached over to select a tartlet, popping the whole thing into her mouth.