Page 27 of The Duke's Only Desire

The cook nodded and hurried to do as asked.

Mrs. Sexton gestured back toward the hallway and the stairs. “This way, Your Grace.”

As Sophie left the basement, she could feel a wave of relief pass over the servants. Oh, they were all very kind and pleasant, nodding at her when she left. But it would take a while, she knew, before they were all comfortable living under the same roof.

Mrs. Sexton guided Sophie into the main drawing room on the ground floor. It had once undoubtedly been a room of pride, given the Italianate decorations, the fine Chippendale furniture, and the long sweep of floral damask that billowed across the ceiling from the picture railing to the tall wooden beams two stories overhead. It gave her the feeling of having fallen into a giant Mediterranean canopy bed.

“I remember this room from my previous visit,” Sophie murmured, tilting back her head to look up at it. “I was twelve at the time, and I had no idea why anyone would drape a canopy over a ceiling.”

With a faint chuckle, the housekeeper explained, “His Grace’s grandfather had it built to resemble a palazzo he’d seen in Venice when he’d been on his Grand Tour. Itisodd, I suppose, to have an Italian room in a French chateau,” she mused. “But everyone seems to like it.”

Sophie nodded. As with the rest of the house, though, this room had also been allowed to languish. Oh, it was spotlessly clean; the servants had done their jobs well in keeping it. But the fabric canopy was sun-faded, and the furniture needed to be recovered. Time and attention would bring it back to its former glory, she suspected. Just as she hoped she could do with Shay.

The tea tray arrived nearly on their heels, delivered by a footman who was barely more than five feet tall when footmen were usually over six feet. Mrs. Sexton gestured for him to set it down on the low tea table in the first grouping of settees and winged back chairs that once served as conversation areas when the room had been in use. The young man quickly left.

Sophie took a seat at the settee and leaned toward the tray. Little sandwiches and cakes filled a small plate, along with more precious strawberries that made her long to visit the estate’s greenhouses. Black tea steeped in the steaming pot. “Mrs. Latimer took no time in putting this together.”

“I suspect she had it waiting for you, ma’am, in case you didn’t like your breakfast and wanted something else.”

Guilt pricked her as she lifted the lid and glanced into the pot. The tea had already steeped. As soon as she outlawed curtsies, she’d make certain they knew she didn’t expect special treatment like this, either. “My breakfast was delicious.” She glanced around the room. “Everything here seems extremely well-maintained and respectfully tended.”

“We’re all very proud to work in this house, ma’am.”

Sophie leveled a hard look on the housekeeper. “If we’re to bump along well, Mrs. Sexton, then I need you to tell methe truth.” She ignored the woman’s surprised expression and poured a cup of tea. “I know the history of this house, and I know there’s a reason why we have a Scottish cook instead of a French chef, short footmen, and maids who can’t discern shifts from petticoats. It isn’t because a stream of servants with letters of recommendation are beating down the door to ask to work here.”

She held out the cup and saucer toward the housekeeper, then nodded toward the chair across the table for her.

A chagrinned expression crossed Mrs. Sexton’s face as she accepted the tea and took her seat. “Duly noted, ma’am.”

Sophie offered her a selection from the plate of goodies, but the woman politely declined. “Please. I want you to join me.” When the housekeeper hesitated, Sophie added, “I know I’m breaking all kinds of protocols, but I’m not an ordinary duchess and Ravenscroft Manor certainly isn’t an ordinary house. I’d like it to be a comfortable place for all of us to live together. Besides, it’s only tea. I’ve never understood why all those fine ladies think taking tea with their servants is anathema, as if sharing somehow poisons the pot.”

When she saw Mrs. Sexton’s eyes sparkle with amusement, she knew she was winning the woman over.

“I want to be a good duchess,” she confided, “and create a warm, loving home here for His Grace and the children we’ll have, but I don’t know the first thing about how to begin. Will you help me?”

“I would like nothing more, Your Grace.”

“Good. And I have a lot of questions about the house and how it’s run, so you’re going to be here with me for a very long time.” Sophie held out the plate again. “You might need nourishment.”

In truth, although she did need to know about the house, Sophie simply wanted the company. More—she wanted an ally.

The woman stifled a soft laugh and selected a lavender biscuit and a little cake with lemon-yellow frosting. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Sophie poured a second cup for herself and settled in for a long and pleasant conversation.

Finally, she began to feel hopeful at turning this place from a house into a home.

*

That hope allbut vanished a few hours later at dinner.

Dressed in the best gown she had brought with her, Sophie waited for the clock to strike eight, then made her way downstairs to the dining hall.Hall,notroom, because every inch of it resembled a medieval banquet hall, from the towering wooden beams on the ceiling three stories above the long table that she guessed could have comfortably seated one hundred guests to the massive stone fireplace taking up the entire end wall. Every inch of it was made to impress. And intimidate.

“It’s certainly impressing me,” she mumbled to herself as she stopped in the wide double-doorway. Her eyes swept from the suits of armor, across the intricate geometric displays of weapons of all kinds on the walls, to the large banners hanging from the rafters. “And intimidating.”

The butler was making last minute adjustments to a single place setting at the head of the enormous table. He saw her and snapped straight, giving her an incline of his head in greeting.

She smiled and entered the hall. “You must be Mr. Henley, the butler.”