Page 24 of Disciplined by the Duke
Liz trudged up the back staircases to her chambers. Her feet dragged. After that scene, she wondered whether Pike would even bother to deliver her message. She decided he would need to, that Westmore would insist upon such obedience from his men.
But the spark of optimism she’d had while writing the letter snuffed out. She’d been foolish to hope that the risk of her getting caught would matter to the earl. Yes, she was a useful minion, but he had a hundred more to take her place if she was arrested. There was little risk to himself. Even if Liz was caught she could never reveal the earl was behind the scheme. That would spell the end to any hope of her sister being released. Her appeal to Westmore had been nothing but a fool’s paradise.
Her toe caught on the edge of a carpet, her legs heavy, unresponsive. She forced herself to take a step. Another.
Maybe the best thing for her sister would be for Liz to be apprehended. While she awaited trial, she could blackmail the earl into releasing her sister or she would darken his name. In that case, at least the right sister would be punished. Amanda had been living in a prison her whole life, and Liz had been blissfully ignorant of her sister’s misery.
“Willfully ignorant” was more accurate. She hadn’t wanted to see the sickness that ran through her home. If anyone should pay the price with their freedom it should be Liz. Amanda had already paid enough.
She eased open her door. Molly was already softly snoring. Liz quietly disrobed and crawled into her bed in her shift. Gathering a fistful of the thin quilt, she tucked it under her chin. Her sympathies lingered with Peggy’s hurt, but right now she envied the woman. A worn bit of fabric was a poor substitute for a kitten to cuddle with.
Chapter Eight
Liz paused mid-stride on her way to the morning parlor. Raised voices had her peering around the doorway of the gold salon. Three maids and a footman argued over the removal of a painting.
Liz pursed her lips. It was unbecoming for the servants of a ducal estate to be heard speaking above a soft murmur. But tempers ran high as everyone raced to put Hartsworth in perfect order before the arrival of guests the next day.
Mr. Todd had given them notice that morning that the duke was to receive a party on the morrow, a brother and sister of Montague’s acquaintance and some of their friends, and the maids had immediately let their displeasure be known about the short notice. After the steward had admonished them that it was their duty to be ready for any eventuality at any time, he’d admitted that he also had only learned of the guests’ imminent arrival. Some members of Polite Society, he’d said, didn’t understand the etiquette that required notice before descending en masse upon the duke.
Molly’s skirts swished past hers as she hustled to a window. Liz pushed her bucket with her foot to the next section of floor to clean. The carpets were outside receiving a good beating, and it was her job to scour the oak parquet floors until they gleamed. Floors that would be covered under the hand-knotted pile carpets and that no one would see.
She sighed and dropped to her knees. Her shoulders ached and her knees had bruises. And for what? She didn’t understand this whirlwind of activity, the near hysteria of cleaning. The estate was cleaned every day. It was a beautiful house that was always prepared for guests. She plunged a rag into the soapy bucket and began scrubbing.
Mr. Todd was right about her. She wasn’t of a caliber to serve on a duke’s estate. From the daughter of a gentleman to not being good enough to be a chambermaid. The thought depressed her. Still, she had to admit that when the oval of her face reflected back at her through the wet shine of her efforts, a small streak of pride coursed through her body. Labor could be rewarding.
The steward bustled into the parlor and stood next to Molly. “There are two streaks in the left corner. When the footmen arrive with the ladder, I do hope you will take more care with the upper windows.”
“Of course, Mr. Todd,” Molly said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She tossed her rag into her bucket of water and vinegar, and a few drops splashed onto the steward’s trousers. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I do hope that won’t stain.” Bending, she swiped at the moisture.
“Clumsy girl!” He pushed her hand away and pulled out a handkerchief. “You’re fortunate I’m too busy to deal with your comportment. Now, get back to work.”
He turned to go, and Liz put her head down and scrubbed with all her force.
“Miss Smith,” he said stiffly as he walked out.
A stifled shriek snapped her head up. “Ooh, that man.” Molly stamped her foot. “I’ve had enough of him, ordering me here and there, badgering me about my windows. Look at them,” she ordered, pointing to the clear glass. “Not a streak on them. I know my business.”
Molly crossed her arms over her chest. Tapped the toes of one foot.
“Very clean,” Liz agreed.
The redhead snorted. “So clean the duke himself could eat off of them.” She yanked her bucket up, water sloshing over the side.
Liz hurried to the puddle and dried it with her rag, all the while picturing the taciturn duke trying to eat a meal as it slid down the window. Her lips curved at the absurdity.
Molly wasn’t done fuming. She turned from the French doors and kicked the settee’s leg.
Liz bit the inside of her cheek, uncertain how to handle the display of temper. In her house, anger was subsumed, sadness papered over with serene smiles, and passion unheard of. She’d never seen the true depths of her sister’s misery. Or her father’s depravity. Now, faced with such an overt display of emotion, she didn’t know what was expected.
Molly punched a closed fist into the palm of her other hand. “I’m about to lose my mind, I am.” A little more Cockney crept into her voice. “That old goat needs to be put in his place. Do you know he’s corrected me eight times this morning? Eight times! I counted. Talking to me like I’m no better than a scullery maid. I need—” She broke off, chest heaving, as a smile stretched across her face. Striding across the room, she plucked a porcelain figurine from the mantel before leaving the parlor.
Liz’s stomach dropped to her freshly washed floor. Something about the determined set to Molly’s shoulders spelled trouble. And trouble was something Liz had always tried to avoid.
She scurried after her chamber-mate. “What are you going to do?”
Molly peeked into one room after the other. “Just going to take the edge off.” Glancing at Liz’s worried face, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry yourself. I’m only going to have a bit of fun before getting back to work. I think this will help Mr. Todd’scomportment,as well.” She sashayed down a set of stairs and found her quarry in the ballroom.
Liz hovered at the wide doorway. Something bad was about to happen. Something she couldn’t stop. A pit opened in her stomach, the feeling all too familiar.
