Page 28 of Disciplined by the Duke
Another giggle tore through the air, followed by the deep tones of the duke. Liz knelt by the door and pretended to dust the elaborately carved wainscoting. What was the woman laughing at? Montague wasn’t a humorous man. He was serious. Stern. Commanding. A shiver danced down her spine. He wasn’t the sort of man to jest.
At least not with her. Maybe for his friends, his perceived equals, he was a different sort of man.
She twisted the rag in her hands. Why did she even care? He was a means to an end. That was all. The man who, albeit unwittingly, would be her sister’s salvation. He could dangle after whomsoever he chose. And it was for the best. The next couple of weeks he would be overly distracted by his lovely guest, spend less time in his rooms, and that would make her job easier.
Still, she pressed forward, angling her eye at the door’s opening. Her gaze fell directly on Montague’s broad back. He stood out like a wolf among sheep, his midnight blue tailcoat a stark contrast to the light browns and pale colors of the other men’s and women’s daywear.
A pale hand grasped the dark sleeve. Lady Arabelle leaned into Montague, her blond hair, so pale it appeared almost white, brushing his shoulder. She whispered something and the duke leaned his head close to hers. They looked good together, the lady and the duke. Like they belonged. A matching set.
A wave of nausea rolled through Liz. She clasped a hand to her abdomen, and sank down to sit with her back against the wall. She couldn’t watch them anymore.
Molly raised an eyebrow and walked towards her. “Are you all right? You’re looking awfully pale.”
Liz forced a smile. “I’m fine. Only a little dizzy.”
Molly’s green eyes flicked down to where she held her stomach and back up, a smile curling her lips. “So it’s true then, is it? You’re expecting.”
“What?” Liz pushed to her feet. “No, of course I’m not! I’m an unmarried woman.”
Molly snorted and turned back to her cleaning supplies. “What does that matter?” She picked up her bucket and looked at Liz, her face creasing with sympathy. “Is it the earl’s, the one you worked for? Is that why you had to leave his service?”
“Molly. I am not with child.” Her cheeks heated just saying the words. “The earl has never . . . I’ve never . . .” She twisted the rag tight around one finger. “I mean, there are many things I don’t know concerning what a man and a woman do after they are married”—Molly raised another eyebrow—“or before, but I do understand some basics of biology and let me assure you that I cannot be carrying a child.”
“If you say so,” Molly said as they walked to the door.
“I do. Now, shall we start with the guest rooms?” As they trudged up the back staircase, Liz reminded herself that this was another benefit to Lady Arabelle’s visit. Because five guest rooms were in use, the usual second-floor maids needed assistance with their duties and she had access to the upper floor. The duke’s chambers were around the bend in the corridor in another wing, and she had yet to find the time, or the gumption, to search his private rooms.
Two other maids hurried past, and directed them to a room across the hall that needed cleaning. Liz eyed a wrinkled cravat tossed over an armchair and a pair of muddy boots. “Is this Lord Spencer’s room?” The brother of Lady Arabelle bore a courtesy title derived from his father’s lesser title as Viscount of Spencer.
“Yes.” Molly rushed to the bed and yanked off the coverlet. She stripped the bed with quick movements. “He’s handsome, that one is, don’t you think?”
Liz started gathering the rumpled clothing to take down to the laundry. “I suppose. He seems awfully young, however.” In truth, she didn’t remember what Lady Arabelle’s brother looked like, only recalled an overall impression of an exuberant puppy.
“Cor, you may be right about that. His friend, the one with the limp, he looks like one who knows what to do with a woman.”
Liz cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t know.” She peeked into the chamber pot, and blew out a happy sigh when she saw it was empty. She hated that part of her new job. “How long do you think the Spencer party will stay?”
“At least a fortnight. Although there is one guest of the duke’s who might stay here permanently.”
Liz dropped a pillow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Sally, you know Sally, the maid with the horrible pox scars, she was talking to Lady Arabelle’s maid who said that Lady Arabelle and the duke are nearly betrothed.” Molly gathered up all the dirty linens in one big ball and wrapped them in a sheet.
Liz fumbled with the blanket she was folding, her fingers numb. “What do you mean by ‘nearly’ betrothed?”
“Apparently it’s been agreed upon between the families for years; it was just a matter of waiting for the lady to come of age.” Molly outlined a well-rounded figure with her hands. “She certainly looks of age to me.”
Clenching her fists, Liz looked away. Yes, she’d noticed that the lady was certainly . . . well endowed. And she had wondered if that was the kind of thing that appealed to Montague.
Of course it was. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Not only was Lady Arabelle a beautiful woman, but she and the duke also had a shared history and a planned future. She grabbed the bundle Molly had made and threw it down outside the door. She wished the duke happy in his marriage to his blond, buxomy harlot. She sincerely did.
She strode down the hall to the linens room, and pulled out a fresh set of sheets. When she made the bed, her corners were razor sharp, her mind focused. Montague was a duke and would marry a lady. That was the way of the world. Even had she met Montague before her father died, been introduced as Miss Elizabeth Wilcox, a gently born lady, he still would have gone on to marry someone like Lady Arabelle. Liz and Amanda might have giggled under the bedcovers and gossiped about marrying a prince or a duke, but even then she’d known that was but a dream. She had hoped to marry a good man, an honorable one, someone she would be proud to stand beside. . . .
Liz ignored the pain in her chest. She could do nothing about that wish, but she could save her sister and live a comfortable little life with her. Montague would be so happy with his new bride and his vast wealth that he would hardly notice when one of his shipments went missing. If the Earl of Westmore released her from this job she would happily leave. But until then, she would continue on in her mission to search for the letter.
That determination lasted her through the day and evening. When she finally sat down after dinner to have a cup of tea with Peggy, she wondered why she’d ever felt any compunction against taking the letter. It was a simple job with the ultimate reward.
“Is something a’matter, dearie? You seem awfully distracted.” Peggy’s brow furrowed.
