Page 6 of Disciplined by the Duke
Peggy blushed. “Well, those dogs were worrying a poor kitten out in the yard, so, to distract them, I put out a joint of ham.” She tore a piece of bread. “I didn’t think they would get so out of hand with it, yammering to bring the house down. They were like a pack of wild, well, dogs.”
“That’s quite all right. I didn’t have any real trouble.” Insulted her employer, apparently. Didn’t bow and scrape quickly enough. Almost lost her position before she even lifted a dustrag. But none of that was Peggy’s fault. “And the duke was able to subdue the dogs with one word. It was really quite extraordinary.”
“Yes, the duke has that way about him, that’s for sure.”
“Does he live alone here? Has he any family?” Family who might interfere with her spying.
“Sadly, no, poor dear,” Peggy said. “His mother died first, when the boys were young. Then his little brother died. That just about broke the old duke’s heart. It wasn’t many years later that he passed, too.” Her gaze left Liz’s face and trailed down to the end of the table.
“So he is alone.” Made it easier for her, but the knowledge didn’t lift her spirits.
“Well, there is the odd cousin and whatnot, but the duke doesn’t have much to do with that lot.” Peggy twisted her napkin around a finger, took a deep breath. “Excuse me for a minute, dearie.”
Jumping to her feet, she grabbed a tray of desserts from the counter. She carried it down the table and held it in front of Mr. Pike with a smile. He ignored the sweet confections, and pushed away from the table. The outside door slammed shut behind him.
Peggy’s shoulders rounded, and she placed the tray on the table for the other grooms. Before she’d reached her seat, the tray was empty of everything but crumbs. Her chair creaked a protest when she settled back down.
“I can’t understand a man who doesn’t like dessert.” Peggy poked at the scraps left on her plate.
“That does seem to be a fatal character flaw.” Liz sipped her tea, struggling to keep her lips even.
Peggy spread her fingers out, fan shaped, against her breastbone. “I’m sure it’s not so serious as all that. But I don’t have much to offer a man, except I can bake something fierce. It would be nice if he would . . .” Peggy trailed off, her thoughts on what she wanted out of Mr. Pike remaining unknown.
Trying to change the mood, Liz asked, “So what happened to the kitten?”
Peggy waited a beat. “I expect nothing. Cats roam wild all over this county.”
“That’s a shame. A kitten would make a lovely companion,” Liz said evenly. “And keep the kitchen and storerooms free of mice.”
The cook nodded. “That’s what I think, too. But some”—she glared at Mr. Todd at the head of the table—“don’t feel that way. ‘No person in the service of the duke shall condescend to own a pet.’” Her impression of the steward was high-pitched and stilted, far from true, but Liz understood who she meant nonetheless.
Peggy turned back to her tea. She didn’t see Mr. Todd’s stern mien soften into a look of longing as his eyes swept her plump form.
“Well, I’d best be going, dear. I’ll see you for breakfast.” Peggy walked past Mr. Todd with her nose in the air. She went to the counter and filled her teacup from a blue pitcher, and swept from the room. Mr. Todd deflated. Cutting himself a piece of her cake, he took a morose bite.
Finished with her meal, Liz cleared her place and walked to the counter. She tipped the blue pitcher towards her. It was filled with cream.
* * *
A scraping noise froze Liz to the spot, slippered foot paused in mid-air. She waited in the dark hallway, ears straining. Nothing. She inched forward. It would most likely be some time before she became accustomed to the sounds of the enormous house.
Reaching the door of the library, she eased it open. The odors of leather and bay rum teased her nose, and a tingle skittered down her spine. She recognized the scent. The duke must spend a lot of time in that room.
Once inside, she risked lighting her candle. She hadn’t wanted to chance getting caught making a search for the letter in the dark of night. It seemed safer looking for the missive while engaging in her cleaning duties when her poking around could be excused. But a trip to the library for reading material couldn’t get her into too much trouble. Probably. And besides, she had nothing else to do.
She didn’t know what the consequences would be for borrowing a book from the duke’s library. Maybe nothing. But Mr. Todd would most likely disapprove.Which was why she shouldn’t be here.But it was only nine o’clock and she needed some sort of occupation for the rest of the evening. An escape. And when she’d toured this room earlier in the day, with its floor-to-ceiling walls of books on three sides, her fingers had itched to browse the titles.
Molly had chattered nonstop until falling asleep ten minutes ago. Liz couldn’t fall asleep yet, not even knowing she would have to wake at five in the morning to begin her day. Thoughts of her sister, her father, and what lay ahead wouldn’t let her be, leaving her restless. The peace of mind that came with losing herself in a book was worth the risk. If she were left to her tangle of emotions her nerves would make her task more difficult.
Wandering to the contemporary section, she read the titles. A volume by Lord Byron caught her eye. His work had never been allowed in their home, on morality grounds her father had said.
She dug her nails into her palms, the sharp bite of pain drawing her focus, turning her thoughts from her father. His vicious hypocrisy. She took a deep breath. Well, she would read it now. Pulling the leather-bound tome from its place, she rearranged the books to hide the space left behind. Her candlelight illuminated the French literature section, and she removed a slim volume of poetry from the shelf. Perhaps she and her sister would move to the Continent after her release. Her French needed practicing.
Clutching the two books to her chest, she blew out her candle and started to the door. A creak, a rustle, sounded outside in the hall. Liz gulped down her breath, waited. There it was again. Someone was coming this way.
She scanned the room for hiding places. Underneath the desk looked safe, but she didn’t think she had time to reach it.
She ran to the wingback chair, her toe catching on the edge of the rug. Stumbling, she flung her hands out, the books tumbling to the seat, but stopped herself from falling on her face. Dropping to her knees, she huddled behind the chair. She pulled her elbows in tight, tried to make her body as small as possible.