Page 17 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

“But His Grace has said we are to remain?—”

“Frederick said to stay here, yes.” Rachel tilted her head. “He also says his cat is primarily a working animal and not a companion, and we have established how much weight that carries.” She leaned forward. “Anna. Come with me.”

Anna closed the book. “Rachel, if Birchall were to catch word…”

“Birchall is in London, or wherever his wretched estate is, and Frederick said this morning that no word has come out in London. No one in the village knows who you are!” She paused, and her eyes brightened. “And they needn’t. You can come as my maid!”

“As your?—?”

“Think about it. If you dress plainly and stay close to me, anyone who glances at you will assume you’re my lady’s maid rather than a guest. No one would think twice.” Anna was warming to the idea the more Rachel spoke. “Yes… We borrow something from Mrs. Henderson. No one will ask questions.”

Anna looked at her. She thought about Rathbourne Hall, which was beautiful and entirely safe. But she had also been walking around it in careful circles for five days, like a very comfortable cage.

“If anyone asks me something,” she said, “I have no idea how to be a maid.”

“You do whatever I do, but with slightly less opinion about it,” Rachel said with a grin.

Anna wore a grey wool dress, borrowed from one of the maids, with a white collar and a plain cap.

Anna looked at herself in the mirror. “Well then,” she said.

“Perfect,” Rachel said from the doorway. “No one will look at you twice.”

This was accurate. They went out through the kitchen garden and across the path that ran behind the stables. Rachel was in adeep green pelisse and her best hat; Anna two steps behind her, carrying the empty basket that established the narrative.

No one who saw them paid Anna the slightest attention.

The village was twenty minutes on foot, a gentle descent from the park gates through a lane that was very old and very pretty in the autumn colors, and the first cold Anna felt stepping out beyond the grounds was extraordinary. Above them was an open sky that felt, after five days inside park walls, enormous.

Anna breathed deeply. Rachel looked back and saw her face and smiled but said nothing, which was one of her best qualities.

The village had one main street, a church, a posting inn with a painted sign, and a collection of small shops. A draper’s, an apothecary, a general goods store, and at the far end, a baker’s with something in the window that smelled of cinnamon at thirty paces. It made Anna’s mouth water.

Rachel went directly to the draper’s, where she was greeted by Mrs. Marling, the proprietress, with the warmth of an established patron.

“Lady Rachel!” Mrs. Marling came forward from behind her counter, which was a long table of folded bolts. “We didn’t expect you here during the Season, my lady!”

“I came up with my brother.” Rachel began looking at ribbons. “We fancied some country air.”

“His Grace arrived Tuesday, didn’t he? We heard the carriage.” Mrs. Marling glanced at Anna as a woman clocking staff often did, and then returned immediately to her actual guest. “We’re glad of it. He spoke to Mr. Harrow about the south field drainage, and we’ve had word a contractor’s coming next month. Three farms have been waiting on that work!”

“Has he?” Rachel said, without looking up from the ribbons.

“He always sees to things, His Grace.” Mrs. Marling said with a smile. “Quick about it, too. My husband had a matter with the eastern boundary, some dispute with a neighboring tenant, very unpleasant. His Grace had it resolved inside a fortnight. Didn’t make a fuss about it. Just sorted it all out.” She made a gesture that conveyed the sorting of things. “He’s fair, His Grace. He expects things done properly. But fair.”

“The farms do well, then?” Rachel asked, selecting a blue ribbon and holding it toward the light.

“Well as they’ve ever been, no disrespect to your late father of course. Better than most in the county, I’d say.” Mrs. Marling moved to help her with the ribbon, and Anna shifted slightly along the counter. She was looking at a display of small brass buttons without any real purpose, just playing her part. “His Grace manages it himself, which not all do. Some lords leave it entirely to the steward and then wonder why things go sideways. He’s out in the fields. Speaks to the tenants direct.” She paused. “He’s not… he’s not a warm man, as such. Not one for a long conversation. But you know where you stand. There’s a comfort in that.”

“There is,” Rachel agreed, and smiled then. “I’ll take these, please,” she said warmly, handing over a stack of ribbons.

They went to the baker’s next, because the smell of cinnamon had literally pulled them there. The baker’s wife offered a variety of sweet options.

“Very grateful, we were,” she told them, handing over a twist of pastry warm from the oven, as she spoke of her son. “The lad had tried in two other places and been turned away. His Grace’s man spoke to him and said if he worked hard, he’d be treated fair, and he has been.” She nodded firmly. “Good as his word, His Grace.”

“It sounds like you are all very fond of him here in the village,” Rachel said, pleasantly. “I had no idea.”

“Fond might be…” The baker’s wife considered. “Respect is the word. We respect him. He respects us back, which is the part you don’t always get from the big house.” She looked at Rachel. “You look like him, a little, my lady, around the eyes.”