“Maybe the footmen decided to pull a prank on me?” Violet suggested.
“They would never!” the housekeeper gasped, puffing out her chest indignantly. “No footmen under my charge would dare.”
“Well then, perhaps it was my husband.” Violet shot her sister a look. “After all, he does love to tease me.”
The housekeeper frowned, clearly unable to understand why the Duke would think this was a funny joke.
“Well, just get the footmen back and have them re-hang them,” Rosalie suggested, sitting down in a chair near the windows and pulling her book, and an apple, from her reticule.
“I don’t want to bother the footmen,” Violet said. “Especially if this was my husband’s idea. They should not have to do extra work because he and I are in a battle over the fate of the paintings.” She sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to do it myself.”
“You, Your Grace?” The housekeeper looked astounded. “You cannot! It isn’t safe for you to climb all the way up there! And think of all the effort it will take to bring down each painting and hang it back up…”
“If it’s safe enough for a footman, it’s safe enough for me!” Violet declared. “As for the effort, well, I pride myself on being strong.”
“But—”
“Now, go fetch me a ladder. And a hammer! And nails, I suppose…”
The housekeeper had no choice but to obey, and after she returned with everything, Violet leaned the ladder against the wall.
“Hold the bottom,” she instructed, then she began to climb.
It was a little wobbly at first, and her skirts kept getting in the way, so she hiked them up and tied them with a knot to keep them out of the way. Below her, she heard the housekeeper gasp.
A duchess showing her ankles! How scandalous!
Violet couldn’t help but grin as she guessed at her housekeeper’s thoughts.
“Be careful, Your Grace!” the housekeeper urged as Violet took another step up the ladder. “You could fall, and then what would His Grace say to me? He’d have my hide!”
“My sister will testify that you were not at fault,” Violet assured her. “In fact, she will testify that you tried very hard to stop me. Regardless, I don’t think my husband would refuse to believe you—His Grace knows that I can be stubborn.”
By the fifth or sixth rung, she had begun to get the hang of climbing the ladder, and after that, taking down the paintings wasn’t so hard. It was moving the nails to accommodate for the different placements that was cumbersome. She had to pull the nails out of the wall, try to estimate the height of the painting she was replacing the former one with, and then make sure it was level with the one next to it. Or level enough.
Violet had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be very precise.
Soon, she was sweating profusely from the exertion, and her arms were beginning to ache. She was thirsty, too, and wasjust thinking of asking the housekeeper to fetch her some water when she realized she was on the last painting.
She was on the top rung of the ladder, trying to reach a spot above one of the permanently mounted paintings, in order to hang the smallest portrait. It was her first time climbing this high, and as she glanced back down at the floor, she felt momentarily woozy. She swayed and felt the ladder sway with her.
“Hold tight!” she called down to the housekeeper.
Then, she gripped the top rung with her left hand as tightly as she could and reached with her right arm. She was so close, just an inch or two away from where she wanted to put the nail. She stretched just a little bit further…
“Your Grace, don’t!” the housekeeper called back. “You will fall!”
“Oh don’t worry, I’m f—” Violet started to say, and then her left hand, which was already damp from sweat, slipped.
There were several heart-wrenching moments when Violet could feel herself falling sideways. Her stomach had dropped to her feet, and the swooping sensation might have been pleasant if she hadn’t tumbled off the ladder, with only the hardwood floor, at least ten feet below her, to catch her fall.
She screamed, and the sound reverberated throughout the corridor. Her arms flailed. They reached for something,anything, to hold on to.
Miraculously, her hands found the frame of one of the permanently affixed paintings. And not a moment too soon. Seconds later, her feet slipped from the ladder, and then she was dangling, suspended in mid-air, holding on to the frame for dear life.
Chapter Seven
“Violet!” Rosalie screamed, springing to her feet.
