Iris felt her heart clench painfully.
“You have been more than loyal. But I will not be able to afford your wages, and His Grace will pay you far better. You deserve security, Mrs. Henkings.” Iris’s eyes stung with tears.
Mrs. Henkings was more than a housekeeper; over the years, she became a mother figure to Iris, but it would still be selfish of Iris to ask her to come with her. As if Mrs. Henkings read her thoughts, the elderly woman reached out and gently squeezed Iris’s hand.
“Money has never meant as much to me as finding a mistress who treats me with respect. You have always done that, even when we had nothing, and that is why I will stay loyal no matter what comes.”
The two women sat in emotional silence for a long moment, the bond between them deeper than that of employer and servant. Iris’s vision blurred with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I truly owe you my gratitude for the years of service and company.”
“It has been an honor, and will continue to be an honor, my lady.” Mrs. Henkings smiled brightly at her, and Iris felt the woman’s warmth envelope her. “If that is all, my lady, I will oversee your luncheon preparation now?”
Iris wanted to beg her to stay with the duke, but she knew that Mrs. Henkings was more stubborn than herself. She had even stayed loyal to Lord Hentley in all his years.
“There is one more thing.” Before Mrs. Henkings could leave, Iris picked up the letter to her sister and held it out. “Would you see that this reaches Camelia and Pamela? I have invited them to visit soon.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Henkings took the letter with a kind smile and quietly shuffled out of the room.
Alone once more, Iris stared after the elderly woman and felt her heart soften. She stood abruptly and decided to walk around the gardens before Blaise changed everything there, too. She grabbed her coat and left the study, her scandalous confessions all but forgotten in the top drawer.
CHAPTER 17
“Benjamin!” Blaise heard his own voice echo harshly through the Surrey woods.
The memory of his screaming his brother’s name was raw and ragged as he stood at the tree line staring into the dense maze of oaks and undergrowth. The sound seemed to mock him, bouncing back unanswered.
“Your Grace?” Thomas, the groom, approached cautiously from the stables.
“Has something happened?” Blaise tensed.
“No! The stallion’s recovery is going well. The fever broke overnight.” Thomas grinned.
Blaise let out a breath of relief. “Tell me everything, my friend.”
“Where do I begin?” Thomas feigned exasperation.
Blaise chuckled. “How bad was the leg wound this morning?”
Thomas fell into step beside him as they walked toward the stables. “The swelling has gone down considerably, Your Grace. He is putting weight on it again. Another few days of rest and he will be sound.”
“Any heat left in the joint?” Blaise asked, his tone clipped.
“Very little, Your Grace, but the poultice is doing its work. He is a fighter, that one.”
Blaise nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
The stallion would live. But Benjamin had not.
One wrong step, one moment of distraction, and his brother was gone forever. The guilt clawed at him again, sharp as ever, whenever he came to Surrey.
They reached the stable yard, and Thomas continued, “Shall I prepare him for light exercise in a week?”
“Yes. But keep him on soft ground only so there are no risks,” Blaise ordered.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Thomas went to the black stallion at once.
Blaise touched the animal’s head softly, looking into the abyss of its glassy eyes.
