Or had her dream-mind conjured impossibilities? She wished she had a better understanding. An understanding that Harbury, like other men of his age and station, most certainly possessed.
A very-real clank abruptly jerked her out of her reverie.
Her eyes flew open, meeting Mrs. Pratt’s gaze, which flitted quickly away.
“Apologies, Your Grace. The fork slipped.”
Mrs. Pratt hadn’t spoken in tones of disapproval, and yet her discomfort was plainly etched on her face. Cassie placed a hand against her burning cheek. Had the housekeeper been able to read Cassie’s thoughts?
Taradiddle and bilgewater.
“I don’t recall requesting the table be cleared.” She was fairly certain the housekeeper would never have intruded on her husband in such a fashion.
“You dismissed the footman. I assumed you wished me to clear the table.”
I am still seated.She held the housekeeper’s gaze.
Mrs. Pratt slowly set down the cup she’d just picked up. Then, with quiet dignity she folded her hands in front of her apron. Once at her full height, she fixed her gaze on something—or nothing—just beyond Cassie’s shoulder.
“I await your instruction,” she said in a voice so low Cassie barely heard.
Cassie shunted aside the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence by explaining why she’d sent away the footman, or by apologizing, or by ordering the frustrating woman to take everything away.Presently. She wanted to shove words—any words—into the vast ravine that was her ignorance.
She’d grown up with servants on a small estate, but she’d little idea how to manage a house so large that daily life required a veritable army of people in constant motion. She’d no idea at all how to be a proper duchess.
To hide her discomfort, she lifted her napkin and tapped her mouth.
Then again, if she stopped believing there was a right way, a proper way, might she forge her own path? Perhaps Mrs. Pratt wasn’t as antagonistic as she was in want of clear direction.
“I have business I wish to discuss with my husband.” Her voice was calmer than before. Lower. More certain. The same tone, in fact, Harbury had praised yesterday. “Where might I find him?”
“His Grace has been in his study since before the sun rose.”
In other words, estate administration had an early morning allure greater than her own.
“Of course.” She inclined her head.
“He is speaking with the steward, now. He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he is with the steward.”
“Thank you for letting me know. I will take your concern into consideration.”
Mrs. Pratt smiled faintly, as if relieved.
Cassie rose from her chair. “You may clear the table, now.”
“Very good,” the housekeeper replied, with a less awkward curtsey.
Believing she’d made some progress, Cassie broke into a determined pace and headed toward Harbury’s study. However, as she approached the closed door, some trepidation returned. Should she interrupt after having been expressly warned he would be displeased?
She leaned forward, straining to hear, but could not make out a single word.Blast!If she hovered about the study entry too long, someone was going to come along and bear witness to her shame.
She compressed her lips, exhaled roughly and scowled. She’d confront him another time.
She turned on her heel and headed toward the library.
She told herself she was taking the circuitous route to the long hall because she wanted to familiarize herself with the hall’s layout and not because she didn’t want to run into Mrs. Pratt yet again.
By the time she entered the library, she knew she’d been lying.
