“You may go.”
He glanced at his wife. Instead of looking alarmed, as she had when he’d dismissed the servant on their first breakfast alone together, she sighed as if relieved.
Yesterday she’d said,we are married now, your problems are mine.
He’d been touched.
But wasn’t the same true in reverse?
He should have been more attentive to the burdens on her shoulders. Mrs. Pratt, for instance, could still be holding Cassandra’s library project against her even though he’d made it clear his wife could make whatever changes she wished.
He hoped that was not the case.
He’d hate to lose a retainer, but there was no question whose well-being should be his chief concern. Cassandra should be comfortable giving instructions in her own home. He leaned forward, reaching out across the table to rest his hand close to her plate.
“Do you have any concerns you haven’t shared? Something about the staff, perhaps?”
“I’ve had a few…ah, difficult interactions with Mrs. Pratt.”
“Michaelmas is coming up,” he began. “A time when many servants seek new positions, housekeepers likely among them.”
“You wouldn’t dismiss your housekeeper for my sake, would you?” Her eyes went wide.
“Ourhousekeeper,” he corrected. “And yes, if her performance is not to your liking, I would not hesitate to ask for her resignation.”
Cassie shook her head, horrified. “I don’t want you to send her off.”
How like her to be concerned for someone else’s welfare. “I would offer a retainer until she found another position. And I would provide references, of course.”
“I don’t wish to upend the household.”
He suppressed a smile. She hadn’t hesitated to upend his library, or his life.
“And,” she continued, “I wouldn’t presume—”
“You’re the duchess,” he interrupted her, “making such decisions is your right.”
“Well, then.” She paused. “I will take the possibility into consideration. But I’ve made a point to be clearer about my preferences. Things have been better. Truly.”
“Good.” He settled back in his chair. “Is there anything else not to your satisfaction?”
“Well…” She sent him a measured glance. “Would you have any objection if I changed out the carpet in my bedchamber?”
“The carpet is new.” In fact, he’d had the room decorated to what he thought was her taste.
“New?” she asked. “Never you mind, then. I—I could use one from another chamber.”
“You mistake me. I wasn’t concerned about the expense, just surprised.”
“I am not particularly enamored with pink.” She wrinkled her nose apologetically.
Apologetically and adorably.
“Not enamored?”
“To be honest”—she flashed a smile—“I hate the color.”
Which meant she hated the drapes and the coverlet as well as the damn rug. “I shouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own chamber.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “The fault, I’m afraid, is mine. I specifically chose the color because—”
