Page 61 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Adeline smiled. “Good to see you again, Nelson.” He’d appeared a proper English butler in the country and his bearing hadn’t changed here, except for a slight flush to his cheeks at her greeting.

He took their cloaks, then hesitated. “I owe you an apology, my lady.”

Adeline looked at him anew. “Whatever for?”

“I believed your treatment of His Grace’s wound unorthodox.”

Caught off guard, she blinked. He wouldn’t be the first man who’d believed a woman incapable of doctoring. “I understand.”

The butler cleared his throat. “You misunderstand. I had been the one applying the London doctor’s treatment.”

“Ah yes, the flour.”

He nodded.

“There is nothing to apologize for. You looked after His Grace.”

“But I didn’t help him.” Nelson’s voice was strained. “The flour made it worse and caused His Grace pain.”

“You followed the doctor’s instructions, and you care for the duke. I find that most admirable,” she said.

“You are too kind, miss. I misjudged you, and for that I apologize as well.”

She was speechless in surprise, and she stared wordlessly across at him, her heart pounding. Praise from a proud servant who served the duke was not expected and meant much to her. It also made her feel better after overhearing the cruel words of the two women at the dressmaker’s shop, and after Mr. Elder’s treatment of Mary.

“Kindly follow me, ladies. His Grace awaits.”

Hasmik cleared her throat. “I would like a word with your housekeeper. Mrs. Posner, is it? I would love the recipe for Cook’s scones, and she offered for me to see her during my next visit.”

Adeline’s attention snapped to Hasmik and she eyed her warily. She’d never mentioned the scones before, and she knew her friend was scheming for her to spend time with the duke alone.

“Stay here, miss,” Nelson said, “and I’ll summon Mrs. Posner. Now if you will please follow me, Lady Adeline.” If Nelson suspected Hasmik’s motives, he didn’t show it.

The butler led Adeline beyond the vestibule, along several corridors and past numerous rooms—two drawing rooms—one green and one pale blue, a music conservatory complete with pianoforte, violin, and a flute, and a dining room with a table that could seat more than fifty, before halting outside two large double doors.

The butler turned to her and cleared his throat once more. “Most find His Grace different, my lady.”

Adeline tilted her head and looked up at him. “I know of his intellectual pursuits.”

“Some of them.”

“I’ve seen his country workshop,” she countered.

“I imagine you were surprised.”

“I was. But I now know what to expect.”

“Perhaps.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“You will see.”

What was the man trying to tell her? She didn’t fully understand the complexities of Warwick’s mind or his work, then again, she didn’t expect him to fully comprehend or tolerate her own work. The memory of Warwick turning sickly pale when she’d stitched the carpenter’s wound was hard to forget.

“Come, miss. His Grace specifically instructed that you join him in the ballroom.”

The ballroom? More questions arose, but she held her tongue. Warwick had asked her to visit, and she’d brought along her healing poultice in case his wound needed a final treatment.