Page 4 of Maid for the Duke

‘You must spend a good proportion of your wage on keeping them fed and clothed.’

‘I do,’ Amelie said quietly. At least in her role as housemaid here at Ashmead House she did not have any day-to-day expenses. One day soon she would need to buy another work dress—she had mended her current plain grey work dress so many times it was starting to look a little scruffy—but at least she did not pay for her food or room.

Lord Beescroft tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.

‘Is being away from your brother and sisters your only objection?’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘Then it is settled. You will come with me to Cambridge and, instead of a day off a week, you can collect your days and once a month have four free days. I will organise a coach back to London for that time. I trust that will be satisfactory.’

Taken aback by the quick way he had offered up a solution Amelie considered his proposal. Currently she saw her brother and sisters just once a week, on a Sunday afternoon. No doubt they would miss her, but if the position came with an increase in pay she would be able to begin to think about finding better lodgings for them, or perhaps even afford school fees for the older two.

‘It will, Your Grace,’ Amelie said, feeling a rush of trepidation.

‘Good. We will journey to Cambridge a week on Thursday. I will instruct my agent to find suitable accommodation. Liaise with Mrs Potter as to what needs to be packed.’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

He nodded as if to signify everything was settled and Amelie had to fight her natural inclination to show irritation at the gesture. She did not like the thought of being dismissed, but this past year she had learned to hide her emotions and ensure her expression was one of pleasant blankness all the time.

‘There is something else, Your Grace,’ Amelie said, noting the flicker of surprise on Lord Beescroft’s face. No doubt he had thought to return to whatever important business he was conducting before she’d been summoned to his study.

‘Oh?’

‘As you know, Mrs Potter has been very unwell the last few weeks.’

‘Yes—her chest. I am told she is improving.’

Amelie frowned. ‘A little…’ She paused, trying to find the right words. She would never want to imply that Mrs Potter was not up to her job, but Amelie was worried about the older woman and the strain her work was putting on her body. She knew Mrs Potter well enough now to be certain the housekeeper would rush back to her duties well before she was fully recovered.

‘Do you think she is not…?’

‘No,’ Amelie interrupted, holding up a hand. Her cheeks flushed as she realised she had interrupted the Duke. Sometimes she forgot the etiquette of being a maid—speaking freely was not a luxury she was allowed to indulge in. ‘Forgive me,’ she said, trying to smile, trying to pretend all was well. ‘I do not wish you to get the wrong impression. I hold Mrs Potter in the highest regard possible. She is dedicated to her job and would continue on even if it hastened her decline.’

‘Hastened her decline…’ Lord Beescroft murmured.

‘She is unwell, Your Grace. There is a blue tinge to her lips and she cannot climb a flight of stairs without clutching at her chest.’

Amelie saw the Duke’s face harden and she felt irritation pulse through her. It should not matter that she was a mere servant when it came to this conversation, but clearly to Lord Beescroft it did.

‘It is hardly your place—’

‘It is my place to express concern about a woman who has been nothing but kind to me since I arrived in London. I would not forgive myself if I did not say anything and she collapsed, dead, in the kitchen.’ As usual when her temper was riled she had gone too far. The Duke would probably dismiss her from his service immediately, throw her to the street for her impudence.

There was a long silence that seemed to stretch on for ever. Amelie saw a flicker of concern in his expression mixed with something else that looked very much like guilt. She knew Mrs Potter thought very highly of the Duke and, from the interactions she had witnessed, she’d thought that respect was mutual. Lord Beescroft had a reputation for being stern, but she had not thought him heartless. All the servants talked of how generous he was and how fair. She wondered if his sharpness with her now was because he felt guilty for not noticing his valued housekeeper was struggling. He might not like the fact that someone else had needed to point it out to him.

‘Your concerns are noted, Amelie,’ he said, his voice a little softer. ‘I will talk to Mrs Potter about seeing the family doctor.’

Amelie swallowed hard. This was a victory; she had got the result she had set out to obtain. She would have to hope the rest of the servants were correct in their assessment of the Duke and that he wouldn’t hold this over-step against her.

Lord Beescroft dismissed her and she stood quickly, bobbed a little curtsey, spun on her heel and strode out, her heart fluttering as if she were being pursued by a pack of hungry wolves.

Chapter Three

There was nothing quite like galloping through the Cambridgeshire meadows after a productive day, the sun on his face and the soft, late spring breeze blowing through his hair. Despite his normal self-assured demeanour, and a deep-seated confidence that came from having been raised to inherit the dukedom from a very young age, Will had doubted his decision to come to Cambridge. It had seemed self-indulgent to step away from the business of overseeing the running of the various properties and estates that were part of the Duchy of Ashmead, yet he believed in the importance of a promise, and he could not break one made to his dear sister on her deathbed.

His reservations had been unfounded. These past couple of days had been restorative in ways he hadn’t even realised he needed. There was discipline in his regime that he enjoyed. Each morning he rose at seven and went for a brisk walk through the village. At eight his breakfast was waiting for him, and thus far it had not been a disappointment. Amelie might have been working as a housemaid in his service, but it was clearly not where her true talents lay. Every day she surprised him with a different delicacy: pastries fresh from the oven, eggs cooked to perfection, bacon that was crispy but never dry. Even the bread she made herself was light and fluffy inside, with a beautiful crust on the outside. He would have to be careful to stay active or he would return to London after these few months with a changed physique.