Page 8 of Maid for the Duke

Amelie bit her lip and then picked up her fork, taking a bite of her meal as she considered.

‘My mother was the daughter of a French aristocrat. She was sent to England in the midst of the troubles in France to live with some distant relatives. Soon after arriving in England, she met my father. He was a member of the minor gentry, set to inherit a pretty manor house in Kent and live a comfortable existence.’

Will kept silent, aware if he made any comment, interrupted her flow at all, then she might stop entirely. He had known there was something a little different about his housekeeper’s substitute. She spoke with a refined accent, her grammar always perfectly on point. Her posture could be the envy of all the debutantes in London and she found it hard to bite her tongue if she thought something needed saying. Yet she worked just as hard as any of the other servants in his service and not once had he heard her grumble about the intensity of the physical labour.

‘My father was never very good with money, but we always seemed to muddle by. Every so often my mother sold one of her exquisite jewels and it provided for us for another year.’

Amelie glanced at him and he saw the sadness in her eyes. She might be willing to give him this much of her story, but he could see there was so much more being left unsaid.

‘They had many flaws, but my parents undeniably loved each other with a burning intensity. Then my mother died and my father fell apart.’ She took in a shuddering breath and he thought she might end the story there, but after a moment she continued. ‘Never the most sensible person, my father made a few bad decisions in the wake of my mother’s death and suddenly there were no more jewels to sell. Our furniture went first, then the land around the house, but even with selling everything there was not enough to cover the debt.’

‘You lost your home.’

‘Yes. I lost my home, my father…all my plans for the future.’ She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. ‘It was not a good time, but at least I am an adult. I have two sisters and a brother, young enough that they do not remember the good times, only the uncertainty and the worry.’

‘The children lodged with the widow in London.’

‘Yes.’ She sighed, giving a self-deprecating smile. ‘For all the skills society wants young ladies to master, not many of them are useful in the real world. I can play piano and paint beautiful watercolours, but none of that provides me with an income that would allow me to support my brother and sisters.’

‘So you found a position as a housemaid.’

‘I am not afraid of a little hard work,’ she said, sitting a little straighter.

Will regarded her for a moment, astonished by what he had learned. Amelie was not a young lady of the aristocracy, but it was not unfeasible to think that their lives might have crossed one day in very different circumstances.

‘I am sorry this has happened to you.’

She gave a forced smile. ‘My mother was a great believer in fate. She said that sometimes we have to endure the bad times so that we have the opportunity to walk along the path that will lead us to the good. I am trying to share her philosophy, and much of the time it works. When we lost everything, I was engaged to be married to a man from the next village. As soon as our troubles became apparent, he vanished, determined not to be tarnished by our poor fortune. I thank my guardian angel every day that I did not end up married to such a man.’

‘This is a very different life to the one you expected.’ Will was not sure if he would have had the same pragmatic approach as Amelie and he felt the admiration bloom inside him. He worked hard, but his was not manual labour. What was more, it was for the life he had been raised to lead. Ever since he’d been a small child he had been raised to step into the role of Duke of Ashmead; he had known since he was very young exactly what his responsibilities would be. He wasn’t sure how well he would have coped if his current life had been pulled away from him entirely and he’d been forced to forge another path.

‘It is.’ She looked down, focussing on her meal for a moment as he considered everything she had said.

‘Did you not have other relatives to help you? To at least give your family a home?’

‘My mother’s family were killed or scattered in the unrest in France years ago. My father did not have brothers or sisters and his parents are long dead. There are a few distant second cousins dotted around the country, but my father had wheedled and cajoled money out of them one too many times to allow any generosity at our time of greatest need.’

‘What happened to your father?’

Amelie froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. After a moment she set the cutlery down and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. ‘I should see to pudding. I do not want the crumble to burn.’

There was the invisible line—the part of the story she could not or would not divulge. Perhaps her father had died from the shame of destroying his family or, even worse, had felt the urge to take his own life. It was not his business and he did not wish to upset Amelie, even though his curiosity was thoroughly piqued when it came to her.

He silently finished his meal, breathing in the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen as Amelie took a crumble from the oven and placed it on the side to cool. When she returned, she looked much more composed, but dived in with a question about his work, signalling her time for sharing stories about her past was over. Will was happy to talk about the book he was writing, the project that had been vying for his attention since his undergraduate days at Cambridge. Perhaps one day Amelie might tell him a little more of her life, but until that time he would respect her desire for privacy.

Chapter Five

Amelie glanced back at the cottage, checking there was no movement from Lord Beescroft’s room, before slipping her dress from her shoulders. She was confident the Duke would not be awake for almost another hour. He was a man of habit, both in the things he could control and the things he couldn’t. He woke at the same time every morning and, although she was not aware of the exact moment he fell asleep every night, she suspected that followed a strict routine too.

It meant she had almost an hour of privacy and solitude, exactly what she needed for her swim. The river running through the back garden of the cottage had been calling to her since the very first day they had moved in, but until now she had been too busy getting everything set up for the Duke and finding the best way to manage all her new responsibilities. Today though the sun had streamed through her bedroom window, waking her early, and from the moment she’d got up she had been tempted by thoughts of a swim.

There had been a beautiful river running through the grounds of her childhood home and Amelie had spent many a summer’s afternoon jumping from the banks and swinging over the water on a log-swing her father had had constructed. She could swim well, although she had not had the opportunity for quite some time.

The water of the river Cam was clear, allowing a view of the riverbed beneath. It was not deep, but there was a bit of a current, and Amelie decided she would swim upstream first. If she tired, the water would bring her back to the cottage.

She slipped off her shoes and draped her dress over the branch of a tree, looking back one final time to the house to ensure she was not observed before dipping a toe into the water. It was fresh but inviting and, without allowing herself to hesitate, she sat down on the bank and lowered herself into the water.

It took a minute for Amelie’s body to adjust to the temperature of the water, but slowly she felt the tension seep from her and her muscles relax. She could stand easily, although the water was waist height, and after a moment she pushed herself forward, submerging her shoulders and swimming into the current.