Page 57 of A Duchess for his Family

Marjorie tugged at Sophia’s sleeve. “Tell her you like seed cake.”

“I believe Cook already knows.”

“I made certain of it,” Marjorie explained.

Sophia turned to look at her. At that precise moment, a maid entered behind them carrying a tray of abandoned teacups, and Sophia stepped directly into her path. There was a startled cry, a sharp rattle of porcelain, and then the tray struck the stone floor.

Two cups shattered and tea splashed across the tiles. Every person in the kitchen gasped. The maid went pale.

“Oh, Your Grace!” She dropped to her knees at once, her hands trembling as she reached for the broken pieces. “Forgive me. I am so sorry. I did not mean… I should have watched where I was going.”

“No, no, it was my fault.” Sophia knelt beside her. “I turned without looking.”

The maid stared at her. Sophia reached for the handle of one broken cup.

“Your Grace!” the cook exclaimed.

Another maid hurried forward with a broom. “Please, Your Grace, allow me. You might cut yourself.”

Sophia paused with her hand suspended above the glass. The girl beside her looked close to tears.

“I truly am sorry,” Sophia said softly. “I stepped into you.”

“You needn’t apologize to me, Your Grace.”

“I am the one who caused it.”

The maid blinked. Sophia rose reluctantly as the second maid began sweeping the porcelain into a pile. She felt more embarrassed than she had upon entering the kitchen, though the atmosphere around her had shifted. The servants were no longer staring at her as though she might issue an order of national importance. Now several seemed to be trying not to smile.

Marjorie leaned toward the cook and whispered with no understanding whatever of secrecy. “See? I told you she was nice.”

The cook’s mouth twitched. Sophia pressed her lips together, resisting the smile that threatened in answer.

The first maid rose, smoothing her apron with unsteady hands.

“You are not hurt?” Sophia asked.

“No, Your Grace.”

“And you are certain no tea struck you?”

“Quite certain.”

“Then I am very glad.” Sophia glanced toward the broken cups. “Though I remain sorry about those.”

“They were only cups,” the cook said, her manner warmer now. “We have others.”

Sophia suspected Benedict would have noticed that household china did not simply reproduce because one wished it so. She also suspected he would have quietly ordered more before anyone could mention the loss. The thought made her smile.

Amelia took her hand. “We ought to go to the garden now,” she said. “Mr. Wilkes will be expecting us.”

“The gardener,” Marjorie explained. “He pretends not to like visitors, but he does.”

“He does not like you stepping in the flower beds.”

“That is different.”

Sophia looked once more at the kitchen staff. “Thank you for welcoming me. I promise to take greater care when turning around.”