Page 32 of Kathryn

“I don’t see why you can’t call me by my name when you are perfectly comfortable scolding me and pushing me about.”

Becky ignored her grousing. “I’d better tidy your hair. It’s gone quite wild in this humidity,” she added beneath her breath, her hands already busy.

“Don’t take me apart too much,” Katie said, lifting a hand to her mouth and nibbling a fingernail. “Mrs. Kent will be here in a little over half an hour to show me the house.”

“No chewing,” Becky barked.

Katie dropped her hand, turned her gaze toward the mirror, and looked at Becky rather than her own tired face. “Any handsome footmen, grooms, or underbutlers that catch your eye?”

Becky pursed her lips. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s perfectly fine for you to have a life of your own, Becky. Just because you are my maid does not mean you need to be a vestal virgin.”

Becky barked a startled laugh and gave Katie’s shoulders a gentle push. “The things you say.”

Katie smiled wearily. “One of us should at least choose her own husband.”

The humor drained from Becky’s face and her hands stilled. “This is your bed, Your Grace, and nobody made it but you.”

“It takes two people to kiss,” Katie snapped.

“His Grace is a man!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means there isn’t a man in London who would say no to kissing you when you all but flung yourself at him.”

“You are supposed to be on my side,” Katie reminded her.

“Part of being on your side is pointing out when you are in the wrong, Katie. His Grace might have kissed you back that night, but you were the one who conceived of that wretched game.”

Katie scowled. “Fine. I am in the wrong and everything is my fault. I will accept that. Can we not speak of it again? Or at least not for a week—or perhaps a month? After all, I will be paying penance for the remainder of my life.”

Becky shook her head and nimbly unwound Katie’s hair, brushing it to a shine before sweeping it up into an elegant French twist, all without speaking.

Good. Because silence was better than incessant berating. Hy’s cutting words had rung in Katie’s head over and over again, no matter how hard she had tried to forget them. The last thing she needed was Becky adding to the mental din.

“Mrs. Kent said that His Grace’s last wife did not occupy the mistress’s chambers but stayed in rooms all the way at the other side of the house,” Becky offered, evidently deciding not to punish Katie with silence. “She said the last woman to use these rooms was His Grace’s mother.”

Katie glanced around at the rather faded pink bed hangings and heavy velvet drapes. “It does look a bit dated.” She suddenly recalled what Andrew had said about Dulverton’s last wife and how she had taken many lovers. Had she brought other men into the duke’s own house? That might account for her not taking an adjoining room.

She felt a bit ill thinking about that. After her brief affaire with Jasper and five Seasons, she hardly expected ton marriages to be faithful. But surely it would be egregious to entertain other men under your husband’s roof? And if Dulverton had been telling the truth about never having a ton lover—and the man had no reason to lie—did that mean he had been faithful to his wife? Or did it mean he’d kept mistresses? Katie suspected it was the latter. Aristocratic men were hardly known for their abstemious ways, after all.

“His Grace’s valet, Mr. Court, is quite… odd.”

“Odd how?”

Becky placed the last pin in Katie’s hair and stepped back to admire her work. “I could barely get a word out of him.”

Just like his master. “Is that unusual?” she asked.

“Indeed, it is, if we are ever to coordinate your and His Grace’s schedules and preferences. Not only that, but Mrs. Kent said Mr. Court doesn’t eat in the servant hall but takes his meals in his room.”

“Nobody else eats in their room?”

Becky gave her an amused look. “Who do you think has to bring his meals up?”

“Oh,” Katie said, feeling rather foolish. “Another servant. They don’t care to do that, I take it?”