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“We?” Mrs. Atwood raised her brows.
“Yes, ma’am,we,the servants, aware of the incident. Wearetrying to contain the rumors.”
“Certainly you are,” Jenny said with irony. “Do you know who the lady is, Sarah?"
"No, Your Grace. Polly won't tell."
"Poor Daphne." Mrs. Atwood sighed. Poor Daphne, indeed. If there was any truth in this rumor, it would devastate her. And there was no telling the blow her reputation was bound to suffer should the news travel further.
"The servants have been sworn to keep the news to themselves," Sarah continued.
"And a great job of it they are doing thus far. I should call upon Daphne now,” Jenny said, making to stand.
"Oh, but Miss Bexley does not know."
Jenny sighed, somewhat relieved that Daphne was unaware. She will learn of it and she will be pained by it but before then, she will keep her peace of mind for a little longer. Jenny wished to delay the news for as long as possible…ifshe could.
“No one should hear of this, Sarah,” she warned her. “Do you hear me? We need to contain this rumor.”
Sarah nodded her head with vigor. “Yes, Your Grace. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good.”
“I still think I shoul—” A knock made Jenny’s shoulders tense. She was thankful the door was closed and someone had not heard their conversation. Sarah went to open the door. It was Mrs. Wells and she walked in with two maids bearing jewelry boxes of different sizes on large silver trays.
"The family jewels from the treasury, Your Grace," Mrs. Wells announced before directing the maids to set them down on the center table in front of Jenny. "His Grace has asked that they be delivered to you.”
“Why?” Jenny asked without thinking.
“He would like for you to wear something from the family collection for the ball,” Mrs. Wells explained.
He could have presented them to me himself,she thought, disappointment rearing its ugly head. Mrs. Wells dismissed the maids. “They are yours now, Your Grace.”
Did Nicholas ask you to say that?She almost asked. She thought he would handle something like this himself. She thought she was held in higher regard than that. Nevertheless, she traced curious fingers along the small ornate chests before settling on the smallest one and opening it.
The first object to catch her attention drew a loud gasp from her. Tucked between gems was one of her missing rocks. Jenny would know that rock anywhere because she had taken pains in cutting and polishing it. “What is this doing here?” Her question was directed at both Sarah and Mrs. Wells.
They were visibly confused. “I cannot say, Your Grace,” Mrs. Wells replied.
“This is one of my rocks. I collected it myself. I would know it anywhere.”
“I have never seen it.” Mrs. Wells said.
“Sarah?” Sarah’s eyes were wide with guilt. She knew something and was not telling Jenny.
“Sarah, if you know—” Just then, the door opened, and in walked her husband with a debonair grin on his face and wicked glint in his eyes. She had not seen him this cheerful in days.
"I think I can help with the mystery of the rocks," he said, nodding for the servants to leave them alone, then greeting Mrs. Atwood.
They exchanged a few pleasantries before she, too, left them. "You know about my rocks," Jenny stated, crossing her arms over her chest as her brows made a slow ascent.
That gesture drew his attention to her bosom, and she felt heat travel up from her chest to her cheeks. His eyes darkened and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “Nicholas…my rocks. What do you know?” she said to draw his attention back to the matter at hand.
"I prefer to show you." A sly smile touched his lips and he held out his hand.
It was just a touch of their hands but Jenny felt the sensation at her core. She sucked in her breath and allowed him to lead her downstairs and through the conservatory to a locked door that Mrs. Wells had declared out of bounds on the Duke’s orders when Jenny had inquired about it in the earlier days of her marriage.
The housekeeper had mentioned the room having something to do with the late Duchess and as such, Jenny had set aside her curiosity and refrained from broaching the topic to Nicholas, knowing how sensitive he was to the memory of his mother. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her or show her eventually.
