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I’m an idiot. And I don’t deserve this job.
But hopefully, maybe, if I keep a lid on my feelings, I can keep it.
So much for crossing my fingers.
9
Eva
We make no more mention of my meeting with the duke and how I'd stepped into it. Mrs. Harris is kinder than her stern exterior leads me to believe because she doesn't bring it up again. And anyway, the day keeps me busy, learning my way around the vast household. Even though I'm sure I'll forget to use it, I'm given a cellphone with a map on it so I can't get lost.
"Keep this on you at all times," Mrs. Harris says, "anything I, or Lady Madeline, or his Grace needs, will be communicated to you there if you aren't with one of us in person."
She shows me through the kitchens on the first floor near the back of the house. Windows set in the far wall give me a good view of a tempting vegetable garden beyond.
Mrs. Harris catches me looking and she smiles.
"That supplies most of the organic produce that the kitchens use to feed the duke and his family, and the staff of course." I raise my eyebrows.
"That's a lot of people to feed--"
"We bring in extra when we need to, but there are further gardens out on the property." She turns to a meal chart that's up on the wall, with Madeline's name above it.
"You'll eat with Lady Madeline, of course, in her room for breakfast, and lunch either in the dining room or out on the terrace if the weather is good. Dinner is usually the same unless his Grace has company for which she cannot join him."
I absorb this, pretending like I'm going to be here for long enough to put it to use. Mrs. Harris might not be saying anything about my conversation with the duke, but I know she hasn't forgotten it. And neither has he. I don't want to be fired, but I'm feeling like that might end up happening,ha ha ugh.
"Where she goes, you'll go, unless she's with one of her teaching masters." Of course. I'm not a real teacher. I flick my phone open and scroll through the calendar. My phone is loaded up with Madeline's schedule, which is surprisingly busy for a five-year-old. I don't know why I'm shocked, but I thought noble girls would have less responsibility, maybe? I'd been helping out on the family farm when I was her age, as much as I could, anyway. And then I had school start shortly after that. Money changes nothing, I guess.
Madeline has piano classes, and violin lessons, and there's a note on the master calendar app that she's starting equitation soon. French in the afternoons. There are no naps built in, and I'm getting tired just thinking about everything she has to do. I won't even be with her most of the day, since her education masters will come to her schoolroom. I'm surprised with her even needing a nanny during the day.
I'm shown the laundry, an outbuilding across from the kitchens, and Mrs. Harris turns to me as we walk through the lavenderhedgerows that line the gravel path back to the main house.
"You'll only need to go there if there's something specific the maids haven't brought up," she says. "Her ladyship is young and doesn't have the accouterments of, say, Lady Ruby."
"Lady Ruby?" I ask. Mrs. Harris nods as we enter the kitchens, busy already with the cook and her two assistants. The vaulted ceilings sweat with the steam from cooking.
"His grace's younger sister, twinned with Lord Noah," she answers. One of the kitchen assistants glares at me as I get in the way of her making pasta, and I scoot around her to keep from being a problem. We leave the noise of the kitchen behind and enter a hallway. "They're out on tour."
"Right, and—"
"You met Lord Benedict, the marquis," she says, looking annoyed. "He's—"
With a sigh, she tugs me into a side room, a pantry with the walls floor-to-ceiling packed with jarred food, neatly labeled in tidy handwriting. She closes the door.
"What—" I say, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head.
"You'd do best to stay out of his way, that one. He'll have your skirts over your head before you can blink, and that's one thing the duke will not tolerate. Your speaking back, impertinence, some of that is expected because you're caring for the duke's child and her wellbeing is your priority. That means you may disagree with the duke some of the time, and he understands that. But the marquis?"
She gives me a flat look.
"Hands off?"
"Don't even meet his eyes if you know what's good for you," she says. "He's ruined more than one of the ladies on staff here." I swallow.
Ruined.
Of course. A woman isn't worth anything if she gives it out to anyone, even an 'anyone' with a title. I know that bitter truth deep inside me. It's why I ran from a good job, and a good place, with a decent family. And now, here I am, trying to build a new life on shifting sands. It doesn't matter. I school my face into neutrality. What Mrs. Harris doesn't know about me won't hurt her and won't hurt me.
