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Chapter 1
South London
Montagu Estate
1813
“Miss Stone,” the strict voice of the housekeeper Mrs. Wickham had the young maid’s head darting up in attention. “We need your help in the dining room.”
Occupied with dusting the spare rooms of Duke Westwood’s house, Louisa Stone, one of the newest maid. She had not been expecting any interruption until she had to retire for the day. Turning to the older woman, she curtsied, “Yes, Mrs Wickham.”
Tall and thin, Mrs Wickham gave her a curt nod and then walked away, the tails of her dark dress a contrast to the silver of her tight bun. Nervously, Louisa repacked her basket with her dusting cloths and left the room. She stashed the basket in a store closet on that floor and then left to the dining room.
She hoped her white apron was not smudged, or her hat askew, as she took the servant staircase to get to the dining hall. Having only been employed for a scant three weeks, Louisa had only passed through the dining room twice, but the room never failed to rob her breath.
Pots overflowing with luxuriant foliage and crystal chandeliers endowed the room with an opulence of the hallmade Louisa feel slightly overwhelmed. Overhead, two tiered chandeliers winked with hundreds of cut crystal teardrops and damask wallpaper covered the walls. The long rosewood table was being covered with a delicate lace cloth and she spotted the silver candleholders ready to be placed along the length of it.
“Oh, Miss Stone,” another maid said. “Please, fetch the silver from the butler and begin setting the table.”
With a quick reply, Louisa headed off to the butler’s cupboard just in time to find Mr. Oswaldopening it. “Miss Stone, good afternoon. His Grace is only entertaining for one tonight, so only two sets of cutleries.”
“Only two?” Louisa asked, before catching herself, and ducked her head while her face reddened. “Pardon me; that was not my place.”
The Butler laughed, “No need, Miss Stone. His close friend Lord Ashford is visiting him from his travels. From what I understand, they went to Cambridge together.”
While he spoke, Louisa had assembled the cutlery she needed on a velvet tray.She thanked Mr. Oswald and went back to the dining hall. The candlesticks had been placed and so were the plating sets, she only need to lay the silver.
Painstakingly, she set the forks, knives, and spoons on the napkins, one set at the head of the table and the other to the side. Louisa was flummoxed as to why they would use a fourteen-foot table if they were only two dining, but again, it was not her place to question.
While setting the last fork down, she happened to glance up at the staircase beyond and there, on the landing, framed by tall bow windows,Duke Westwood stood—in his shirtsleeves. The stark white of his shirt stood out against the dark grey of his waistcoat as he gazed out into the lawn beyond.
His profile showed a chiseled jaw and chin, a high cheekbone, a defined nose, and thick, windswept dark hair that framedhis face sculpted with fierce perfection. Louisa was not sure how old he was, buthe looked to be in his early thirties, and she stood and stared, mesmerized.
When he turned, her head snapped away and she fixed the already perfect setting with her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. There was no written rule that stated she could not look on her employer, but she was sure that staring was not allowed.
Though she had never met him before, she had heard whispers about him; that he was not one to engage with others, was not one to go out of his way to meet others, or to draw attention to himself. He was not rude; he was a solitary, solemn man. A few of the maids and footman held it that he thought everyone than those of his class werebeneath him, but she was not going to jump to that conclusion.
What she did see—and she cautioned herself for thinking it—was a lonely man, one very used to his privacy. She ducked her head and fussed with the silver, though she did not need to.
He is very handsome though.
She lifted the velvet tray and turned, but stopped short as the Duke was behind her. Instantly, her ears started ringing and her teeth felt grafted together. Dimly she was aware that he had asked her something—but heaven help her if she knew what it was.
Louisa knew she was looking a fool before the man as her heart threatened to bust through her ribs. His eyes, dark brown andarresting, narrowed, while his thick brown arched.
Is he waiting for me to say something?
“I apologize, Your Grace,” she managed utter. “I did not hear that.”
His eyes roamed across her face, with a particular look one would have if one were looking at something strange, “Who are you?”
Her fingers tightened around the tray and her knuckles went white, “L-Louisa Stone, Your Grace.Mrs. Wickham employed me over a sennight ago.”
“Has she now,” he muttered, and Louisa’s skin prickled with gooseflesh as the Duke’s gaze roved over her, his suddenly intense eyes seemed to bore into her layer by layer. Shivers gripped her already fluttering heart.
No one—no man—had ever looked at her so intentlybefore and she feltexposed and bared. She had to tip her chin up a little as the man stood nearly a foot over her but knew it was only right for her to duck her eyes with reverence. However, he had asked her a question, and she felt it rude to keep her eyes down.
She swallowed.“Is there something I may help you with, Your Grace?”
