When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,19
of soot.
A man could manage his estate from amid such order. Would a woman make such an effort in an office she intended to abandon?
Another tap sounded at the door. “Come in.”
A footman entered bearing a tray laden with a tea service, suggesting the kitchen wanted to impress Miss Maddie, for Duncan certainly hadn’t ordered any tea.
“Miss Maddie is looking in on Mrs. Newbury,” Duncan said, and thank God for that, because medicine was one field of study Duncan had left Stephen to pursue on his own.
“And we’re that glad she is,” the man replied. More of a boy, but then redheads tended to look youthful, especially skinny, freckled redheads. “Mrs. Newbury is a good soul, and influenza is a perilous misery. Where would you like the tea, sir?”
The servants at Brightwell were unnervingly friendly. In London, as Lord Stephen Wentworth’s tutor and relation, Duncan had made a place for himself between staff and family. The result had been adequate stores of both privacy and deference.
“The tray can go on the desk. Has Miss Maddie had the maids dusting in here?”
The scent of jasmine wafted up from the teapot. Duncan hadn’t known his larders included any jasmine-scented brew.
“She did indeed, sir, and suggested we might start on the library next, because a lot of these books would be better displayed there. Will there be anything else?”
Biscuits had been arranged in a little circle on a porcelain plate bordered with pink flowers. “The library is damp. What few books remain under this roof will disintegrate within a year if we move them to the library.”
“Miss Maddie says a few good fires in all the library hearths at once will dry the whole room out, particularly when the weather’s so beastly cold and the shelves are empty of books. I could have the lads see to it, sir. Wouldn’t be any problem. The maids could give the shelves a good going over with beeswax and lemon oil. That will help keep the damp and the bugs away.”
The house could go up in flames, and the library would remain standing, a cavernous, moldy mausoleum housing the remains of aristocratic vanity and the skeletons of numerous insects.
Though the footman was trying to please his master, trying to take pride in the household.
“Your name is Miller?”
“Manners, sir, as in good manners.”
They’d had that exchange before, probably more than once. Manners was the first footman, meaning two or three other young fellows took orders from him. The weather had everybody cooped up inside, and if any condition contributed to an increased incidence of mischief among scholars or domestics, it was boredom.
“Very well, have at the library to the extent you can without letting your other duties lapse. What else has Miss Maddie got up to?” Besides transforming Duncan’s personal dungeon into a tidy, inviting office? Besides rescuing him from armed poachers? Besides turning his cramped scribblings into legible, coherent prose?
Duncan had no doubt that Miss Maddie had a plethora of other skills and abilities, a talent for unobtrusively taking her leave among them.
Manners peered into the dustbin, then rearranged the tools in the hearth stand. “She’s quiet, sir. Even Danvers hasn’t much to say regarding our guest. The lady is polite, she thanks us for the smallest consideration, she’s lonely.”
Duncan poured himself a cup of tea. “From what evidence do you reach that conclusion?”
“Mrs. Newbury said,” the footman replied, refolding a wool blanket draped over the sofa. “Mrs. Newbury claims Miss Maddie has the look of a woman without a home, and that’s a lonely person to be.”
A scold lurked in that observation, one intended for the conscience of any man thinking to neglect his new household and let lands and buildings pass into the keeping of an absentee landlord.
“Has the staff noticed anything else regarding our guest that I ought to be aware of?”
Manners appointed himself curator of the art on the walls and went about the room straightening frames. Even the pictures had been dusted, revealing sketches of flowers, birds, and young livestock.
“Miss Maddie is forgetful,” Manners said. “Danvers finds things in odd locations, and says the old duke had a reputation for the same quirks when he got on in years.”
“Such as?”
“A plate of biscuits in the drawer of the night table,” Manners said. “Buttered toast wrapped in a table napkin and left on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Nothing is stolen, mind, but it’s peculiar behavior.”
The same behavior kept many a squirrel alive through England’s bitter winters. “Forgetful, as you say,