Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,41

of the house,” he said. The anger had gone from his voice, and now he sounded as if he were at Mrs. Preston’s school, explaining the laws of mathematics. “You cannot form friendships with the staff. They’re your subordinates, not your equals, and the distinction must be maintained, so they respect you as their mistress. If you don’t have their respect, the estate cannot be run properly. They won’t look to you to rule them when the need arises, and the estate will descend into chaos.”

“What if I have no wish to rule them?”

“It’s the world we live in, my dear,” he said. “Sometimes, we must do what is required, even if it’s not to our liking. Therein lies our strength of character. As master and mistress of the house, our responsibility is to tend to the people here. To do that, we must maintain the distinction of rank.”

“What about kindness?” she asked.

“We can rule with kindness, but the boundaries of propriety must always be observed. Transgressions, however minor, must be dealt with swiftly and efficiently, to ensure that order is restored.”

He squeezed her hand and spoke more softly. “It will give me no pleasure to administer the girl’s punishment, but it must be done.”

“Then punish me instead,” she said. “If I am to be mistress and tend to the people here, then let me do this for Milly.”

He shook his head. “I cannot agree with that. Besides, I believe a worse punishment awaits you.”

Meggie’s stomach plummeted as if she’d swallowed a stone. “W-what do you mean?”

“Your punishment will be to know what happened to another because of your transgression.” He lifted his hand as if to caress her face, then lowered it again, and curled it into a fist.

“I shan’t force you to watch,” he said. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“Hiding it behind closed doors doesn’t mean it’s not happening,” she said.

He sighed. “Let us say no more on the matter. There is much you need to learn about life, Margaret.”

“And there’s much you have to learn about compassion, husband.”

He frowned at her address, then sighed. “Do not believe that where compassion—or love—is not displayed, it’s because it does not exist. Perhaps one day, you’ll realize that.” He released her arm. “Go and find Mrs. Wells, and ask her to tend to you,” he said. “Whatever you think of me, I have no wish to see you catch a chill. You’ve endured enough.”

Clutching the blanket round her, she retreated inside the house, turning at the door to look back at him. He stood still, hands clenched, watching her, regret in his eyes.

Chapter Eighteen

Dexter stared at his reflection while his valet selected a jacket and held it up.

“This one, sir?”

He nodded and held his arms out while the servant slipped the jacket on, smoothed down the sleeves' material, and brushed a speck of dust from the cuff.

“Do you require anything else, sir?”

“No, James, you’re dismissed.”

“Very good.” James bowed and left.

Dexter adjusted his cravat—the damned man always tied it too tight—and exited the dressing room. He turned left and followed the corridor until he reached the door to the mistress’s bedchamber.

He lifted his hand and knocked smartly on the door.

Silence.

Perhaps she was asleep.

Or had the foolish woman run away?

He pushed the door open.

The room was empty. Elegantly furnished, it bore all the trappings of a lady’s chamber, but no sign of occupancy.

“Mrs. Wells!” he roared.

He heard a scurry of footsteps, and, at length, the housekeeper appeared at the end of the corridor.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“This is the lady’s chamber, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then, why is my wife not here?”

“She asked to be moved elsewhere.”

“Show me.”

The housekeeper dipped into a curtsey and, with a jangle of keys, turned and led him to the back wing of the house. She stopped beside a door and pushed it open.

The room must be less than half the size of the chamber he’d just left. At the far end, beside a tiny window, was a single bed, and, besides a small fireplace, freshly laid, was a straight-backed chair and a footstool.

Despite the drab appearance of the room, it looked lived in and cared for. Earthenware pots covered almost every surface, filled with wild grasses and flowers. A quilt covered the otherwise unremarkable bed, which was decorated with embroidered flowers. A stack of books lay on the table beside the bed, together with a small chess set.

A dress was draped over the back of the chair, and he recognized the garment he’d seen on