Page 31 of Desire and Discipline
“My uncle is fighting his recovery every step of the way, and there is not a single man he will listen to. He’ll hear my cousins out, then do exactly as he pleases. Every doctor we’ve brought in has left within a day. He is more polite to the maids and our housekeeper, but his force of personality is such that they end up bowled over by his demands. The only person he will listen to is me, but I cannot spend all my time forcing him to behave. His manners will not allow him to chase off a woman in the same way he did the doctors, but he needs one who will be able to be by his side in a way I currently cannot.”
Diana saw where this was going. The other part of her reputation. She did not put up with nonsense from patients, and difficult personalities were her specialty. Personally, she thought it was just easier for some of her patients to accede to a stranger rather than relinquishing their power to someone they knew, and as long as she put her foot down and demonstrated that she was not going to be chased off, they all eventually bowed to her authority.
“I have already told you a secret,” Miss Stuart continued, taking a sip of tea to wet her lips. Her expression was becoming grim again, the look in her eyes hardening like the emerald stones they resembled.
Diana was not surprised she was the only one who managed to control her uncle—she saw a lot of herself in Miss Stuart. Like recognized like, after all.
“As you now realize, thetondoes not know my uncle has been shot. The reason they do not know is it is a matter of secrecy to the Crown. This is your chance to step away now. My uncle was injured during an assassination attempt. It is possible you will be in danger as well if you choose to take this position. Our last butler was killed…”
Miss Stuart paused, taking in a deep breath as sudden wetness gleamed in her eyes. Astonished, Diana realized she was grieving. There were very few households who would mourn the death of a servant. Quite a few of them saw their servants similarly to their clothing—items to be used and discarded when they were no longer useful.
That Miss Stuart obviously cared was only another point in her favor, though hearing it was an assassination attempt on the Marquess was a point against.
“Our last butler was killed during the attempt on my uncle.” Miss Stuart’s lips firmed as she leveled her gaze at Diana. “If you choose to take this position, I will be able to tell you more, but before I go on, I need you to understand the gravity of the situation. We have taken measures to ensure the entire household’s safety, but nothing in life is ever certain. Do you still wish to continue?”
Goodness. This was the most unusual position she’d ever been put in.
Logic dictated that she should remove herself from the situation immediately. Assassination attempts? Secrecy to the Crown? Yet, her heart was racing. This was different. It was exciting. She would know secrets that others did not. Difficult patients were something she was used to; this sounded like another thing altogether.
“It is a lot to take in,” Miss Stuart said. “If you need more time to think about it?—”
“Yes, I wish to continue,” Diana interrupted. She wanted to know more.
“Very well then.” Miss Stuart put down her teacup and picked up the Bible that was sitting on the edge of the table. Diana had not given it a second glance when she’d sat down. Her eyebrows raised up in surprise as Miss Stuart held it out in front of her. “What I am going to tell you next, you can never reveal. You are going to swear it on the Bible, though I will tell you that the far more immediate threat is being branded a traitor to the Crown if you suddenly develop loose lips.”
Diana stared at the Bible. She had already made her decision and knew that in her heart of hearts. Whatever this incredible secret was, she had to know.
By the time Miss Stuart had finished her accounting of her uncle’s injury, the tea was cold, Diana’s head was spinning, and they were no longer Miss Rutherford and Miss Stuart to each other—they were Diana and Evie.
The Marquess of Camden was the spymaster to the Crown.
His was only the latest assassination attempt by someone who knew his identity.
There had also been an attempt on the Duke of York’s life.
“Are you ready to meet your patient?” Evie asked, getting to her feet.
Was she ready to meet her patient? Diana was not sure she was ready for anything at this point. She nodded her head, though. It was her job, after all. The thought of her job steadied her. Everything that was new and exciting, and perhaps a little frightening, was only a possibility. Tending to a patient was something she knew how to do.
As Evie led her down the hallway, a door at the end of it opened and a rather harried-looking maid emerged, holding a tray. She appeared to have tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Do not worry,” Evie murmured. “Beth cries over everything. It’s why I assigned her to give my uncle his meals. He hates it when he makes a woman cry, so he’s nicer to her than the rest of us, but he must be in a mood today.”
Well, crying was not in Diana’s repertoire, but she took note of Evie’s machinations and the information for the future.
“Miss.” Beth sniffled as they approached, casting a curious glance at Diana and bobbing a curtsy, though she kept a steady hand on the tray despite her tears. “I’m sorry, but he’s out of sorts today. He would not eat anything but his pudding, no matter how I begged.”
Indeed, the tray was full of bland but nutritious food, the sort one might feed a man recovering from a severe injury, and there were only a few crumbs left of what looked to have been dessert.
“That’s alright, Beth,” Evie said soothingly, her entire demeanor changing as she comforted the watery maid, taking the tray from her. “Thank you for your assistance. This is Miss Rutherford. She’s going to be handling my uncle from now on.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, miss,” Beth said, her expression lighting up with relief as she beamed at Diana, wringing her hands in her apron before reaching up to dash the tears from her eyes. “The whole household will be in your debt.”
Before Diana could respond, Beth scurried past them, clearly eager to get away from the room—and possibly to spread the news to the rest of the household that they no longer had to deal with the irascible Marquess. Other than her tears, however, she did not seem any worse for the wear.
Diana was not entirely sure what she expected when she met the Marquess. She knew his age and now his temper, and Evie had spoken of him in a frustrated but resigned fashion, describing his inability to accept his age and injuries. Diana found herself picturing an irascible old man. One far too used to getting his own way. However, he was also the spymaster to the Crown, so clearly, his mind was sharp. She imagined he was wiry, small even, like a spider sitting in the center of his web.
She could not have been more incorrect.
