Page 42 of My One and Only Duke
“Mr. Penrose, Mr. Wentworth, good morning. I bring a message from home for Mr. Wentworth.”
The message had been brought discreetly, per bank policy. Quinn’s belly did an odd flip, nonetheless. Ever since Jane had bumped up against him and the child had nudged at Quinn’s ribs, Quinn’s concentration had been off, his mind prone to wandering.
A child nestled beneath Jane’s heart. One who put demands on her even months before birth.
Joshua nodded to an old gent in a tailed wig below. “Say on, Peters. Mr. Wentworth is a busy man.”
Peters was a tidy little fellow who put Quinn in mind of Mr. Dodson. Both were dapper, aging men whose prosperity manifested in a small, comfortable potbelly.
“Mr. Wentworth is wanted at home.”
“Is my wife well?”
“The message was simply that you are wanted at home, sir.”
Quinn managed a decorous pace down the steps, though only just.
* * *
“I’m staying,” Susie said. “Man saves me from transportation or the damned Magdalen houses, and I’ll stick around long enough to give him my thanks. Hold still, Penny. I’ll do up your hooks.”
Sophie had already piked off, taking pockets full of bread, butter, and cheese, which had been freely on offer in the servants’ hall. She had family somewhere in the stews and two little girls to see to. Susie wasn’t about to judge a woman for returning to her children.
“Never thought I’d be back in service,” Penny said, twirling a lacy white cap on the end of her finger. “That Miss Althea don’t mince words.”
“‘Don’t steal,’” Susie mimicked. “‘Don’t drink to excess, don’t lead any footmen astray and think to profit from their interest. You will be loyal to this house for the duration of your employment or leave now.’ Poor thing could use a good rogering.” Though Miss Althea had also said Penny, Susie, and Sophie were to be allowed to sleep late on their first morning, to recover from their “recent tribulations.”
Susie finished with Penny’s hooks, then turned around so Penny could return the favor.
“That Mr. Duncan isn’t a bad-looking sort.” Because Penny spoke with the slow cadence of the Caribbean Islands, her every observation carried a knowing weight. “Miss High-and-Haughty didn’t say nothing about keeping our filthy paws off of him.”
The housekeeper had burned Susie’s only dress and consigned her and Penny to a lengthy soak in the laundry. Susie’s hands were clean—truly, truly clean, even under her fingernails—for the first time in months.
“Mr. Duncan is right handsome,” Susie agreed, “if you like a man past the stupid years. He has that quiet-but-interesting look about him. Has a brain in his head.”
“Them kind can be inventive. D’ye suppose Mr. Quinn Wentworth trifles with the help?”
Susie donned her own cap. The cotton was light as a virgin’s wish, the lace spotless. “We’re proper housemaids now, Pen. You mustn’t be lusting after Mr. Wentworth.”
Penny sat on her cot to don a pair of black wool stockings, not a rip or darn to be seen. “You were in service before. Housemaids are only as proper as the menfolk they work for. I understand why a man facing death might not fancy a poke, but he’s been pardoned, ain’t he? Cor, these stockings are lovely.”
Quinn Wentworth was lovely to look at, also off, somehow. What sort of pardoned killer collects five other prisoners on his way to freedom?
Susie tied the ribbons of her cap beneath her chin, the bow off to left. “He never even looked at us, you know? Not like that. Didn’t look at any of us like that.”
“Maybe he prefers gents or boys. Maybe he only likes fancy pieces, the kind that don’t land in Newgate. If he’ll keep me in wool stockings, he can have anybody he pleases with my blessing.”
Susie passed Penny a pair of boots. “I have big feet. These might fit you.”
A whole collection of newish boots lined the bottom of the maids’ wardrobe, which sat at one end of the long dormitory. Eight beds were neatly made, a spare quilt folded across the bottom of each mattress. Beside each bed was a washstand and small table, and two of the tables bore vases of fragrant irises.
The far end of the room had been fitted out as a sitting room, with a sofa and chairs grouped around a big parlor stove, and a flowered oval rug on the floor. The damned place even had paintings on the walls—more flowers—and an orange cat curled up on the mantel.
“This is respectable, Pen. I don’t know if I can stand it.”
Penny stuck her foot in the air, showing off her half boot. “This house is safe and warm. We’ll be fed, and we won’t have to spread our legs for any gent with the coin or a notion to steal what he should be purchasing.”
“I was raised respectable. Poor, but respectable.”
