Page 15 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Rosamund bristled. “There’s really no need. I can do that.”
The reply was curt. “As housekeeper, I’m above such tasks, but it’s my duty to see you’re cared for properly. His Grace was most particular.”
More like it gives you a chance to be nosy!thought Rosamund, but she knew it was best to try and get on the right side of staff. They could make one’s life difficult otherwise.
“It’s very kind.” Rosamund smiled sweetly.
“Well, seeing as you and your mother have arrived without a maid of your own”—the housekeeper gave a sniff—“you’ll be needing assistance.”
She drew out a cotton camisole and placed it atop the bloomers. “I’ll send Bessie for your daily needs—though do avoid asking too much of her. We’re three chambermaids down at present, so she’s taking extra duties with the laundry. She hasn't the time to be running about after frivolous whims.”
Mrs. Cornwort pursed her lips. “And I’d ask that you keep that little dog of yours from chewing the rugs or cushions—or leaving any deposits. Bessie will bring him up to you shortly, but she can’t be cleaning up after him all hours of the day.”
Wrestling to maintain a polite demeanour, Rosamund diverted the conversation. “Cornwort is an usual name. Like the butler, isn’t it? Such a lovely tradition to see family members serving in the same house.”
“Indeed!” The housekeeper cast a stony glare at Rosamund. “Mr. Cornwort is my husband.”
Rosamund was slightly taken aback. Mrs. Cornwort was no spring chicken, but surely too young to be saddled with an octogenarian.
Uncomfortably, it occurred to her that the age disparity between herself and the duke would lead them, ultimately, to the same place—assuming they both lived a long life.
Upon the mantle, a little carriage clock chimed for half past three.
Mrs. Cornwort frowned. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be going. The duke wishes another pot of his drinking chocolate at four, and the recipe takes a deal of whisking. I’m the only one entrusted with the task.” She bustled out the door, looking rather smug, and without asking Rosamund if she’d care for a beverage herself.
Locking both the connecting door and the one to the corridor, Rosamund flopped onto the bed.
Some privacy would be welcome, without someone telling her what she should be doing, or thinking, or saying. It must be even worse when one was an actual duchess, having to live up to other people’s expectations of what was appropriate.
Perhaps, she wasn’t cut out for this at all.
“Stop that,Pom Pom, or Bessie won’t want to come back again.” Rosamund scooped up the puppy and he gave her ear a lick.
“’Tis alright, Madam. We’ve had plenty of collies on the farm, and they always are playful.” Bessie caught Rosamund’s eye in the dressing mirror.
With her friendly, open face and lively manner, she looked only a year or two younger than Rosamund herself.
“Well, it’s very understanding of you. Not everyone would take so kindly to having their bootlaces tugged.” Rosamund held still as Bessie fixed the curls for herLe Grequestyle.
“And I’m sorry once again for bein’ a bit late. There’s so much to do downstairs. Hetty up and left yesterday, with no word to anyone, and it was Gwen afore that,” said Bessie.
“Did they not enjoy working here?” Rosamund twisted her fingers in Pom Pom’s fur. “I’d have thought it was a rather desirable position. The duke surely pays a proper wage?”
“Oh yes.” Bessie bit at her lip. “O’ course, it can be strange by night. There’s so many corridors, and Mrs. Cornwort isn’t one to let us have an excess of candles, but I dunnat reckon that’s the cause o’ the girls not wantin’ to stay.”
“Strange indeed.” Rosamund shifted Pom Pom’s weight in her arms. “I hope you won’t leave Bessie.”
“I’d say not, Madam. I be savin’ my quarterlies for the future, and the pennies do add up nicely when you’re stuck with no temptation to spending. My cousin has employ at one o’ the hotels in Weymouth and she said I might try for a place there, but it’s not the same is it? Not like workin’ in a proper grand house, with all the history o’ the family.”
The maid set the last pins in Rosamund’s hair. “No doubt there’ll soon be someone new arriving. It’s the Reverend Nossle what requests them here on the duke’s behalf, up from Weymouth orphanage. There never be a shortage of young ’uns needin’ a place. They be fortunate, I do think, that the duke be willin’ to take those girls with no family and give them a chance. Downright ungrateful I call it when they take off in a snit without a by your leave.”
Bessie took a step back. “There we are. Ye look a picture, if I may say so. And the dress suits well. ’Twill be nice to have a little gaiety at the table. ’Tis best to look to the living, when all’s done, rather than dwelling on what’s past.”
Rosamund smiled her thanks as Bessie began hanging up the clothes she'd earlier been wearing.
As for the rest, it was hardly appropriate for her to comment—least of all to a member of the duke’s household.
She’d been moved by Lord Studborne's evident devotion to his late wife. Too many men were inclined not to show their feelings, as far as she could tell—or denounced strong emotion as a sign of weakness.
