Page 5 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
Selene jumped. A cart, rattling along the road only a short distance away, had stopped, and the driver was calling out to her. Her heart leapt as she waved back, scrambling over rocks to get to him, clinging tightly to her basket holding the ruined gifts, desperately trying not to slip again.
At least someone is trying to assist me properly. At least there are some kind people in this world.
“Thank you,” she breathed, as the man helped her into the cart. She recognized him as Mr. Knowles, a local farmer. “You are very kind.”
“Not at all, miss,” said the farmer, grinning at her. “I was just returning home after the village Christmas party, when I saw you there. You’re Abe Bomind’s daughter, aren’t you?”
Selene nodded. He flicked the reins, and they kept chatting easily as they drove to the little cottage on the hill that she called home, where he bid her a cheery farewell before rattling away into the darkness.
Selene sighed heavily, walking through the front door. It had been quite a night. She was cold, tired and depleted, and she needed to get to bed and get enough rest for her interview at the big house tomorrow.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the vision of the tall, dark, handsome, yet very rude stranger from her mind. Her heart was racing a bit, and she was alarmed to find that her hands were shaking slightly.
And she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands and how it would feel if he placed them on her body. She was growing warm even now at the thought of it.
She frowned. She usually never felt like this about a man. What was wrong with her?
Chapter 3
Selene took a deep breath, trying to quell her nerves, as she followed the footman, who had introduced himself as Robbie, through the kitchen at Trenton House. She tried not to gape, but it was extremely hard. She had never seen anything like this in her life.
The house itself was huge and incredibly impressive—at least three stories high, with battlements and turrets soaring into the sky. It also sprawled over at least a quarter of an acre.
Her family’s modest, tiny cottage would fit at least ten times over into the space of the main house. And that wasn’t even including all the outer buildings, such as the servants’ quarters and the stables.
It was like a palace out of a fairy tale. It seemed so strange that the family that lived here was only a gentleman and his young daughter, rattling around this great house. She knew families with seven children who crammed into a twentieth of this space.
How is it possible?
She shook her head incredulously, trying to focus. The kitchen and rooms attached to it were built like a rabbit warren. There were people rushing around in a businesslike manner—women in crisp maid’s uniforms, with snowy white caps on their heads, and men in livery, barking commands.
The kitchen was a hive of activity; a row of kitchenhands kneading bread, stirring pots, whisking eggs in bowls. The head cook was shouting, looking very harassed. Selene took a deep breath, feeling her nerves multiply. It was daunting even being in such a place, never mind the thought of working and living here.
At least being there was distracting her from the thought of the tall, handsome, rude man who had caused the destruction of the gifts for the orphanage. She had tried to salvage them, but they had all been broken or were so saturated they were entirely ruined. It broke her heart.
I cannot give ruined gifts to the orphanage. The children will have no gifts on Christmas morning.
She sighed heavily. To her annoyance, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that rude man all morning. There was anger, as there should be, but there was also a quickening of her pulse that she had never experienced before. It was as if she had been struck by lightning. It was most peculiar.
“Here you are, miss,” said Robbie, the footman, with a quick smile, as he led her into a small, plain room, which thankfully was away from the chaos and noise of the kitchen. “Mrs. Kittles will be along shortly.”
Selene nodded, thanking him. The man left, closing the door behind her. She gazed out the small window, watching a groom leading a sleek black horse along by a rope. She frowned.
The door opened and Mrs. Kittles, wearing a crisp gray gown with a frilly white cap on her head, came into the room, smiling broadly at her.
“Welcome to Trenton House, Selene,” said the housekeeper, in a brisk voice. “My, you look very nice in that blue gown!”
Selene tried to smile at the compliment. She had dithered about what to wear to the interview all morning, changing gowns three times. Eventually, she had settled upon the blue gown she had worn to her cousin’s wedding, adding a collar of lace to make it look more businesslike, before quickly pulling her hair back into a sleek bun, in her approximation of what she thought a governess might look like.
I feel like an imposter. I am not a governess. Who do I think I am fooling by trying to do this? Do I even want to do it?
“Thank you, Mrs. Kittles,” she replied, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “How many people are you interviewing for the position today?”
The housekeeper sat down, gazing at her steadily, but didn’t reply. Selene’s eyes flickered uncertainly.
“Mrs. Kittles?” she said eventually. The woman looked miles away in her mind.
Mrs. Kittles jumped. “Oh! I am sorry, Selene.” She exhaled slowly. “Actually, I have a confession to make.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “You are the only candidate for the position.”
