The Duke's Perfect Wife
Page 80
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The maid’s smile deepened. “Many things, Your Grace. You got them, then?”
Eleanor stopped. “You have been sending me the photographs?” She thought of the ill-spelled missives, always with the closing, From one as wishes you well. The words went with the warm woman who stood before her now.
“Goodness,” Eleanor said. “You did lead me on a merry chase. Why did you send them?”
Joanna curtseyed again, as though she couldn’t help herself. “Because I knew they’d take you to him. And see—you’re married to him now, and he looks ever so much better, doesn’t he? Now about that wink, Your Grace, it don’t mean nothing. He does that because he’s a kindhearted man. It’s sort of a signal, a joke between us, really.”
“A joke.” This was the first time in memory that Eleanor had heard someone refer to Hart as a kindhearted man. “Has it to do with the photographs?”
Had Hart told Joanna to send them? It would be like him, to confound and tease Eleanor with the photographs and at the same time pretend he cared nothing about them. Hart Mackenzie needed a good talking to.
“No, no,” Joanna said. “Them’s two separate things. If you’ll listen, Your Grace, I’ll explain.”
Eleanor nodded, curbing her impatience. “Yes, indeed. Please do.”
“Blame my forwardness on me upbringing, Your Grace. I grew up in London, in the east part of it, near St. Katherine’s Docks. That was all right, but my father was a lout and a layabout and my mother didn’t amount to nothing, so we were poor as dirt. I decided I’d clean up and learn my manners and become a maid in a Mayfair household, maybe even a lady’s maid. Well, I didn’t know nothing about training or references, I was that green. But I did my best, and I went and answered an advertisement for a position. Name of the lady what hired me was Mrs. Palmer.”
“Oh, dear.” Eleanor saw a glimmer of what was coming. “You didn’t realize she was a procuress?”
“Naw. Where I came from, bad girls were obvious, flouncing about the streets and such, and what wicked tongues they had on them! But Mrs. Palmer spoke quiet like, and her house was large and filled with expensive things. I didn’t know at the time that ladybirds could be so lofty and thought I’d landed in clover. But that went away as soon as she took me upstairs, where she and another lady were in a bedroom. The things they told me they wanted me to do would make you faint, Your Grace. I might have grown up rough, but I was at least taught good from bad. So I said I wouldn’t, no matter how much they slapped me, and then Ma Palmer grabbed me and locked me in a room.”
Eleanor’s hands closed to fists, the pity she’d held for Mrs. Palmer, which had diminished over what the woman had done to Beth, diminished further. “I am sorry. Go on.”
“Well, Ma Palmer let me out again later that night. She said she had to get me cleaned up, because the master of the house was coming. I thought she meant her husband, and I couldn’t imagine what sort of man would marry someone like her. So there I was, washed and brushed, with a brand-new frock and cap, told I needed to bring the tea things into the parlor. Well, that didn’t sound so bad, and maybe Mrs. Palmer would behave herself in front of her husband. Cook put together the tea tray, and I made sure it was all pretty and carried it into the parlor. And he was there.”
Eleanor didn’t need to ask who he was. Hart Mackenzie, devastatingly handsome, arrogant, compelling.
“He were the most handsome gent I’d ever seen, and obviously so very rich. I stood there in the doorway, gaping at him like a fool. He gives me such a look, like he can see me inside and out, and gents like him aren’t supposed to even notice servants. At least that’s what I’d been told. I should be invisible, but he takes a long time to look at me. Then he sits down on the sofa, and Mrs. Palmer puts herself next to him, fluttering and cooing like a lovesick schoolgirl. She tells me to set down the tray on the table in front of them, and I tell you I was that nervous. I was sure I’d drop all the crockery, and then I’d be out on my ear.
“Ma Palmer laughs and says to him, Look what I’ve brought you. At first, I thought she meant the tea, then I caught on that she meant me.”
Eleanor remembered Mrs. Palmer confessing, her handsome face anguished, that she’d hired other women for Hart when she feared he’d grown tired of her. But Joanna hadn’t been a game girl, only a naive young woman trying to better her life. Eleanor’s pity for the late Mrs. Palmer diminished still more.
“I mean to tell you, Your Grace, I almost did drop all the tea things,” Joanna said. “It hit me like a blow that Mrs. Palmer had hired me to be a whore for her husband. I still thought he were her husband at that point, you see. I wanted to cry, or run back home, or even go for a constable. But Ma Palmer grabs me and whispers into my ear, He’s a duke. You do whatever he says, or he can make things very bad for you.
“I was that terrified. I believed her, because aristocrats, they do anything they like, don’t they? I knew a lad who used to be footman to one, and the lad got a beating whenever the lord was out of temper, didn’t matter that he wasn’t angry at the footman at all. I was sure Mrs. Palmer was right, and I was shaking in me boots, I can tell you.
“And then His Grace, he looked me over again and told Mrs. Palmer to get out of the room. She went, not looking pleased about it, but I realized, even then, that when this gent snapped his fingers, Ma Palmer jumped.
Eleanor stopped. “You have been sending me the photographs?” She thought of the ill-spelled missives, always with the closing, From one as wishes you well. The words went with the warm woman who stood before her now.
“Goodness,” Eleanor said. “You did lead me on a merry chase. Why did you send them?”
Joanna curtseyed again, as though she couldn’t help herself. “Because I knew they’d take you to him. And see—you’re married to him now, and he looks ever so much better, doesn’t he? Now about that wink, Your Grace, it don’t mean nothing. He does that because he’s a kindhearted man. It’s sort of a signal, a joke between us, really.”
“A joke.” This was the first time in memory that Eleanor had heard someone refer to Hart as a kindhearted man. “Has it to do with the photographs?”
Had Hart told Joanna to send them? It would be like him, to confound and tease Eleanor with the photographs and at the same time pretend he cared nothing about them. Hart Mackenzie needed a good talking to.
“No, no,” Joanna said. “Them’s two separate things. If you’ll listen, Your Grace, I’ll explain.”
Eleanor nodded, curbing her impatience. “Yes, indeed. Please do.”
“Blame my forwardness on me upbringing, Your Grace. I grew up in London, in the east part of it, near St. Katherine’s Docks. That was all right, but my father was a lout and a layabout and my mother didn’t amount to nothing, so we were poor as dirt. I decided I’d clean up and learn my manners and become a maid in a Mayfair household, maybe even a lady’s maid. Well, I didn’t know nothing about training or references, I was that green. But I did my best, and I went and answered an advertisement for a position. Name of the lady what hired me was Mrs. Palmer.”
“Oh, dear.” Eleanor saw a glimmer of what was coming. “You didn’t realize she was a procuress?”
“Naw. Where I came from, bad girls were obvious, flouncing about the streets and such, and what wicked tongues they had on them! But Mrs. Palmer spoke quiet like, and her house was large and filled with expensive things. I didn’t know at the time that ladybirds could be so lofty and thought I’d landed in clover. But that went away as soon as she took me upstairs, where she and another lady were in a bedroom. The things they told me they wanted me to do would make you faint, Your Grace. I might have grown up rough, but I was at least taught good from bad. So I said I wouldn’t, no matter how much they slapped me, and then Ma Palmer grabbed me and locked me in a room.”
Eleanor’s hands closed to fists, the pity she’d held for Mrs. Palmer, which had diminished over what the woman had done to Beth, diminished further. “I am sorry. Go on.”
“Well, Ma Palmer let me out again later that night. She said she had to get me cleaned up, because the master of the house was coming. I thought she meant her husband, and I couldn’t imagine what sort of man would marry someone like her. So there I was, washed and brushed, with a brand-new frock and cap, told I needed to bring the tea things into the parlor. Well, that didn’t sound so bad, and maybe Mrs. Palmer would behave herself in front of her husband. Cook put together the tea tray, and I made sure it was all pretty and carried it into the parlor. And he was there.”
Eleanor didn’t need to ask who he was. Hart Mackenzie, devastatingly handsome, arrogant, compelling.
“He were the most handsome gent I’d ever seen, and obviously so very rich. I stood there in the doorway, gaping at him like a fool. He gives me such a look, like he can see me inside and out, and gents like him aren’t supposed to even notice servants. At least that’s what I’d been told. I should be invisible, but he takes a long time to look at me. Then he sits down on the sofa, and Mrs. Palmer puts herself next to him, fluttering and cooing like a lovesick schoolgirl. She tells me to set down the tray on the table in front of them, and I tell you I was that nervous. I was sure I’d drop all the crockery, and then I’d be out on my ear.
“Ma Palmer laughs and says to him, Look what I’ve brought you. At first, I thought she meant the tea, then I caught on that she meant me.”
Eleanor remembered Mrs. Palmer confessing, her handsome face anguished, that she’d hired other women for Hart when she feared he’d grown tired of her. But Joanna hadn’t been a game girl, only a naive young woman trying to better her life. Eleanor’s pity for the late Mrs. Palmer diminished still more.
“I mean to tell you, Your Grace, I almost did drop all the tea things,” Joanna said. “It hit me like a blow that Mrs. Palmer had hired me to be a whore for her husband. I still thought he were her husband at that point, you see. I wanted to cry, or run back home, or even go for a constable. But Ma Palmer grabs me and whispers into my ear, He’s a duke. You do whatever he says, or he can make things very bad for you.
“I was that terrified. I believed her, because aristocrats, they do anything they like, don’t they? I knew a lad who used to be footman to one, and the lad got a beating whenever the lord was out of temper, didn’t matter that he wasn’t angry at the footman at all. I was sure Mrs. Palmer was right, and I was shaking in me boots, I can tell you.
“And then His Grace, he looked me over again and told Mrs. Palmer to get out of the room. She went, not looking pleased about it, but I realized, even then, that when this gent snapped his fingers, Ma Palmer jumped.
