Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (12 page)

beamed ceiling. He should not be disappointed at her

absence. He should not think of her at all. But he was,

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and he did, and he could not resist searching the nearby

corridor for her.

The doorknob squeaked softly as he twisted it.

“Miss Ramsey?” His whisper echoed down the long

hall.

There was no answer.

You
shame
yourself,
his mind seemed to chastise him.

Mind
your
duties. The chit is about her tasks, as well she
should be.

With his rationality restored, Avery turned and

marched down the main stairs toward the butler’s pantry.

Mrs. Harper and Smythe must be informed of His

Grace’s journey and of the dowager’s rout. The Duke of

Granville’s ancient mother did not entertain often, but

when she chose to do so, it was a highlight of the ton.

Most people lived in fear of the dowager, and rightly so.

But they also desperately sought her good opinion. If she

was entertaining, there would be such a crush that the

servants of two households would be a necessity, not a

luxury.

The timing, however, was less than ideal. If Miss

Ramsey were to commit an error in service at the

dowager’s home, more than her own position would be

at stake.

Avery’s blood chilled as he rounded the corridor and

knocked on the door to the butler’s pantry. The dowager

had been known to have unsatisfactory servants tossed

into prison for the merest offense. There was not much

time for Miss Ramsey to learn to serve properly.

“Enter,” Smythe called.

Avery made a vow as he entered the small room. He

must do his best to prepare her for the morrow. Whether

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he thought her mad or merely a dreamer, she could not

last in Newgate.

She’d not go on his watch.

i

The bucket of ashes was freaking heavy. Leah thunked it

down on the top step, breathing heavily as she eyed the

long back stairway to the servant’s hall downstairs.

Take
the
bucket
to
the
kitchens
to
dump
it
out. Grab a
broom and go back upstairs. Sweep the dressing room, then dust
it, then put the carpet back. Set the fire, however the hell you
do that.

The list of chores swirled in her head, weighing her

down, and she gripped the banister to stop herself from

tipping forward.

The last thing she needed was a tumble downstairs.

How did anyone remember this ridiculous list of stuff

to do? No wonder all these servants were so pissy. Their

brains were overworked as well as their bodies.

Leaning sideways to ease the crink in her back, Leah

let her eyes flutter closed. If only she’d had a couple

hours more sleep, then maybe she’d be sharp enough to

handle the enormity of this job.

A heavy metallic clang ripped her eyes open, and

she watched dumbfounded as the formerly full bucket

bounced down the stairs, scattering ash and dust in all

directions.

Whirling, she caught a glimpse of a too- large mobcap

and dark skirts disappearing into a nearby bedroom.

That
little
snot.

With Henrietta’s name poised in an angry roar on her

lips, Leah charged toward the door after her.

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“Ramsey! Whatever have you done, you clumsy

girl?” Mrs. Harper’s voice stopped Leah short. Wincing,

she turned and rubbed suddenly sweaty palms down her

skirt. The housekeeper glared up at her from the bottom

of the stairs.

“Mrs. Harper, I’m so sorry about that. I’d set it down

for a second, and someone ran by and tipped it over,”

Leah explained lamely. “I didn’t— ”

“Blaming your faults on others will not be tolerated

in this household. Sweep up these stairs at once.” With a

disdainful sniff, Mrs. Harper disappeared into the kitchens.

Longingly eyeing the door Henrietta had disappeared

into, Leah trudged down the ashy stairs. Her morning had

started out so promising, with that delicious ducal smile.

How had it plummeted into drudgery so damn fast?

Watching her heroes in movies was proving to be

much easier than trying to win one in real life.

Grabbing a broom from the kitchen cupboard, Leah

returned and started sweeping up Henrietta’s mess. The

repetitive motions gave her more than enough time to

think about home.

Pawpaw had been so insistent that she find her

guy and get married. What was his game? Rounding

up a largish pile of ash, she bit her lip and recounted

all the doctor visits he’d had in the past year. There

weren’t many, certainly not enough to cause her to

be concerned.

So why was he so adamant that she not be alone?

What did he know that Leah didn’t?

With the ashes returned to the bucket, and Leah

sweaty, tired, and confused, she dumped them into the

bin and headed back upstairs to finish the duke’s dressing

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room. She’d have plenty of time to try to analyze

Pawpaw when she got back. And if things kept going as

well as they had been, she might just give up and dive

through the mirror tomorrow. God, that made her sound

like a damn weenie. She stiffened her spine. She’d never

met a challenge she intended to back down from, and

this wouldn’t be the one to take her down.

“Ramsey?”

Damn it, she was really getting fucking tired of that

Q- tip’s haughty way of saying her name. Leah stopped

on the third stair and turned. “Yes, Mrs. Harper?”

“The dowager duchess is hosting a rout tomorrow

evening. You will help serve.” The old bat didn’t

look happy about it, but she delivered the order with

aplomb anyway.

Leah nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am.”

A thread of interest wound through Leah as she

continued mounting the stairs. Serve at a real duchess’s

party? See the glittering lords and ladies of the
ton
?

When the realization slammed through her, she

missed a step. Clutching at the banister to prevent a fall,

she gasped.

The dowager. The duke’s mother. Holy crap, the

woman must have danced with Methuselah. How was

she still alive?

Leah righted herself and rounded the landing. Maybe

she’d been wrong about the duke’s age. If his mother was

alive, then he had to be fairly young, right? Maybe he

had one of those aging diseases that made you look a lot

older than you were.

She entered the dressing room and started sweeping.

She had to be careful, but this could be a very good

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opportunity to impress the duke and learn more about

him. This could work.

Maybe her fairy tale would have a happy ending

after all.

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Ten

Breakfast was a long and tiring three hours later.

Cook set a bowl in front of Leah without a word.

Apparently breakfast was lukewarm oatmeal- like gruel.

Leah poked at the gelatinous mass with her spoon. It

jiggled alarmingly, reminding Leah of that old B horror

movie about the blob.
The
Oatmeal
that
Ate
London! Run
for your lives!

“Oh boy,” she said beneath her breath. Clearly she

hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

“Ramsey, is the food not to your liking?” The

housekeeper’s brows had climbed to her hairline. The

other maids had filled in the empty seats around Leah,

and Henrietta especially looked pleased at Mrs. Harper’s

attitude. The little viper was really getting under Leah’s

skin. She’d have to think about how to get back at her

for the ash bucket. That had been a prank worthy of

Leah’s best retaliation.

“No, no,” Leah laughed uncomfortably. “It looks

delicious.” She took a big bite and nearly gagged at the

too- thick texture. Blinking back tears, she swallowed the

muddy- tasting gruel as quick as she could.

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“See that you finish it all.” Mrs. Harper watched her

like a skinny, cotton- headed hawk.

Leah nodded weakly. It was a good thing she could

stand to lose a few pounds. On this diet, she’d be lucky

to keep anything down.

The scraping of a chair near the end of the table

brought her watery gaze upward. Avery nodded politely

as he sat and began eating with refined gusto. Hmph.

Must be an acquired taste.

A swig of lukewarm tea helped clear the gluey taste

from her mouth, and the chatter at the table picked up

shortly thereafter.

“Her Grace’s routs are always such fun,” Sarah was

giggling to Teresa across the table. “All those posh lords

and ladies.”

“And their dresses, blimey,” Teresa said, her pale

face long with dreamy reverie. “I’d love to be puffed

off like that.”

“You?” Henrietta snorted. “A bony figure like yours

would ruin those fancy clothes.”

Teresa looked down into her lap dejectedly.

Leah resisted the urge to kick Henrietta’s shin under

the table. Instead, she opted for a more polite approach.

“I think you have a great complexion, Teresa. What

do you use on your skin?” Leah swallowed another bite

of gruel in the ensuing silence. Apparently they hadn’t

expected her to speak.

“Me mum would mix rosewater and cream, and

apply it to her face. She let me do it too, when I was

older and we could afford it.” Teresa smiled down at

her bowl. “It makes me skin softer. I do it whenever I

can, even now.”

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“Vanity is a sin,” Mrs. Harper admonished. “You’ll

cease this immediately.”

Teresa’s face went bone- white. “Oh no, Mrs. Harper,

I didn’t mean…”

“You’ll do as you’re told in this household.” Mrs.

Harper’s chair scraped back. “The very thought of a maid

taking such pains with her appearance is disgraceful. You

are to be neat, pressed, and present yourself as a servant

of His Grace, but to give yourself such a treatment is well

above your station.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harper,” Teresa whispered.

“You’d all do well to remember that.”

With a glare at Leah, the housekeeper left the table.

The three footmen followed at her direction, leaving

Leah with the maids and Avery. All the females at

the table turned distrustful eyes on Leah, with the

exception of Teresa, who had tears tracking down her

pale cheeks.

“Teresa, I’m so sorry,” Leah said. God, she felt like

shit. “I just wanted to give you a compli— ”

“You’re poison, you are.” Henrietta stood, her lips

pursed in disapproval, much like Mrs. Harper’s had been.

“You intended to cause that trouble for poor Teresa,

hoping that you can replace her as the upper housemaid.

We’ll none of us have aught to do with you.” At her

beckoning gesture, the other girls followed, including the

still- sniffling Teresa.

Leah leaned forward with a groan, plastering her

forehead against the rough top of the dining table. This

was
so
not going well.

i

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Avery stared down into his bowl, unwilling— no, unable,

if he were to be honest with himself— to look at Leah.

He should have spoken. He should have defended her

against the false accusations that Henrietta had hurled

on her. But how could he, when he knew that casting

himself as her savior would harm her even further?

A movement drew his gaze as she sat up and glared at

him. “Thanks for saving me there, cowboy.”

Leah’s shoved her chair back to stand. He shoved

another bite into his mouth to prevent having to reply.

She left the dining room without another word, and

Avery stared at her departing back as if his regretful gaze

alone could atone for his lack of action.

He was no gentleman. Never had been, by birth or

by breeding. Did that excuse him? His mother’s voice,

echoing in his head from beyond her too- early grave,

said not.

No matter what it cost
him
, he could have borne it to protect her. But how could he subject her to the jibes

and taunts that would surely follow his public declaration

of loyalty to the girl? She could have no way of knowing