held out his hand.
“It’s the master key.” She placed it into his waiting palm. “If you misuse it, I’ll have your ears, duke’s heir or no.”
The key she put into his hand was heavy iron, the bow fashioned into wrought curlicues. Interwoven amongst those was the stylized sword that was so prominent on the Parford coat of arms. Ash stared at it in bemusement before shoving it into a pocket. Mrs. Benedict, however, was already opening the door onto a long hallway, her interview of him concluded. She marched away as if she were the commanding general. Ash shrugged and followed after.
“Now,” she said as he came abreast of her once more, “tell me of your dining arrangements. Shall I manage the menus, or do you need to be consulted?”
“I trust you. But speaking of dining, it occurs to me that my brother and I make dreadfully uneven numbers. Once the rest of my men arrive from London, there will be no remedying that, not with any influx of women. But for this evening…” He trailed off invitingly.
Mrs. Benedict frowned as she walked. “Well, there’s the Misses Duprey, Amelia and Catherine, over north of Yeovil. They’d be delighted with an invitation. Further afield, we might think of Lady Harcourt’s daughters—a bit on the young side, fourteen and sixteen. Though Lady Harcourt wouldn’t mind in the least—she’s eager to marry them off.”
Ash choked. God. A fourteen-year-old child. He wouldn’t know what to say to such a creature.
“No,” he choked out. “Not Lady Harcourt. Definitely not her daughters.” Whoever they were. When he became the duke, he would have to know who these people were. He’d have to figure out the best way to accomplish that—after all, it wasn’t as if he would actually read a copy of Debrett’s. “Nor the Misses Duprey, whoever they might be. The lack of feminine conversation, you see, will be felt in a few hours’ time—and I doubt Lady Harcourt would forgive me if I sprung an invitation on her with no notice at all. No, Mrs. Benedict. I was thinking more along the lines of…you.”
This last line was delivered as they stepped from the hallway into the grand entryway.
“Me!” The housekeeper’s mouth dropped open. She stopped walking—right in the midst of the grand tiled hall—and clutched her skirts. She turned to him and peered into his face. Perhaps she was looking for telltale signs of madness. Finding neither rolling eyes nor froth at his lips, she shook her head.
“Me?” She managed to turn the syllable into a question. “I’m no lady to be taking my meals with the master. I’m a servant, sir, and a good one. I wouldn’t know—that is, I couldn’t carry on a conversation with a duke’s heir.”
“Nonsense,” Ash said. “You’ve done precisely that, this past half hour. You’ve watched the Dalrymples, haven’t you?”
At her faint nod, he smiled. She was already disposed to like him, however tentative that feeling was on her part. Now it was time to foster that delicate inclination.
He heard a noise from upstairs, as of a door closing. After a few moments, the quiet echo of footsteps in the upper gallery followed. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled.
“Can I tell you a secret? You must know the family history—that there was bad blood between the Turners and the Dalrymples, that my brothers and I grew up in near poverty.”
She sniffed and looked away. “This isn’t a household prone to gossip about its masters. I see to that. In fact, if you do hear any such talk, don’t you listen to it. Come to me, straight away, and I’ll set the culprit straight.”
“Oh, no. I’m not accusing you of gossip. But perhaps you might, from time to time, have heard about the masters’ less fortunate relations?” He gave her his most cajoling smile, and she softened.
“Perhaps,” she allowed.
“The truth is, I feel more comfortable conversing with servants than I sometimes do with my peers. This transition has been most sudden for me. A person like you could do a lot of good for someone like me. The way I see it, you’re barely a servant. You’re essentially the mistress of this house.”
“Well.” Mrs. Benedict preened just a bit under this praise. Ash gave her another smile, and she glanced back, faintly encouraged.
“Your manners are lovely, your speech precise. You’re not so different from a lady yourself—managing the household, seeing to it that everything is just right for the master’s convenience. The only difference between you and a lady is that you’re given a salary.” She looked at him with wide eyes and a half smile. He could almost feel her will bowing before his—and a housekeeper in a manor this large, with this many servants, had considerable strength of character.
It had always surprised him when he heard other merchants talk about the difficulties of keeping household servants in line, or the frustration of attempting to hire diligent accounting clerks. Ash had never had any problem getting people to do as he wished.
If you gave people compliments, they tended to like you. If you confided in them, they were likely to trust you. And if you then asked for their help, they were yours forever. Of course, it helped that Ash genuinely liked almost everyone. People could sense that; it was as good as a master key on a housekeeper’s ring, opening up the affections of even the most recalcitrant of individuals.
“A lady? Me?” She caught a stray curl of gray hair and twisted it around her finger. “Go on with you.” Her words said, stop this nonsense, but she was smiling. She didn’t really mean it.
The footsteps he’d heard traversing the gallery earlier began to descend the stairs. He felt her arrival, a prickle of awareness settling against his skin. He wouldn’t turn. He wouldn’t look at her.
“So,” Ash continued, looking straight at Mrs. Benedict, “it would help me and my brother immensely if you would sit at the dinner table and eat with us. You’ll rescue us from countless male arguments. By your simple presence, you’ll help teach me what I need to know in order to uphold my dignity as Duke of Parford.”
While he had no doubt that Mrs. Benedict would be a fine addition to the table, the woman he’d been waiting for was descending the stairs right now.
An appeal to Mrs. Benedict’s pride, her sensibilities and her service to the title. Was anything left to offer? Ah, yes. One last thing.
“And I can already tell that you know this neighborhood intimately. You know its people. You know who they are and what they need. If I’m to be duke—and I intend to be a good one—I need to know what you know. Please say you’ll do me the very great honor of dining with me.”
She stared up at him, her cap sliding askew once more, as if she were trying to decide what to think. “For a man who claims to need someone to teach him finesse,” she said dryly, “you are far too agreeable. Are you this talkative with all the servants?”
Miss Lowell came to stand behind them with that last word. He could feel the draft of air that presaged her arrival, could smell that faint, sweet scent that clung to her. He imagined her placing her hands on her hips in disapproval. He stifled a grin and pitched his voice to carry.
“No, Mrs. Benedict,” Ash said. “Only the pretty ones.”
“Go on with you!” Mrs. Benedict wagged her finger at him, as if he were a wayward child. “I’m fifty-five, if I’m a day,
