Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Selene sipped her afternoon cup of tea, watching the servants rushing around the kitchen, trying to enjoy her brief break.

There had been the same frenetic energy in the house for the entire day—housemaids scrubbing the silverware, airing out guest chambers, and making beds. It seemed that the houseguests that the duke had told her about would be arriving sooner rather than later.

Mrs. Kittles sat down next to her, letting out a deep sigh. “Oh, my legs are aching,” declared the housekeeper. “I have been rushing around like a headless chicken for the entire day.” She paused, reaching for the teapot. “I will be glad once the guests are on their way to London and gone.”

Selene smiled sympathetically at the agitated housekeeper. “Well, they are only staying for a week or not much longer,” she said, patting her hand. “Your wish will be fulfilled before too long, Mrs. Kittles.”

The housekeeper rolled her eyes. “I cannot wait. It is always so much busier in the house with houseguests to attend, although mercifully, there are only two of them this time, the Viscount Mastiff and his daughter, Lady Gwen.”

“Have you met them before?” asked Selene.

“Aye, I have,” said Mrs. Kittles, rolling her eyes again. “Lord Mastiff was a good friend of the duke’s late father, the last duke. He is a kind enough gentleman, if a bit vague, but rather too indulgent with his daughter.” Her face tightened. “Lady Gwen is a piece of work. She is spoilt and prissy, always demanding things, and talks to the servants as if they are dirt beneath her feet. I must admit I do not like the lady at all.”

Selene arched her eyebrows. “Oh dear. I will try to avoid her as much as possible, then. The duke did tell me to keep Lady Lenore out of the way—so it should not be too hard.”

“Aye, you can try,” sighed the housekeeper. “I think they will end up staying longer than a week, if Lady Gwen has her way.” She paused, leaning closer to Selene, lowering her voice. “It is well known the lady has her sights set upon the duke. She does not bother to hide it—in fact, she is quite blatant about it.”

“Oh,” said Selene, feeling startled. A strange feeling she did not recognize was burning in her chest. “She is in love with the duke, then?”

Mrs. Kittles gave a bark of laughter. “No, I do not think she has such finer feelings for His Grace,” she replied, in a dry voice, sipping her tea. “We think she just wants to be a duchess and likes the thought of his wealth. She would be wearing finer clothes, dripping in more expensive jewels, and having more people kowtow to her. That is about the size of it.”

Selene could barely breathe. “And the duke? Does he admire her and want to make her the next duchess?”

Mrs. Kittles shrugged. “It is a good question,” she said, frowning a little. “I do not think he will ever be able to love another lady like he loved the late duchess, but he isn’t getting any younger. He might want to try for a son and an heir, and Lady Gwen would be a prime candidate. She is the daughter of a viscount, quite beautiful, and very accomplished. It would be a good match in that way—if he can overlook that she is a spoiled brat.”

Selene nodded, not trusting herself to breathe. The strange feeling in her chest had turned into a hard knot and it was hurting. With a start, she realized it was jealousy. Naked, ugly jealousy. She had rarely been jealous of anyone or anything in her life before, so it was no wonder she hadn’t recognized the appalling emotion.

She was jealous of the thought of the duke admiring this beautiful, accomplished lady. And the thought that he might consider this Lady Gwen as his next duchess was simply torture.

You are being ridiculous. What is between you and the duke is destined to fade away into nothing. It can never go anywhere. Of course, he would want to marry a lady and not a poor governess. Why should it bother you? It is just the way things are. It has always been that way, and it always will be.

Selene put down her cup, forcing herself to stop thinking about it. She needed a distraction. Suddenly, she recalled her conversation with Emma, when her friend had suggested that she ask if they could decorate the house for Christmas.

“Do you think the duke will mind overmuch if we hang some Christmas greenery in the house?” she asked, her heart skipping a beat. “It would make the house look and smell so lovely and bring a bit of the festive spirit to it. And I know that Lady Lenore would adore it.”

Mrs. Kittles put down her cup, staring at her in utter shock.

“Have you gone completely mad?” asked the housekeeper, shaking her head. “The duke despises Christmas and has nothing to do with it at all. Look at how he sent those carolers away.”

Selene frowned. “I know, but I thought he might be persuaded, if I could convince him of how much it would benefit his daughter…”

Mrs. Kittles gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “It is not likely, my dear. Lady Lenore is eight years old, and he has never softened enough to decorate the house, or celebrate the season, since she was born.” She sighed heavily, shaking her head again. “It is a crying shame, for it is not just Christmas, but the little lady’s birthday, as well. She has never even had a party or a celebration for it, never mind sat down to a Christmas feast.”

Selene felt a stab of pity for the girl. “That is terrible. He should at least celebrate her birthday, even if he will not tolerate celebrating Christmas.”

“It all reminds him of the late duchess and the day that he lost her,” stated Mrs. Kittles, sighing again. “He is entrenched in his position on the subject now and I fear will never change his mind about it—not for as long as he lives. It is just too painful for him.”

Selene nodded, trying to swallow the painful lump in her throat.

“I know that you mean well,” continued the housekeeper, in a gentle voice. “You want to do your best for the little lady. But you would be like David taking on Goliath in this battle, my dear. You will never win. Best to let it go entirely.”

The housekeeper drained her tea, standing up. “I better get back to it. The devil finds work for idle hands, as the good book says.” She scurried away.

Selene picked up her cup, sipping her tea thoughtfully, trying not to feel disappointed, when she had already known what Mrs. Kittles was going to say about it.

Her heart clenched. What a cold man he had become, enshrouding his heart in layers of ice, which were so thick, she didn’t think anyone could ever penetrate it. His great loss had turned him bitter, had made him unable to engage with life again. He wasn’t even able to celebrate his own daughter’s birthday.

She drained her cup, staring at the leaves on the side of it. Perhaps it would be good for him to marry this Lady Gwen, to start afresh, to try for more children. Lenore would have a mother and siblings. And perhaps, the ice in his heart might finally thaw.

The knot in her chest grew tighter at the thought of it. She gritted her teeth, getting to her feet. Mrs. Kittles had said that the devil finds work for idle hands. Did it also find work for foolish women, who felt things they weren’t supposed to feel?