AFTER HER EXPERIENCE with Mrs. Pettibone, Josie was determined to find a housekeeper for Blackthorne Abbey who loved children and could stand to have them underfoot, since she hoped to have Spencer and Clay living with her soon. She’d been speaking with candidates for three hours and hadn’t yet found the right person for the job.
Then Miss Harriet Carpenter stepped into the sitting room.
Josie figured the young woman was only a few years older than she was herself. Miss Carpenter’s plain, navy-blue princess sheath, which was of good quality, but worn, her perfect posture, her frayed gloves, the tinge of pink in her alabaster cheeks, and her worried, dove-gray eyes suggested that she was more used to doing the questioning than to being questioned. Josie looked at the information she’d been given and realized Miss Carpenter had applied without references.
“Please be seated, Miss Carpenter,” Josie said, gesturing to a tattered brocade wing chair across from the claw-footed sofa on which she sat.
The newest applicant settled herself on the edge of the chair, her hands folded in her lap. Before Josie could ask the first question, Miss Carpenter said, “I know I’m young for this job, but I’ve managed a household in the past, Your Grace, and I promise I will work hard to please you.”
She bit her lip to keep herself from saying more, and Josie could see it was taking a great deal of effort for the young woman not to fidget. She was tempted to hire Miss Carpenter on the spot, because she saw a great deal of herself in the woman sitting across from her. But she’d been desperately hoping to find a housekeeper who had more experience than she did in managing such a huge estate.
“Where have you worked in the past?” she asked.
The tinge of pink in Miss Carpenter’s cheeks became a rosy flush. “I managed my father’s manor before…” She stopped and glanced out the window, swallowing hard before she turned back to Josie and said, “Before I was forced to leave.”
She didn’t explain the circumstances that had “forced” her to leave, but Josie could easily imagine what might have happened. Miss Carpenter’s father had likely died, leaving her without means. English law distributed all property to the closest male relative, and it was entirely possible that whichever male had inherited her father’s estate had not been willing to support her.
“As you can see,” Josie said, gesturing toward the dilapidated furnishings in the room, “everything here needs a great deal of work.”
“I’m used to hard work, Your Grace.”
“How would you feel about having children underfoot?”
Miss Carpenter sent a pointed look toward Josie’s waist. “Are you…”
Josie settled a hand over her womb. “I’m not expecting.” Although there was still the possibility that Blackthorne’s seed had taken root. “The duke has two nephews, six and eight, who may be—who will be—coming to live here shortly.” Somehow she was determined to get them here.
“I love children. I grew up with three younger sisters and had the care of them all my life. My greatest sorrow is that I had to abandon them when I left home.”
Josie felt her sympathy, and empathy, for Miss Carpenter growing as she learned more about the young woman’s situation. She, too, had left family behind. “Where are your sisters now?”
“They live with an aunt, Your Grace.”
Not our aunt. Just an aunt. Were her siblings related to the aunt, but not her? Or had the aunt sent her out to earn her own living? Josie wondered if Miss Carpenter dreamed, as she had for years, of being reunited with her family someday.
“You’re hired.”
The look of astonishment on Miss Carpenter’s face made Josie smile.
“I am?” The young woman blinked quickly to hide what might have been tears and added, “Your Grace?”
Josie rose and crossed the room. By the time she got there, Miss Carpenter was on her feet and composed again. “I think the first thing we have to do is dispose of all this formality. Please call me Josie. May I call you Harriet?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Of course, Josie.”
Miss Carpenter’s smile reached her gray eyes, which crinkled at the corners. “Of course, Josie. Please call me Harriet.”
Josie felt a sudden qualm at what the duke would think when he saw how young, and arguably inexperienced, their new housekeeper was. Not to mention the fact that Miss Carpenter came without references.
He’ll think his duchess is a fool. That she isn’t responsible enough to be put in charge of such an important decision. That she allowed her emotions to take over, rather than using reason to make her choice.
Josie gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter what Blackthorne thought. What was important was to create a safe, happy home for Spencer and Clay, which made Miss Carpenter a perfect addition to the duke’s household.
“Where would you like me to start?” her new housekeeper asked.
Josie chewed her lower lip while she thought, uncertain exactly where to put Harriet to work, and then had a brilliant idea. “You can finish up these interviews.” Josie counted off on her fingers the different kinds of help she needed. “With luck you can find us a good cook, a few maids, some footmen, a gardener, and whoever else you think might be necessary to help us put the house and grounds in order.”
“Wouldn’t you rather choose those people yourself?” Harriet asked hesitantly.
“If you’ve managed a household in the past, you’re one step ahead of me,” Josie admitted.
“Very well,” Harriet said. “What about a steward? And someone to manage the stables?”
“I believe the duke will be selecting people for those positions.” But she wasn’t sure. “I’ll check with him and let you know.”
The first thing Josie did was go to her room and change out of the dress she’d put on to impress the help. There was work to be done, and she was itching to start. She wrapped a scarf around her hair, much as she’d done when she was a maid-of-all-work, and put on the apron she’d brought from the kitchen to cover the simplest dress she now owned.
Then she went to work in the duke’s bedroom, where there was no chance she’d be seen by the stream of prospective servants being interviewed by her new housekeeper. It was enormously satisfying to see the gleam appear on tables and chests as she wiped away decades of dust.
Once she’d cleaned Blackthorne’s room, she headed back into her own. It looked considerably lighter than it had when she’d changed her clothes just a short while ago. Then she realized the reason why. One of the windows was now completely clear of ivy. Harriet really was a wonder, she thought, if she’d already put a gardener to work.
When she went to the window to observe the man, it wasn’t a gardener standing on the ladder perched three stories high against the Abbey wall.
It was her husband.
Josie turned and ran down the stairs, passing a startled young woman with a broom in her hands, who barely had time to curtsy before Josie was past her and out the front door. She nearly ran into the ladder that had been set up across the main entrance. She stepped around the ladder, at which point a spray of ivy landed on her head. She jerked sideways, more startled than hurt, then ducked out of the way of another falling sprig, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, as she confirmed what she’d seen through the upstairs window. The Duke of Blackthorne was, indeed, trimming the ivy away from her bedroom window.
She resisted the urge to shout at him, fearing he might lose his balance. Speaking in as normal a voice as she could muster in her winded condition, she called up to him, “Isn’t that a job for our new gardener?”
“Do we have one?” He focused his gaze on her, and a quizzical look appeared on his face.
She reached up to brush aside a strand of hair being whipped across her face by the wind and realized she was still wearing a scarf on her head and an apron over her dress.
He’d taken off his jacket, opened his shirt at the throat, rolled up his sleeves to reveal strong forearms, and was holding a large pair of garden shears, which made her feel a little better about her own attire.
“We’ll surely have someone to do this sort of work by tomorrow,” she replied.
He shot her a boyish grin. “I didn’t think this could wait. I want you to see the sun rise in the morning. I presume we’ll have maids by tomorrow as well, but judging by that scarf on your head and that apron you’re wearing, you seem to have made yourself busy cleaning.”
“I was just an ordinary person the day before yesterday,” she pointed out. “On the other hand, I didn’t think dukes indulged in manual labor.” She realized she’d discounted her wealth in that statement. Heiresses probably didn’t spend a lot of their time cleaning. But he didn’t seem to have noticed her gaffe.
Blackthorne started down the ladder, and she took a step back to give him room, once he reached the ground. His shirt was damp with sweat, and she was aware of a not-unpleasant masculine odor as he dropped the shears on the tall grass beside the stone walk. “I wasn’t complaining,” he said as he tugged the scarf off her head and let it swing from his hand. “But I can’t guarantee the neighbors won’t be appalled by my new duchess’s appearance.”
“You’re the one up a ladder half undressed, for anyone passing by to see.”
He grinned, and she felt her stomach do a strange flip-flop. Unconsciously, she took another step back, as though to escape some web that threatened to entangle her.
“They expect outrageous behavior from me.”
“Why is that?” she asked, aware that she was having trouble catching her breath.
He reached out and tucked a flying curl behind her ear, his knuckles lingering as they brushed her cheek. In a low, quiet voice he said, “We Blackthornes are known to be a scurrilous lot.”
“It would have been nice to know that before I married you.”
He laughed and tweaked her nose, then tossed her the scarf, which she caught in the air, as he bent to retrieve the shears. “I’d better get back to work. Call me when you have some food on the table.”
Josie stared at his broad back, followed by his buttocks and thighs, as he headed back up the ladder, then realized what she was doing and hurried back inside.