“WE NEED TO SPEAK,” a male voice said. “Sweetheart.”

Celia stiffened.

It must be her imagination.

Frederick was a duke. A duke who despised London. A duke who despised her.

But the footman had looked like him...

She hated hoping.

She needed to resign herself to her lot.

But her heart still quickened, and even as she cursed herself, she found herself turning toward the voice. “Frederick?”

It was him.

It was truly him.

Her voice wobbled. “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for your answer,” he said.

“What was the question?” the cook asked grumpily. “Celia, if you’re delaying the footman from bringing the fish platter upstairs... Please, answer his question.”

Frederick smiled.

He sank to the ground and kneeled before her. The other servants stopped their bustle.

“Celia, my love, will you please marry me?”

“Waste of a footman, if you ask me,” one maid said. “She’s a scullery maid.”

Celia stiffened.

They were right. He was far, far too good for her.

Her hands were puckered from the dirty dishwater, and stains speckled her once immaculately starched apron.

“She’s going to become a duchess,” Frederick said.

There was silence, but then laughter sounded. Obviously, a statement like that couldn’t be real.

The butler cleared his throat. “Hurry up. We need the fish course.”

“The fish course can be late.” Frederick took her hands in his, and the familiar energy surged through her. “I love you, Celia.”

“But—” Celia remembered not struggling for words before, but now her heart seemed to be beating far too quickly, and her tongue seemed to be growing at a rapid rate.

She swallowed hard. “But why are you dressed like that?”

“If you don’t want to be a duchess, then I’ll be a footman if it means I can spend the rest of my life with you.”

The servants’ whispers heightened, as if a wind gust were trapped inside the kitchen.

One didn’t declare oneself a duke, especially when one was dressed as a footman and delaying one of the courses. Not on any night, but especially not when the countess had guests.

Joy surged through her, but she tried to tell herself she must be conjuring the vision of him kneeling before her on the kitchen floor. If music had started playing, she wouldn’t have been able to distinguish if it was her imagination or not.

After all the fact that Frederick was here, in London, in the servants’ quarters... That must be something her imagination had conjured.

The man was simply being overly romantic. Perhaps he’d listened to some overly sentimental music or had attended an opera recently.

Naturally Frederick couldn’t mean to actually marry her.

She could never be a proper duchess on his arm.

She wasn’t fit to marry a country squire, much less a man like him.

And yet...

It was too easy to linger in his gaze, and she steeled herself from him. Fire danced in his dark eyes.

That look must be more dangerous than poison.

“You can’t mean that,” Celia said.

Frederick raised his chin. “Of course I mean it.”

“You told me it didn’t mean anything,” she whispered. “After we’d—”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“And what makes you change your mind now?”

“Lady Theodosia. I-I spoke with her.”

Footsteps sounded, and in the next moment the door to the kitchen swung open.

The butler appeared.

“Mr. Durham,” the butler’s voice boomed. “What on earth are you doing on the floor?”

“I do believe he’s proposing,” Polly cried out joyfully. “Though she ain’t given him an answer yet!”

“You better make it a yes,” Frederick said. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good footman.”

Celia smiled. “I’m not good enough for you.”

“That’s nonsense. I couldn’t care less about your parents.”

“I’m not sure whether he’s truly very romantic,” Polly said dubiously.

“I mean,” Frederick said, “I do not care about your parents’ birth. All I care about is you. And the fact is that you are the sweetest, gentlest, kindest person I know. And I want to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

“But what about your position? What will people think?”

He shrugged. “They will be scandalized. It will give them some entertainment. Lord knows it’s important in this dark weather.”

“So we would be doing them a favor?” Celia’s lips twitched.

Frederick nodded. “We might even be doing the horses a favor—fewer societal events to bring us to.”

“Better say yes,” Polly said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

Even the grumpy butler seemed to have the urge to wipe his hands against his eyes.

“If you’re sure...”

“Absolutely,” Frederick said.

“Then yes,” Celia breathed, her heartbeat thudding.

“Let’s start the rest of our lives together.” Frederick swept her into his arms and held her against his chest. Her legs dangled, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She narrowed the gap between their faces. Extra space when none was necessary was a ridiculous concept.

The butler cleared his throat. “I know you are new here Mr. Durham, but I assure you footmen do not make a habit of sweeping scullery maids into their arms.”

“Not one of my job duties?” Frederick winked. 

Celia wrapped her arms around him more tightly. He seemed...happy. Not at all like a man honor bound to marry the woman with whom he’d been intimate, no matter the lowliness of her birth.

The butler’s face reddened. “Indeed not. If you would like to bring in the fish course.”

“Grab that fish platter, Celia,” Frederick said.

He walked toward it, still clasping her easily in his arms. He bowed down, and Celia picked up the platter.

“Upstairs, now,” he said.

“But, Mr. Durham!” the butler shouted. “You cannot mean to bring Celia up there. No matter how happy the occasion.”

“I do,” Frederick said.

“But it’s improper,” the butler said. “Undignified! Inelegant.”

“I don’t care,” Frederick said.

The butler gasped, and in the next moment Frederick had kicked open the door leading to the stairs. He carried Celia up the winding, rickety staircase.

“You really shouldn’t,” Celia said.

“Oh, but I should,” Frederick said. “They must have the fish course.”

Footsteps sounded.

“I think the butler is following us,” Celia whispered.

“Let him.”

“We’ll scandalize the guests,” Celia said.

“Let them be scandalized.”

“Do you really mean that?” Celia’s voice wobbled as they entered the sumptuous surroundings of the main house. Perhaps they’d stopped speaking about the presentation of the fish course.”

“Of course,” Frederick said, his voice gentler. “As long as I have you. For forever and ever.”

“You do,” Celia breathed.

Voices sounded from the dining room, now visible, and footsteps thudded behind them.

Frederick kissed her, and the fish platter careened and toppled onto the floor. Thick French sauce spilled onto the Turkish carpet.

The butler emitted a moan, and the guests rushed toward them, their tails flapping under their sudden gusto.

“Your Grace?” one asked. “You’re in London!”

Admiral Fitzroy’s face whitened. “If this is about your ridiculous habit of throwing water around on perfectly good scientists...”

“I apologize,” Frederick said. “But had you not jerked away, you would have seen that my material is waterproof.”

A thought occurred to Celia, and she smiled up at Frederick. “I used the extra material from when I made the frockcoat under my clothes to keep dry while washing dishes.”

“Give it to me.” He put her down on the carpet, and her feet sank into the thick pile.

She lifted her apron and removed the material.

“Celia,” Lady Fitzroy called out. “What on earth are you doing? You’re not fit to be seen here. These are important men.”

Frederick turned around and grinned. “I do like to think of myself as important.”

“You—” Lady Fitzroy sputtered, and her face whitened.

“Hold this,” he directed Admiral Fitzroy. “And make sure it’s tight.”

Admiral Fitzroy’s eyes widened, but he did as he was told.

Frederick smiled. “I just need a drink.” He spotted the champagne bottle and grinned. “I suppose that’s very expensive champagne.”

“Why naturally,” Lady Fitzroy said.

“Good.” Frederick grabbed the bottle and uncorked it.

Being a footman had taught him some useful things.

Champagne sputtered over Lady Fitzroy’s table. He’d spent time setting the table, and a tinge of guilt tinged through him.

But he remembered how Lady Fitzroy had treated Celia. The half-sister to her own daughters. A child in her house.

Frederick poured the champagne over the waterproof material. This time Admiral Fitzroy did not run away. He focused on the flow.

“It didn’t spill through,” Admiral Fitzroy said in wonder.

“It’s waterproof,” Frederick beamed.

“This is most splendid,” the admiral said.

“Isn’t it?”

“You’ll have to visit me in Whitehall,” the admiral said. “The sooner the better.”

“George!” Lady Fitzroy huffed.

“I apologize for the fish course,” Frederick said. “Though perhaps it will be good you’ll have fewer dishes to clean. I’m taking your scullery maid with me.”

Lady Fitzroy contorted her face: her lips swerved into downward swoops, and her eyebrows pressed together. Her eyes hardened, but it didn’t matter.

Celia giggled.

“Don’t change your mind,” Frederick said sternly. “I made a dreadful footman, though I promise I’ll be a good husband.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Celia said solemnly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Frederick said in his booming voice that would have suited him for the theater, “Let me introduce my betrothed to you.”

“Celia!” Lady Fitzroy stuttered. “I told you not to speak with him! You’ll never work again. I’ll see to that.”

“She won’t need to when she’s a duchess,” Frederick said. “Which makes her higher ranked than you?”

Lady Fitzroy’s face reddened.

“No matter.” Frederick turned to the guests. “I believe I am out a position. Farewell.”

Frederick continued to clasp her and strode through the townhome. She’d lived here for so many years.

“My things,” she said.

“I’ll buy you new things, my love,” he said.

She smiled.

“Unless there’s something of sentimental value?”

She shook her head. She’d never known her mother, and didn’t have anything from her.

“In that case,” Frederick said, “Let’s go.”

They stepped into the outdoors. Snow crunched under Frederick’s boots, and partygoers headed for Twelfth Night celebrations.

Celia inhaled the crisp air. The stars sparkled before her, and she was in Frederick’s arms.

Life was good.