How to Tame Your Duke by Juliana Gray Read Free Book Online Page B

china to snare it.
    “His Grace knows t’Duke of Olympia. Great friends, they are,” said one of the lesser footmen, down the table. “Thieves ain’t in it.”
    “Imagine,” said Lucy dreamily, fingering her teacup. “Imagine if them princesses was to be hiding right here in t’village. Imagine if we was to be standing next to them at t’shops.”
    “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Needle. “I doubt a gaggle of fine princesses could find their way to Yorkshire on a map. Anyroad, they’d be in disguise, in course.”
    Emilie’s marmalade spilled onto the tablecloth.
    Lucy snapped her fingers. “
I
could spot a princess in disguise, just like that.”
    “You couldn’t,” said Jane.
    “I could. It’s sommat in t’way she looks and talks,” said Lucy. “She couldn’t never fool me.”
    Emilie dabbed furiously at the marmalade.
    “Twaddle. Ye’ve never met a princess in yer life, Lucy Mudge.”
    “I saw that Princess Alexandra in London once’t, didn’t I?”
    Jane laughed. “From how many street away?”
    “Don’t matter. I could tell.”
    “Ye couldn’t.”
    “I could!”
    “Lucy,” said Mrs. Needle, “have ye tidied up the schoolroom yet? I’m sure t’gentlemen are being to need it this morning. Isn’t that right, Mr. Grimsby?”
    Emilie folded her marmalade-smeared napkin next to her plate. Her face was still warm. “Yes, madam, if it’s convenient.”
    A suppressed laugh from the female side of the table.
    “That’ll be enough, Lucy,” said Mrs. Needle.
    “Well, it ain’t as though t’young master is being to be up for hours yet . . .”
    “That be enowt, Lucy,” Mrs. Needle said again. “You will lay a fire in t’schoolroom directly after breakfast and give t’room a thorough cleaning.”
    “Oh, as to that, Mrs. Needle,” said Lucy, “I’m
happy
to make owt ready for Mr. Grimsby.”
    Emilie looked up in surprise. Were Lucy’s eyelashes actually
fluttering
? At
her?
    “I’m sure she is,” said Jane petulantly.
    “Lucy’s duties are never yer concern, Jane.” Mrs. Needle drank her tea.
    “I never do mind serving Mr. Grimsby mysen,” Lucy said. “Even though I were up while all hour last night, waiting for His Grace and his lordship, and I’m being to be up again tonight . . .”
    “That will be all, Lucy.” Mrs. Needle’s voice was sharp.
    “. . . and t’Lord knows how late His Grace will be out
this
time . . .”
    “Lucy.”
    A footman coughed next to Emilie’s left shoulder. Someone’s chair scraped lightly against the wooden floor. Emilie glanced up through her eyelashes and watched Lucy finger the handle of her knife, her lips pursed in a dainty pout. She mumbled something deep in her throat.
    “What was that, Lucy?” snapped Mrs. Needle.
    Lucy looked up. “I said, nobbut what I blame t’poor man.”
    “His Grace is not a
man
, Lucy. He is a duke.” Mrs. Needle reached for the teapot and refreshed her cup. “Ye may be excused.”
    “Aye, ma’am.” Lucy rose, gathered her empty plate and teacup, and left the room.
    Mrs. Needle picked up the sugar tongs and selected a lump. Her fingers were clean and round tipped, the nails trimmed nearly to the quick. “Ye will pardon us, Mr. Grimsby. We’ve all served together since His Grace first came to live here, and many afore. It makes us all a little overfamiliar.”
    “Not at all, madam. I quite understand.”
    Footsteps thumped down the nearby stairs, and a moment later the black-and-white figure of Simpson the butler filled the doorway with correctness. “His Grace has finished breakfast,” he announced, and the maids picked up their teacups in unison and drained them.
    Mrs. Needle wiped her mouth and stood. “Girls, clear t’breakfast room. Jane, ye may set another place for Lionel. Mr. Simpson, how is His Grace this morning?” There was something oddly warm and solicitous in her voice.
    Emilie had finished her tea. Her breakfast sat in lumps in her belly. From the corner of her eye,