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CHAPTER 8

Adiminutive, white-haired woman and a tall, stately-looking man, both in their late middle years, stood waiting by the doorway.

Anna felt flustered, too hot and disheveled, and not at all ready to meet her new housekeeper and butler. There were already two lengthy ranks of servants stretching out down the steps, all eyeing her with barely concealed interest.

“Mrs. Haunt, and I believe you remember our butler, Mr. Timmins, my dear,” the Duke—Theodore—said, gesturing to the pair. “We would have had all the servants out to see you, but naturally, a great many of them are downstairs with Cook, working hard.”

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Haunt murmured, dipping into a curtsey. “I do hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

Anna swallowed hard, feeling out of place, like an uninvited guest that everybody had to be polite to.

“Thank you, I’m sure I shall,” she managed, but the woman did not smile or react in any way.

“Show Her Grace to her room to refresh herself, and then escort her back downstairs for the party,” Theodore said, his gaze already fixed elsewhere. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

“Of course. This way, Your Grace,” Mrs. Haunt said, motioning for Anna to follow her.

It took Anna a moment to realize that the housekeeper was addressingher. It was an odd feeling, and one she did not think she would ever get used to.

The small woman set off, her heels clacking on the stone floor, and Anna scrambled to keep up.

“Your quarters are in the west wing, Your Grace,” Mrs. Haunt said, leading the way towards a wide, red-carpeted flight of stairs. “The same wing as Lady Katherine’s. It was His Grace’s request.”

“Yes, of course.”

“His Grace, naturally, sleeps in the gentlemen’s wing—the east wing,” she added, glancing over her shoulder at Anna, who carefully said nothing.

It was fairly normal for a duke and duchess not to share a bedroom, wasn’t it?

The house was huge, much larger than she remembered from her mad dash around the place only a week ago, and the west wing was entirely new.

Mrs. Haunt stopped abruptly before a door markedThe Chrysanthemum Room.

“After you, Your Grace,” she said, deferentially stepping back.

Anna did not think she was going to get used to this treatment, but she smiled weakly anyway and stepped inside.

The room was gorgeous. The windows were large, facing the gardens, and let in plenty of light despite the clouds. Rain drummed rhythmically on the glass, an almost soothing sound.

The carpets were thick, and most of the fabrics and materials in the room were a pale shade of blue or purple. To her surprise, Anna noticed her much-used writing desk standing in the corner.

“My things are already here,” she said, not able to hide the surprise in her voice.

Mrs. Haunt nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Your writing desk has not, of course, been touched. I will be most happy to tidy up your correspondence and such, with your permission.”

As her eye fell on the writing desk, Anna realized with a horrible sinking feeling that she had entirely forgotten to burn Henry’s letter.

Idiot! What if somebody finds it and reads it?

She was grateful that Mrs. Haunt hadn’t taken it upon herself to go through her letters.

She wandered over to the desk, located the incriminating letter, and stuffed it up her sleeve. She would have to destroy it as soon as possible, and until then, best not to leave it lying in a drawer with a broken lock, where anybody could read it.

“No, no, thank you. I can manage myself. Thank you, Mrs. Haunt, this is lovely.”

The housekeeper gave her a quick, tight smile, so quick that Anna thought she might have imagined it.

Perhaps I can manage here, after all.