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CHAPTER FOUR

L ife was full of surprises sometimes, and one such surprise arrived for Margaret on the first morning of her marriage to the duke: she slept in.

It was mid-morning when she rose from her bed, shaking off her slumber with a sense that she had been asleep for a week. When she woke, she called out for a member of staff to attend her, expecting one to be lurking outside her door. But there was nobody.

“Huh…” Dressed in a shift, she wandered to the hallway and looked right and then left, surprised to find the hall empty. “Is anyone there…?”

She wanted to bathe herself and dress before breaking her fast. Dressed in only a shift, her hair a messy bird nest, and her face likely capable of scaring children, she needed to be clean and well presented. Hard ta da when there is na one here ta help me.

Margaret knew little of the ways of a duchess, but her sister had instructed her enough that she knew the household staff were supposed to assist her in this.

As Catherine had said, they would be there to wait on her hand and foot, from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes.

Personally, she found the whole thing ridiculous, as she did not need to be looked after so fastidiously.

And if she were in her own home, she wouldn’t have cared to wait, happy to clean herself.

However, she was not in her own home, and she had no idea where anything was or what to do. So, she opted to wait, certain that soon she would found by a staff member. Catherine had assured me of it!

Margaret waited for a few moments before coming to a decision.

Likely, the staff were still getting used to her presence in the manor, so perhaps they had forgotten.

Thus, she opted to throw on a dressing gown and break her fast under-dressed, but at least not next to naked.

And on the way, she would see about arranging that bath.

“Excuse me!” Margaret called to the first maid she saw, found crossing the foyer as Margaret made her way down the stairs. “Yes, ye,” she said when the maid looked about as if in confusion.

The woman was a few years older than Margaret, plain in the face, with mousey brown hair and blotchy skin. “Your Grace,” she said with a nervous bow.

“Guid morning,” Margaret said. “I was hoping I might have a bath this morning, but I could nae find a maid to fix me one. Might I inquire who is responsible for such things?”

“Oh…” The young maid blinked as she puzzled through Margaret’s thick accent. “Ah… I… do not -- do you mean the Head of Staff? That would be Mr. Jeffries, Your Grace.”

“Wonderful,” Margaret said. “Please send him to the breakfast room to see me at once.

And it might do to tell him to bring some parchment and a quill, for I have some needs to attend and it's best to be safe.” She smiled warmly at the young maid, who looked at her with bewilderment. “That will be all.”

The young maid stared blankly at her and then put her head down and scurried off.

Margaret exhaled and made her way to the breakfast room, expecting to sup as it was of that time. Only when she arrived, she found it empty.

“The food has been put away, Your Grace,” a member of the kitchens told her when she called for him. There had been no one in the breakfast room waiting to attend to her, so she had needed to go searching herself. “His Grace likes to eat early, as do his daughters.”

“Yes, well, that is all well and guid, but I was hoping I might eat now. I slept in, ye see.” She laughed lightly, wanting to show that she was not angry. Just hungry. “Might ye send for the head chef and inform him that I am fixing to eat.”

“Ah…” the kitchen staff looked confused. “I will let him know, Your Grace, but I am not sure he will be willing. He is a little ah… touchy, yes, about tardiness, as he calls it. I know he likes –”

“Please,” Margaret cut him off with a smile. “I da nae mean to be a bother, but if ye let him know that I am nae fussy and will eat anythin’.” Her smile grew. “Thank ye.”

The member of the kitchen staff hurried back toward the kitchen, leaving her alone once more.

Margaret got to waiting then, expecting either food to arrive or for this Mr. Jeffries to come and see her.

One minute turned into two minutes turned into five minutes.

She sat there stupidly, twiddling her thumbs, counting the seconds, frustration rising because she was beginning to sense a pattern here.

When ten minutes passed by and she still sat alone, Margaret lost all sense of calm. She rose to her feet and stormed toward the kitchens, finding the same member of the staff she had spoken to earlier. “You!”

“Your Grace!” he jumped in the air. “I am sorry, but the chef said –”

“Where is Mr. Jeffries located?”

The young man blinked. “Ah… Mr Jeffries…”

“Yes,” she demanded. “Where am I likely ta find him at this hour?” She put her hands on her hips and widened her eyes at him; she was not to be treated so inconsiderately. “Well?”

“Reading, Your Grace! He likes to read.”

She frowned. “What? Why would he be –”

“Everyone knows, this is his hour, Your Grace,” the young man hurried. “He takes it every morning, one hour only, while the staff clean. The library, Your Grace.”

“Thank ye.” She nodded once before turning and storming toward the library.

Margaret was no fool, and she knew well enough what was going on.

Mr. Jeffries had likely been told by her husband that she would only be here for a Season, possibly even informing him of the details surrounding the marriage – it made sense for the Head of Staff to be on close terms with their master.

Thus, Mr. Jeffries had decided that Margaret was not a priority, or someone who needed to be worried about.

She had been fretting of late that she had no control or agency in her life. That she was merely a vessel being pushed and pulled by the whims of others. I am sick to death of it! And it is time that I took some agency back.

So, that was exactly what she did.

Margaret stormed into the manor’s large library with a sense of command that she was certain even the duke would be proud of.

It was a gigantic room with high ceilings, the walls lined by shelves crammed with hundreds of books.

The curtains were pulled open, allowing the morning sun to shine across the room and light it fully.

And there, seated on a couch under the largest window, his feet up and a book in hand, was an elderly gentleman dressed in a smart suit.

His hair was bone white and receding. His nose was long and bent.

His body was round, but his limbs were gangly.

And most noticeably, he was giggling like a schoolgirl at whatever it was that he was reading.

“Mr. Jeffries,” Margaret announced as she approached him. “There ye are.”

He looked up from his book and frowned. “Ah, Your Grace. This is a most unexpected surprise.”

“Nae a bad one, I hope.” She came to a stop before where he was seated. He did not stand to greet her, as he should have done. So, I was right.

“Not at all.” He sighed as he closed his book. “I take it that you have set your sights on exploring the manor? If there is anything I can do –”

“I am glad that you said that,” she cut over him. “Although ye are wrong, regarding my intent. I am nae exploring, even if I may do so later. It is ye who I am here to see.”

“Oh?”

She looked down at him with a raised eyebrow, saying nothing, but instilling herself with a sense of command that she knew would be needed. The silence between them grew until finally Mr. Jeffries realized what was wrong.

Slowly, he stood and then bowed. “And what was it that you are after, Your Grace? How may I be of assistance?”

“I am afraid I have a wee problem,” she began, brow furrowed as if confused. “Ye see, I woke this morning to an empty room – an empty house, it felt like.” She laughed. “A shame, as I was very much hoping to have a bath prepared for myself. Alas, there was nobody there to see it made.”

“Ah, yes, about that –”

“Me wardrobe too,” she spoke over him. “Me luggage has been brough’ to me room but remains unpacked.” Another light chuckle. “How am I to choose an outfit for the day if my clothing remains stuffed in chests?”

“That is a shame, Your Grace, likely it was simply an accid –”

“And when I went to break me fast, would ye believe that there was na food left for me, nor would the kitchen staff prepare me anything.” She did not laugh this time, her tone turning toward reprimand.

“I sent for ye, as I assumed this was all one big mistake, but ye did nae come. I can only assume the maid who I spoke with was unable to find ye…” She looked about the library.

“Hidden away ‘ere, as ye were. I would nae dream that any of this was on purpose.”

Mr. Jeffries sensed the change in tone and mood both. His lip curled, but he straightened it. His eyes flashed annoyance, but he forced a smile. “I assure you, it is nothing more than a simple case of…” He clicked his tongue. “Getting used to a new body in the household. That is all.”

“That is what I thought,” she said, no smile, no sense that she believed him. “I ken that my presence here is unexpected. Perhaps it is even reviled – I will nae waste my time guessing what is being said of me.”

“Your Grace, I can assure that you –”

“What I would hope,” she spoke over him. “Is that I am recognized for who I am. The duke’s wife.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And I would hope that I am to be treated as such.” Then, she smiled. “Is that understood?”