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M ary Kate walked toward the kitchen, her thoughts twisting in on one another.

Had Seamus changed his mind? Did he regret asking to court her?

He’d been distant as of late—even before that terrifying day he’d been shot.

Hand to heart, she tried to slow the beat with her will, recalling the terror of that day.

Yes, he had been weak—and lost a lot of blood—even before the physician extracted the lead balls from his back.

The very thought of how that had been accomplished had her heart pounding and hands trembling again. “Calm down! Seamus is fine. He’s recovering—at least according to Michael O’Malley’s latest report.”

The spoken words did nothing to alleviate her worry.

Why hadn’t he sent word to her? If Flaherty was truly courting her, he would want to reassure her, wouldn’t he?

Given the numerous duties his position within the duke’s guard required of him, and the time it took to complete them, their courtship had been a bit unusual.

Lately, she had begun to think that there was something else behind his silence.

She’d heard the other men call him the Duke’s Champion, and wondered how he had earned the moniker.

Flaherty was not the only man in the guard who had been given a name.

The duke’s men at Chattsworth had them, too.

Michael O’Malley was the Duke’s Shield, and James Garahan the Duke’s Hammer.

At Lippincott Manor, Sean O’Malley was the Duke’s Protector, and Dermott O’Malley the Duke’s Mercenary.

Thinking of her first impressions of the men, she realized each name seemed to be part and parcel of the man’s makeup, along with the individual’s specific talent and strong points.

She had overheard bits and pieces about the men and agreed they exuded the confidence and capability their names imbued them with.

Mary Kate needed to find out what had gone wrong between Flaherty and herself.

The fear that the auburn-haired, stubborn giant, with the crooked smile and devastatingly clear blue eyes, knew what she hid from the world terrified her.

Did he agree that she wasn’t worthy of his regard, his attention, or his love?

Her parents were not wealthy, but both Mum and her father worked hard for every penny they earned.

She never doubted that they loved her, whether or not she did as she was told, and helped with the household chores until she was old enough to seek employment.

Had he finally decided to distance himself first, before ending their courtship?

Was it her fear of discovery that had her oblivious to what Garahan’s wife must have felt every time Mary Kate brought up the fact that Garahan had rescued her first?

How blind she had been to Melinda’s feelings—and Garahan’s.

How could that possibly eclipse the fact that Garahan had fallen in love with Melinda?

Did he feel revulsion for her because of her ignorance?

Mary Kate needed to find out, but she also needed to find out why Flaherty was keeping his distance.

Had to understand the reasons behind his words and deeds.

The unasked—and unanswered—questions plagued her.

Was it because of his recent injury? It had been horrific, and one she had not expected him to survive.

She’d had him dead and buried, and been grieving his loss, when Dermott delivered the message that Seamus was asking for her.

She’d never understand the way Flaherty’s mind worked.

He was by turns enamored of her and kissing her senseless at the duke’s town house.

Standoffish whenever she smiled at another man.

After arriving at Grosvenor Square, Mary Kate had learned to smile again, returning to her former sunny disposition.

Flaherty spent most of his time frowning.

Did she want to spend the rest of her life defending herself when closely questioned as to why she smiled at the innkeeper, the vicar, or the new farrier?

Couldn’t he understand it was because of the way she had been accepted and treated as if she mattered by the duke’s staff, after suffering for so long in Lady Kittrick’s kitchen?

Ever since she had been booted unceremoniously out of the woman’s town house, literally landing on her hands and knees on the sidewalk, she had been trying to change her way of thinking.

She’d escaped a difficult situation, and been given a second chance to work in a different environment.

The longer she worked for Lady Calliope, who was a gentle and kind woman, the more she felt as if she had been able to shed the cloak of darkness and depression that had settled upon her as she worked for a member of the ton who had treated her as if she were an object, not a person.

Neither the cook nor their previous mistress had valued Mary Kate’s strong work ethic, the one thing she was raised to believe had the most value—next to being honest and forthright in everything she said and did.

She doubted either of her parents had ever worked for someone like her former employer.

The few years she worked in that difficult situation had changed her to the point where she almost believed hard work and toiling for little or no coin, and receiving harsh words, was her due.

Until the day she’d been unceremoniously ejected from her previous position.

Was it because she’d been berated daily for her pleasant disposition, or mayhap being told to be silent and finish her work?

It had been hard to listen to the complaints.

After toiling to complete her tasks, being told her work was unsatisfactory demeaned her further.

Threats of letting her go without a reference had soon followed.

Those insidious comments and complaints chipped away, eroding her self-worth, until she believed every unkind—and untrue—claim uttered about her, fearing that any day would be her last. But thankfully, she’d been rescued from that dreadful existence.

Thank heavens Lady Calliope and Viscount Chattsworth were the complete opposite of her former mistress.

Luck was on her side the day James Garahan helped her to her feet, promising to help her find another position.

The duke’s kindly cook, Mrs. O’Toole, had tended to her scrapes and bruises before plying her with tea and scones.

Mary Kate would always have a special place in her heart for Garahan’s kindness and willingness to help a complete stranger.

When he had found her crying on her hands and knees on the sidewalk, she had been despondent, wondering how she would find another job without a reference—Lady Kittrick had nearly broken her spirit.

Why couldn’t Flaherty understand it was no more that that?

Mary Kate tried to recall if he had ever asked about how she ended up losing her job, but couldn’t.

And that wasn’t the crux of the matter—it was her smiling and happy because of her position at Chattsworth Manor.

“I refuse to revert to the shadow of a woman I had become working for that horrible woman!”

“Lady Kittrick’s loss is our gain,” a soft voice replied.

Mary Kate spun around with hand to her heart. “Forgive me, Lady Calliope. I thought I was alone.”

“In a house this size, with servants?”

She could not help but echo her mistress’s smile.

“True, there have been additions to the staff as of late. Mrs. Romney seems pleased with the new scullery maids. Mrs. Meadowsweet mentioned the new housemaids hired to keep the upper floors in order have helped alleviate the stiffness in her legs and knees, since she does not have to constantly climb the stairs. The poor woman is so grateful to you for rearranging things so her room and duties are all on the main floor.” Neither woman spoke of the ages of the loyal, long-term Chattsworth servants—especially the oldest of the bunch, Hargrave, the butler, and the irascible MacReady, who had been acting as the viscount’s valet and footman when Mary Kate accompanied Lady Calliope to her new home at the duke’s order.

Fortunately, Rowland, the steward, was years younger than the other servants.

His job required him to constantly view the estate, visiting the viscount’s tenant farmers and keeping track of the crops produced, grain stored, etc.

When Calliope’s husband had all of two pence to rub together, those few servants had remained without pay.

It spoke volumes of the viscount’s character, and explained why he would go to such lengths to try to convince the duke to grant him an endowment.

Things had not worked out quite the way the viscount had planned, though looking at the couple now, one would think there had been a spark from the start.

Lady Calliope linked her arm with Mary Kate’s. “Have I told you recently how very grateful I am that His Grace assigned you as my lady’s maid?”

Mary Kate smiled. “Yes, your ladyship. Just the other day, but you do realize that you have it backward —I am the one who is grateful to be working for you. You have always treated me as if I mattered, and haven’t berated me for inferior work.”

Calliope shook her head. “You do remember that I was once in a similar position. I have never understood why people are cruel to others.” She bit her lip as if to hold back the rest of what she had been about to say.

Mary Kate had heard bits and pieces of what her ladyship had suffered at the hands of her cousin, working in his household when considered a poor relation.

“I have witnessed the good in some, and the meanness of others,” she replied.

“I have not decided if it is because of something in a person’s past that made them act that way, or if it was inherent in their very makeup or ancestry. ”