The Duchess Hunt Read Free Page A

himself
properly.” The duchess turned on her son. “Really, darling, must you always
ignore the fact that you’re the duke now? It has been almost three years.”
    “We didn’t exactly have a proper
introduction. Trust me, Mother,” he added dryly, “whenever I am involved in a
proper introduction, the title is
never
forgotten.”
    The duchess stared at her son for a
moment, then smiled. “Of course it is not.” She held her free hand out to
Sarah. “Now, come, child, and sit down. Your leg is still bleeding. It must
pain you to stand upon it.”
    Sarah glanced at the pristine silk sofa that
the duchess was gesturing to and shook her head. It was so beautiful, the
deepest color of purple she had ever seen, and shining in the sunlight
streaming in from the window. “Oh, no, ma’am. I can’t. I’m too dirty.”
    “If I was afraid of a bit of dirt and
blood, I’d have never been able to countenance raising one child. But I am
raising six, and I assure you, you are
not
too dirty to sit upon my sofa.”
    Simon gave her an encouraging look. “I
think you should sit.”
    So she took the duchess’s hand and allowed
the great lady to guide her to the sofa. Simon helped Sarah to settle on the
sleek silk upholstery before he sat beside her, and the duchess took an elegant
armchair across from them while the toddler wandered toward a pile of shiny
toys in the corner of the room. Sarah studied the duchess. She looked like a
beautiful fairy tale ice queen regally sitting upon her throne. That was, until
she gave Sarah a smile that rivaled her son’s in its kindness. “Do you like
tea, Sarah? I’ll ring for some.”
    “Um…?” She glanced at Simon for guidance.
    He nodded, then winked, making her feel
like she’d just exchanged some communication with him that she hadn’t yet
deciphered, before turning to his mother. “Some warm milk?”
    Sarah looked into her lap, smiling. That
did sound nice.
    “Of course.” The duchess rang a bell, and
a dainty maid came in to take the order for a bit of warm milk from the
kitchen. The maid didn’t even slide a disparaging look toward Sarah, just
hurried to do the duchess’s bidding without comment.
    When the door closed behind her, the duke
and his mother looked at Sarah expectantly, and the absurdity of the situation
washed over her.
    She was lounging in the parlor of a duke.
She’d just been offered tea, and now a duke and a duchess were gazing at her as
if expecting her to begin some sort of important conversation. And here she
sat, torn and bleeding, her legs dangling from the adult-sized sofa, smearing
dirt and blood onto the fine silk.
    Feeling a little desperate for a
completely different kind of saving, Sarah glanced at the door.
    “She’s charming, isn’t she, Simon? And
lovely, too, I imagine, underneath all that grime. The best thing that’s
happened to us all day.” The duchess made a face as if reconsidering. “Well,
aside from those wretched abrasions.”
    Just then, the door opened, and an older
woman with fluffy white hair bustled in. Simon rose to his feet. “Mrs. Hope.
Thank you for coming so quickly.”
    The woman curtsied. “Your Grace.”
    Sarah should have curtsied and said, “Your
Grace,” too, to both the duke and duchess, but it was too late now. She would
have at least risen from the sofa, but the older lady came bustling toward her
brandishing a bottle, and she shrank back against the cushions.
    “Here now, little one, let’s have a look
at all those cuts.” Mrs. Hope crouched in front of the sofa, first taking each
of Sarah’s arms in her gentle hands, then carefully peeling her stocking away
from the worst of the scratches on her knees. “We’ll have to wash them first.
Binnie, hand me a towel.”
    Sarah hadn’t noticed the young,
dark-haired maid who had entered with Mrs. Hope before now. She stood at
attention near the sofa holding a basin and several small white towels, one of
which she handed to Mrs. Hope. Mrs. Hope