Chapter 5
The dining room itself was larger than any room Audrey had had to clean at her aunt and uncle’s inn, and now - by mid-afternoon, she had grown so exhausted from polishing marble statues, wooden paneling and carved maple chairs, along with scrubbing spotless the tiles, she flung herself with a sigh into the tall, plush-velvet dining chair sat at the head of the table, breathing deeply. She had been up since sunrise; Agatha worked her hard, and while the old woman may had had her suspicions, Audrey kept the secret of her kiss shared so passionately with the master of the house completely silent.
She watched cattle graze upon the moors; it seemed every room in the manor gave a breathtaking view of rolling, verdant green hills trailing into the distance, as far as any eye could see. Farmers tended to their cattle, with a small village of stone structures and farmhouses scattered at the edge of the horizon. Resting her head in her hands, Audrey reclined in the chair, listening to distant calls and the chirp of birds along idyllic pastures. She never got to enjoy this sort of thing in the city - in bustling London, alleyways cut across more alleyways and looming pubs, merchant cornerstones and inns stood on every street corner. She hadn’t enjoyed the smell of fresh grass or morning dew since she’d left the family farm, after her mother and father had passed.
“Bryce? Are you in here?” A faintly-familiar voice startled Audrey’s relaxing reverie; she jumped from the chair, stumbling forward, nearly onto her face. She could recognize the haughty crowing - as that of Duchess Francine, the duke’s presumed wife-to-be, eventually. She certainly seemed persistent. “Bryce? You’re not Lord Parris,” the duchess scowled on seeing Audrey struggle for balance, her face beaming with a nervous smile.
“I’m— I’m sorry, m’lady, I’m not certain where—” Audrey bowed her head in deference, the innocent woman blushing. The maid’s lips curled in distaste.
“What are you doing sitting at the dinner table? Hasn’t Agatha got a task to assign you? The help isn’t paid for its lethargy,” Duchess Francine chided, arms crossed tight over her corset-bound chest, a flowing gown of golden gossamer beneath. “Where’s your bucket? You missed a spot. Scrub that floor, there,” she pointed a bony, white-gloved finger towards the corner of the dining room, behind a small statue of a man’s bust. “Why haven’t you gotten to cleaning? Should I call Ana, or Agatha?”
“N-no, m’lady, I apologize,” Audrey sighed, her back already aching from a morning spent hunched over, scrubbing away at the entire dining room. “I’m sorry for the duke’s absence—”
“That’s of no concern to you. Nothing about Bryce is a concern to you, do you understand?” Francine snarled. Back onto her knees, back hunched, her red hair a knotted mess from a morning of sweating and working, Audrey looked like quite disaster as she carefully pulled the bust out of the way, dragging her bucket behind her. Not satisfied with the blushing and nervous young woman’s reply, Francine’s heels clacked loudly as she approached Audrey’s hunched, deferent body.
“He’s-he’s just my employer, is all, m’lady, I promise,” she murmured weakly, dipping her brush into the soapy water.
“That’s all he is,” Francine murmured dangerously. Leaned over the hunched maidservant, her teeth clenched, Francine’s voice squeezed hatefully through to poor, meek Audrey. “I heard about what happened last night. I thought I had made it clear to you maid-harlots that the lord’s business is mine to handle, and none of yours,” she seethed. “I’ll not tolerate any other implications of impropriety. Do you understand?” She threatened.
“L-lady, Lady Francine, please—”
“You will address me only as duchess,” she snarled.
“I— duchess, yes, no-nothing happened! Lord Parris simply requested I help to clean his bedchambers, and...”
“Have I made myself clear? You will not even so much as dream of what Bryce’s bedchambers look like,” Francine growled.”You will not—”
“Is something going on in here? Francine?” Lord Parris entered the dining hall, tie tight to his neck, a fancy-tailored suit with maroon waistcoat clinging tight to his gorgeous, chiseled body. “What are you doing?”
“I was— well, I was simply... getting your servants to do their jobs!” the duchess’s voice wobbled as she stood tall once again. “I entered the dining hall to find this one lazing in the chair! You really ought to give Agatha an earful on this one. Nothing but impetuous and troublesome, as I’ve seen her.” Audrey dutifully scrubbed away at the floorboards, though there was little dirt or grime to clean. She simply hoped to stay out of the duchess’s way.
“Are you the head of my household staff now, then?” the duke asked skeptically. “Last I knew, I had Agatha for that. Not you, Francine.”
“I was... you should appreciate me, you know,” Francine huffed. The duke’s eyes shifted to Audrey, who remained silent, her head down, scrubbing furiously in hopes she wouldn’t be noticed.
“Is this true? Were you loafing, on the job?” the duke’s accusatory tone falls onto Audrey’s stressed shoulders. Her breath picks up and fear throbs down every nerve. “Ms. Fisher?” he asks, expectantly waiting for a response. Audrey finally stopped, quivering as she laid her brush back into the soapy water bucket.
“Y-yes, m’lord, I’m terribly sorry, I... my back, it hurt, after a morning cleaning the dining hall, and I simply decided to take a moment to—”
“See? And you doubted me,” the duchess roared in slithering satisfaction. “At least the little brat hasn’t the gall to lie to you about it. I suppose she deserves recognition for that.”
“Quiet, Francine,” the duke growled sternly. “Go wait outside, in the carriage. I’ll need a word with my maidservant, about her work,” he instructed. Smugly satisfied, the duchess curtsied with so much sarcasm in her expression.
“Remember, we need to be to Northshire before sunset, so do hurry,” Francine’s saccharine voice dripped, before she clacked her way out of the hall. Audrey sat hunched in terrified silence, fearing that after the previous night, she had so deeply offended the duke that her time here at the McClellan estate was surely over. The door shut with a muffled boom, and next she heard his voice, commanding and powerful.
“Stand up, Audrey,” he demanded. She complied, reflexively, as if some powerful force in his tone worked her like the strings of a marionette. She cast her gaze away, not having the courage to look at her employer’s face.
“M’lord, I’m deeply sorry, I had... I just simply wished for a moment’s reprieve from the pain in my back,” she pleaded weakly.
“You haven’t looked at my face today. Not last night, in my bedchamber. Not until we kissed, Ms. Fisher,” he spoke firmly. “Look at me.” She hesitated.
“M... m’lord, I didn’t mean to offend... last night, please, don’t hold it against me,” she insisted.
“Look at me,” he demanded again, firm; powerful. Again, she felt compelled to listen, her eyes locking on to his. She expected to see distaste; to see
hate. Instead, she met eyes full of that same emotion she had seen last night - in his bedchamber. It’s as if their embrace had never truly ended. “I expect a certain amount of control over my household, Ms. Fisher,” he said, approaching her slowly. His voice carried authority, but with it came a sizzling sense of lust, and just like that Audrey felt all those same wants, burning in her heart - the ones she had shut down so thoroughly the night before. They burned again and she struggled, trying to keep them suppressed as her lip trembled softly.
“M... M’lord, I don’t... I’m sorry, I’ll behave, I’ve done wh... what Agatha...” her words trailed away the closer he came, until she couldn’t even breathe without a little mewling moan of want in each tremble of her lungs.