Right Number, Wrong Girl

I wasn’t even sure I had the energy to get in my car and leave Cavendish House. It was past ten o’clock and I’d spent the entire afternoon double-checking with all the service providers that the information they had was correct. I’d even had to reiterate to them all that unless the information came from my email address, it was incorrect.

And to tell me if they got any emails or calls stating otherwise.

I’d spoken to more people in one afternoon today than I usually did in a week.

I’d started my day by asking myself how Camilla did this, and I knew.

She didn’t have a Nancy to contend with.

I was such an easy target for someone like Nancy. She had a vindictive streak and clear ambitions to ultimately become the only person the duchess relied on for anything, and the fact I’d walked in here and not known what I was doing meant her job was too easy.

As far as she was concerned, I was easy to break.

She hadn’t counted on me being a bit of a pain in the arse. As unorganised as I was, the help I’d gotten from Hugo and Henry had meant I’d been able to form some kind of a system.

The system had now reached chaos level, and this was where I was most comfortable.

Chaos was where I thrived.

I was walking chaos most of the time.

Unfortunately for today, chaos was now tired.

“What on Earth are you still doing here?”

I looked up at the duke’s voice. “Oh. Lord Devon. I’m sorry.”

He held up his hands, shaking his head. “I thought you’d left hours ago. My dear girl, have you had anything to eat this evening?” He walked into the room. “You look exhausted.”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “One of the plans was wrong and I had to handle it today,” I half-lied. “I got finished about ten minutes ago.”

“Goodness me. That’s a no, then. Let’s get you some food.”

“I’m okay, really. I think I’m going to drive home and go to bed.”

He looked at me with that kind of fatherly worry. “You do not look as though you’re in a fit state to drive yourself anywhere.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong. Especially not on these dark, winding, still unfamiliar country lanes.

“If there’s nobody else, I’ll take you back to Bluebell Cottage myself.” He tucked his book against his body. “Wait here.”

I nodded tiredly, and as soon as he was gone again, I dropped my head onto my arms and sighed. The few minutes of silence that followed were wonderful, and familiar approaching footsteps made me look in the direction of the door.

Hugo stood there with a small smile playing on his lips. He was wearing checked pyjama bottoms and a black hooded jumper, and he leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. “Why are you still here?”

I motioned to all my crap over the table. “Had to fix the mess.”

“Sophie, it’s past ten. You were supposed to leave at six.”

“Had to fix the mess,” I muttered again. “Make sure nothing else was wrong.”

“There’s a spare room here. Do you want to stay here and run home in the morning?”

I shook my head.

“Right. Let’s clear this up and get you out of here.” He walked into the room and looked at my mess. “That really is a mess.”

“Mhmm,” I mumbled. “Everything else was right, though. Just the floorplans. Warned everyone.”