How to Marry a Duke (A Cinderella Society 2)

Later.

Right now, she had a plot to foil.

Meg marched across the lawn and over the flagstones, stopping at the lilac bush outfitted in a sprigged walking dress with matching bonnet. She looked up the side of the house where the woman had paused, struggling to catch her breath. “You’re going the wrong way,” Meg said.

The woman gasped and nearly slipped, catching herself on the trellis. It creaked alarmingly. She may have been surprised but she was obviously made of sterner stuff than that. She glared down at Meg. “Of course, you’d say that.”

“Why’s that?”

“You want to the duke for yourself.”

“I don’t want to marry the duke,” Meg said plainly. “I have people who rely on me.”

“Then you contradict yourself.”

“I’m not your competition.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Meg sighed. “I’m a servant here, a duke isn’t going to marry me.”

“No servant has a shawl that fine.”

“It was a gift,” Meg said quickly. “From the old duke. He loved the plum tarts I used to make for him,” she added. “I work in the kitchens.”

The woman narrowed one eye, then shimmied down closer to the ground. “Prove it.”

Meg had the silly urge to make sure Dougal wasn’t watching them, wasn’t listening. But it hardly mattered. She was proud of the work she had done. Even if no one else was likely to be.

She held her hands out.

Meg’s hands were covered in marks from embroidery needles, calluses from cleaning the grates when her uncle was feeling vengeful, scratches from digging turnips and mending roofs. They were strong and capable hands, but they weren’t pampered. Most of her nails were broken and then filed too short for fashion. She usually kept them hidden under her gloves so as not to attract too many questions. “Hmph. I believe you,” the woman said. “No lady has hands like that.”

“I’m Meg,” she offered.

“Lady Iphigenia.” Lady Iphigenia was sweating. She would want to believe whatever Meg said now, if only to give her shaking arms a rest. “I have six siblings,” she said defensively. “All sisters.”

“I understand.”

And she did understand, even sympathized. But she wasn’t going to sacrifice Dougal on Iphigenia’s altar. “The duke’s bedroom is not in that wing,” she said instead.

“I’ve taken the house tour three times,” Iphigenia huffed, dropping down to the ground with a stumble.

Meg leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “The housekeeper lies,” she said. “For this very reason. You’re not the first to try to sneak in.”

“I’m not?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. The duke’s bedroom is in the family wing, on the other side of the house. There’s even a small staircase from the terrace to the second story balconies.”

“You’re not helping me out of the goodness of your heart.”

Damn it. Lady Iphigenia was smarter than anticipated. Meg was starting to like her.

“If you marry the duke, I want to be promoted to lady’s maid,” Meg said. It was a reasonable demand. She’d heard the housemaids in her uncle’s house whispering about it often enough. Being a lady’s maid might require equally long hours, but one did not have to scrub floors, and there was a certain cachet to the title. Not to mention gifts of the lady’s old gowns, some of which could be resold for a very pretty penny.

“Done,” Iphigenia said. “My current lady’s maid is dumb as butter anyway.”

“Hurry,” Meg urged. “Sometimes the footmen patrol.”