A Regency Lord's Command: The Disappearing Duchess / The Mysterious Lord Marlowe. Anne Herries

      ‘Oh, yes, I shall,’ Lucinda said. ‘I was just admiring the nursery. I think my husband and his siblings were fortunate children to have such a pleasant room.’

      ‘Yes, it is nice,’ Mrs Mann said. ‘Were you thinking of having it refurbished? I know the last lady of the house thought that Nanny’s room needed some attention.’

      ‘Yes, perhaps I shall,’ Lucinda said. ‘I shall speak to his Grace about it. Thank you, you may go now.’

      ‘I was wondering about some of the rooms in the west wing, my lady. When you have time you might wish to take a look—especially at the attics. In the old days the servants had rooms there, but they were moved to the east wing because the rooms needed repairs. His Grace’s father spoke of having them improved, but it did not happen. Some of the maids are sharing and it would be better if we could use those rooms again.’

      ‘Yes, I understand,’ Lucinda said. ‘I shall look at the rooms this afternoon when I return—if that suits you?’

      ‘Yes, ma’am, whenever you wish.’

      Lucinda waited until the housekeeper left and then reached back into the cupboard. She took out the abacus. It would help Nanny teach Angela her numbers and was only wasted here. No one used these apartments and would not until…The thought of having Justin’s child brought a smile to her face. If that were to happen, she would be very happy—yet deep inside her there was pain because Angela would be shut out of this family. Even if Lucinda made time to visit her once a day—and when Justin returned that might be more difficult—she would always be on the outside, never taking her proper place in her mother’s life.

      Tears stung Lucinda’s eyes as she hid the abacus under her cloak and went downstairs. Giving her daughter sweetmeats and toys was a poor substitute for a proper home and the security she truly needed. It was useless to repine! The child would be waiting. She must hurry or Angela might have a tantrum. She did have a temper; though Nanny did her best to calm her, she was not as young as she’d once been and the child played her up at times.

      ‘I thought she was just being naughty at first,’ Nanny said as they stood by the child’s bed and looked at her flushed face. ‘She cried for you most of last night and this morning she threw her milk at me—but then she became hot and I realised she was not feeling well.’

      ‘Do you think she has a tummy upset?’

      ‘Perhaps. She ate her supper last night, but this morning did not touch her boiled egg. I thought perhaps we should have the doctor—what do you think?’

      Lucinda laid a hand on the child’s brow. ‘I think she has a fever. I shall walk into the village and ask the doctor to call. I shall tell him the child belongs to my cousin and that she died. You are her nanny—that much at least is true.’

      ‘More lies, Lucinda?’

      ‘What else can I do?’ Lucinda asked. ‘I brought some things for her—but she is too ill to want them now. I shall go and fetch the doctor straight away.’

      Leaving the cottage, Lucinda walked very fast down the narrow lane that led to the village. The doctor’s house was at the edge of the green. She went up the path and knocked loudly. A smiling apple-cheeked housekeeper answered the door within a few seconds.

      ‘What is your business, mistress…your Grace?’ The woman looked startled and dipped a hasty curtsy. ‘Forgive me. I did not realise… Please come in, my lady.’

      ‘Is your master at home?’

      ‘Yes, my lady.’

      ‘I would see him at once.’

      ‘Had you sent for him, he would have attended you, my lady.’

      ‘No matter, I am here and my business is urgent. Please take me to your master now.’

      ‘Yes, of course. Please come this way, my lady.’

      Lucinda followed, her heart thudding. She must be very careful in her deportment. Concern for the child of a cousin was acceptable, but she must do nothing to make him suspect that she was Angela’s mother and not merely her second cousin.

      Lucinda was late returning to Avonlea that afternoon. The doctor had taken his time examining Angela and then questioned her severely about the child’s nutrition. She had explained that her cousin had fallen on hard times and that she had known nothing of their poverty until her cousin became ill and subsequently died.

      ‘I was called away unexpectedly to her deathbed,’ she lied. ‘I had some trouble in sorting out her affairs after the funeral and in finding a good woman to look after her child, who still cries for her mother.’

      As Angela had woken and clung to her, weeping and crying, the doctor had seemed to accept her story. He said that her sickness was merely a tummy upset and suggested that perhaps her diet was too rich.

      ‘If she has not eaten well for a long time, too much food may have upset her digestion. You should give her plainer fare and introduce meat and puddings slowly.’

      ‘It may be my fault for giving her sweet biscuits and cakes. I wanted to spoil her,’ Lucinda said. ‘We shall follow your advice, Doctor.’

      ‘She does have a little chill, which may have made her feverish,’ the doctor said. ‘I shall give you a mixture for her—if you can spare the time to return with me to fetch it?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      Lucinda knew that another journey would make her late for her appointment with Mrs Mann, but she had no choice. The look the housekeeper gave her was one of reproach, but she apologised, saying that she had forgot the time.

      ‘Well, I’m sure your Grace may do as you please. However, the matter of the rooms in the west wing is something that you ought to attend, ma’am. It is more usually for the mistress of the house to make a decision on the servants’ welfare.’

      ‘Yes, of course. It may seem to you that I have neglected my duties.’

      ‘It is not for me to tell you what to do, my lady.’

      ‘No, but perhaps I should have consulted with you on menus and things? I prefer to wait until the duke returns so that I may be certain of his preferences.’

      ‘Yes, of course, ma’am. Do you know when his Grace intends to return?’

      ‘In a few days,’ Lucinda said airily. ‘He has business and will be back when he is ready.’

      ‘Yes, ma’am, as you say.’

      ‘Very well, please take me to these attic rooms—and anywhere else that concerns you.’

      ‘His lordship has had much of the house done, my lady, but the attics seem to have escaped his notice.’

      ‘I dare say he was not aware that the maids are overcrowded in the east wing.’

      Lucinda followed the housekeeper up a narrow staircase, which was conveniently hidden behind a door, concealing it from the casual eye. As the west wing was kept for guests they would not notice the door leading to the attics, but it was usual for the servants to come and go by way of a back staircase. It made it easier for them to service the guests’ rooms and reach their own without intruding.

      Looking round the various attic rooms, Lucinda saw what Mrs Mann meant about their needing refurbishment. In some places the ceilings had crumbled and it looked as if the plaster might fall, though two of the rooms needed only some decoration.

      ‘I think it may be necessary to have a repair to the roof here,’ Lucinda said, gazing up at the source of the problem, which was a patch of damp. ‘Clearly that is what caused the leak in three rooms.’

      ‘The roof was repaired last year,’ Mrs Mann told her. ‘It is just the ceilings—and a coat of whitewash, and then some rugs on the floor.’

      ‘Yes, I see. Well, I shall speak to my husband