Page 105 of The Dueling Duchess

Guy choked on his stew. “You found a woman who could fill both positions?” he asked once he could speak, not bothering to hide his disbelief.

Cecile gave him a haughty look. “What? You think women cannot possess more than one skill, Mr. Darlington?”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I’m not so ignorant as to think such a thing, Mistress Tremblay. And I’d be criminally stupid to admit it out loud if I did think it,” he added under his breath, earning a glare from his employer. “So, who is this paragon?”

“Her name is Miss Helen Keeble.”

“Keeble? That’s an odd name,” he said, resuming his meal.

“Says the man whose last name is Darlington.”

Guy ignored her dig. “So, when does Miss Keeble start?”

“She is moving into the corner room tonight. In fact, you will be clearing out the room after you finish eating.”

“Yes, mistress.”

She cocked her head at him. “You might think that is sarcasm, but your quick, respectful obedience is pleasing to me and demonstrates that you are finally learning your place.”

Guy laughed. “You just keep right on thinking that, sweetheart.” He stood and fetched a glass, then gestured to the bottle of wine on the table.

Cecile nodded. “Yes, please.”

“When do I have to start lessons?” Cat asked, her mulish expression telling Guy that at least one person in the room wasn’t happy at the news.

Guy handed Cecile her wine and she nodded her thanks. “You will have to ask Miss Keeble since she is in charge of all that.”

“Where is she from? What is her background?” Guy asked.

“Her mother was a governess and her father is a vicar in some tiny village—I forget the name. She went to a school for young ladies, whose name I’ve also forgotten, but she said it is quite a fine establishment. I think it was—”

Blade and Angus appeared in the doorway and Guy stood.

“Please, sit,” Blade murmured to Guy, her pale eyes drifting to the pot of stew.

“Have a seat and eat,” Cecile said, pushing out the chair beside her.

“Oh.” Blade glanced around the room in the dreamy way she had, her gaze flickering over Guy and Cat to settle on George, who was bristling, staring at Angus, and growling.

“Maybe some other time,” she finally said.

Cecile heaved a sigh, grabbed Blade’s hand, and yanked her down into the chair beside her. “Another bowl, please, Cook. George, you—” Cecile issued a rapid stream of French words too quickly for Guy to follow.

The dog must have comprehended, because he sat back down on his haunches and shut his mouth. But his gaze remained fixed on the raven.

“Wine?” Guy offered.

When Blade hesitated Cecile answered for her. “Yes.”

He busied himself fetching another glass.

“Did you hear about your former fiancée?” Blade asked.

Guy paused in the act of pouring the wine. “Do you mean me?”

Blade turned to Cecile and asked her, with no apparent sarcasm, “Were you ever betrothed?”

“She means you, Guy,” Cecile said flatly.