Dinner was an awkward affair. Lord Caldwell hadn't showed, and it consisted of the Duke seated at the head, the Duchess at the opposite head with Lord Beau seated next to his father on the right.
Belinha curtseyed before leaving to help the Mrs in the backrooms when the Duchess stopped her.
Some maids and kitchen boys sat on the other side of the table, speaking amongst the other. The Duke did not seem to be angry at them for sitting where his family was designated. Perhaps he wasn't so bad?
The servants finished their meals quick before hurrying away and down the hall, only sparing her a glance.
"Sit with us, Louise." At her husband's sceptical gaze, she explained, "She's become a big part of the family ever since you were in that accident."
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable by her mere presence there, and his jaw clenched and unclenched countless times as he chewed—Belinha almost thought he was chewing on rubber with the intensity he gnawed.
"I must help Mrs with—"
"Where are you from?" he thundered.
"I...pardon?" she squeaked.
"Where are you from, child?"
"Alastair—" The Duke was unrelenting in his gaze as he waited patiently for an answer.
"...Rockwell."
"I don't believe you."
Her countenace crumbled and she hoped the colour in her face hadn't drained; could he read through her? Could he see past everything? Was she an open book? Surely she had been hiding everything so well that the Duke couldn't unravel it all in one simple glance.
"Alastair, you've only just gotten better," scolded the Duchess, saving her from humiliation. "Don't exert yourself emotionally or physically like this. I don't want to see you in that situation again."
The Duke melted at this, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry, dearest. You're right. I'm merely surprised she was hired," he said, a low grumble. "Was a background check conducted?" He trailed off at the look the Duchess gave him. "I merely ask, darling. We must be careful during these times."
"I don't recall you ever giving me a background check," she retorted.
"That was different."
"How?"
The Duke set his knife and fork down and levelled his wife with a calm stare. "I was in desperate need of a governess and the opportune with you presented itself. I was in no immediate danger. You and the kids, my love, are my priority. Not knowing who you invited without any obvious investigations into ones history is worrying."
The Duchess' fiery spirit softened at this and she nodded. "I understand your concerns, but Louise isn't like that. She reminded me of me when I came here. The least you could do is make her feel welcome; you taught me that, remember? Everyone employed here is family regardless of colour and social status. You taught me that."
He mumbled something under his breath before giving in to his wife. Belinha nearly laughed at how soft the Duke really was when it came to his wife and her pleas, if the situation wasn't so tense. Or about her. She stood there idly, being spoken about but not allowed to speak.
It reminded her of that insipid auction where everyone gawked as if she was an animal, a piece of meat, that was of no use to them dead or alive.
No, these people are not like that.
"Have I missed any awkward dallyings in conversation?" said Lord Caldwell as he limped into the dining hall. Lord Beau beamed at his presence, gesturing for him to take a seat next to him.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" asked the Duchess with crossed arms.
"Yes, but I was convinced in showing my face," he said, subtly glancing over at Belinha who tore her eyes away. Had she made a mistake in forcing him to join his family?
"And now you're here to listen to mama and papa fighting over whether Miss Price should stay for dinner."
"I did not say she couldn't," the Duke argued to his youngest. "It was of her employment."
"Which he's now okay with," said a satisfied Duchess.
"Yes, because you always manage to get your way."
"No, because you love me."
Belinha exchanged furtive glances with the two sons who all held the same expression. A maid came by and poured Lord Caldwell a glass of sherry and he didn't waste a second in downing it.
"Richard," scolded the Duchess. "You haven't even eaten anything yet."
"This is to prepare my stomach for what's to come."
"The food's not that bad."
"Didn't you gag the previous time oysters were offered, mother?"
"T-that's different!"
Silverware echoing against porcelain plates reverberated in the long room. The topic turned to discussing meetings and estate dealings, which Lord Caldwell didn't bother speaking up on himself.
"I must tend to it myself," the Duke mumbled. "It has been caught in dust, I presume."
"Richard, my dear," the Duchess jumped in, "has dealt with it all. He took care of your matters as well as his. Isn't that lovely?"
Belinha stood with her back pressed hard against the wall, observing the Duke. He was taken aback, she could tell by the way he slowed in cutting the pigeon, his index fingers tapping the metal utensil.
"Oh," he said awkwardly. "That's...yes, that is quite admirable. Thank you, son."
Lord Beau shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable by the palpable awkwardness.
"I'm simply glad I can now focus on my own side of business," said Richard, ignoring the compliment and taking a hefty swig of another glass of wine.
Maybe standing here to be on guard with the family was a bad idea. For once, she cursed the Duchess in her head. She could have had an engaging, tenseless meal with Angelica, Ginger and the others and it would have been a satisfying ordeal.
Here, having to bear witness to family drama, she felt choked as she always did back with Sir Pablo.
When dinner was finally over, her mind raced to get away. She helped the Duchess with her night clothes, securing them tight by the ties she couldn't reach.
"I suppose you were the one that encouraged Richard to join dinner," she said absentmindedly. Belinha paused in reaching for the brush. That minute hesitation must have confirmed it because the Duchess hummed.
Belinha tried to distract her by running her fingers through thick, long black hair. "Your hair is so beautiful," she gushed.
"I'm not stupid, Louise. You're changing the subject."
"Not at all!" Thank the Lord she wasn't of colour. "I was truly admiring your hair."
"Uh huh. I already know it was you." The Duchess turned slightly, forcing Belinha to stop. "I'm grateful for what you did. You don't need to feel bad."
The palpitations in her heart subsided, and the heat in her face slowly cooled down. So the mistress wasn't mad! Belinha nearly let out a loud sigh of relief but reined it in.
"I...see," she whispered. "It was all Lord Caldwell's choice, my lady. I only advised him."
"Must have been some advice if my bull-headed son actually listened!"
She didn't think of it like that. Her spine straightened and she raised her chin, feeling a surge of power and warmth through her right down to her toes that she had never felt before. A sense of pride for herself and seeing the way this woman of authority sparkled in gratitude at her.
Once she was bid good night, Belinha raced to the library to hide herself away.
She leaned against the large wooden door and let out the loud, relieved sigh she wanted to, tension squeezing out of every muscle in her body. She went over to the wall that was entirely covered in books and fingered the spine of a thick, leather-bound book.
Belinha's mind, however, was on something else. Now how could she get on the Duke's good side when it was clear that he didn't see any redeeming quality in her? He only accepted her for now because of his wife, but sooner or later, he would try to find cause to fire her. She didn't blame him; his first priority would be his family and anyone, especially after an accident like the one he was in, would be suspicious.
She sighed, the sound ghost-like in the high-ceiling room.
"Why the gloom, Miss Price?" said a very familiar man from behind. She spun around, meeting Lord Caldwell's limping figure near the door. She hadn't realised it had opened and she was open to scrutiny.
"You aren't supposed to get out of bed, my lord!"
"Yet I received no such qualms during dinner."
"Dinner is a family affair, it was only right for you to join."
"I recall a certain lady-in-waiting persuading me to get out of bed in that instance," he said with a smug grin. "Now it seems you are persuading me to get into bed. I don't suppose you know what you want me to do, Miss Price."
"I'm simply looking out for your foot," she countered. "If you don't give it the rest it needs, the swelling won't ever come down."
"It will subside in time. I cannot be restrained to the bed until life passes me by."
Dramatic, she thought with a hidden snicker. "You will only make the swelling worse by putting so much pressure on it, my lord."
"O Miss Distraught Price, you worry too much. It's not a broken foot, merely bruised. It has been tended to long enough."
A slight scratch on the door made Lord Caldwell move away and the both of them silence with bated breath. Lord Beau popped his dark head in, green clashing with blue and dark brown.
"I thought I heard whispering!" He clicked his tongue. "Don't look so afraid, Miss Price. Since you have been...helpful, and you did not tell anyone about my confession to Lady Harriet, I will not mention this late night session."
"You make it sound as if we're shirking propriety and the like," said Lord Caldwell.
"Who would the people believe, you or me?"
"Cheaky chit."
Lord Beau chuckled before shutting the door behind him. Belinha covered her mouth, stomach flopping over the other; she had her reservations about the youngest brother but apparently she had gotten on his good side somehow.
"I quite like him," she declared.
"Yes, well, that is because you don't live with the boy." Lord Caldwell came over taking slow, heavy steps before dropping into the gold bergere chair opposite her. "You should not worry about father."
"The Duke?"
"Anyone with eyes in his head are aware that you are fearful of him. He's like that with everyone, I should know."
They sat in silence as she thought about what she could do to quicken the process of the Duke's trust with her. "Do you think I should cook him something like I did for you?"
"Win him over with food, you say?"
"Like...apple pie!"
The exclamation made him eye her as if she had two heads, one elbow resting on the armrest. "Good luck," he said a second later. "I shall offer you my moral support regardless."
"What do you mean? Is it that bad of an idea?"
"In the case of reality, Miss Price, I'm forced to say yes. Perhaps in a gothic novel it could work."
She guessed he had a point; it seemed like something characters in a romance novel would do to win someone over, rather than expel the very real suspicisions of a new employee in a Duke's home.
"I would like the Duke to feel safe with me around him and his wife," she said. "I understand how he feels about me but...but I do care about the family."
Lord Caldwell's features softened ever so slowly and his shoulders caved in slightly. "Perhaps I could indulge in his schedule for the week and you could be there by happenstance to assist?"
She perked up at this idea, leaning forward in eagerness. "What do you mean, my lord?"
"If you help with polishing his shoes and placing them near his door, setting up his paperwork—and goodness knows how much that irks him—serving coffee in the morning and around six before he retires for a nap. That, Miss Price, may help you in your quest of winning my father's approval."
Belinha thought of this. It would be a chore to try and appease him, but he was an authoritative figure with a lot of power. What if she needed his help against Sir Pablo? She had been told that the Duke was a friendly man, one that did not discriminate so if worst came to, she could count on him...right? Or at least, she needed to give him reason to.
Over the next couple of days, that was what she did. She spent time with the Duchess in the gardens, speaking about the upcoming high tea affairs, but never failed to miss the Duke's schedule.
The moment the door opened to his room, she was there with a silver tray with coffee and some self-made pastries. The first time, he stiffened before brushing past her; the Duchess gave her an encouraging smile.
"Keep at it," she whispered, following her husband. That gave her the push she needed to see it through. She gave herself a week; if it didn't work, she would give up.
He made sure to avoid the coffees and scones she made the following day so as she ambled around the garden, Lord Caldwell, in his retreat of a meeting with his friends, had said, "Did you forget about all the other tasks?"
She lit up. That was right! The polishing of shoes and the paperwork! She had been so focused on making food for him and utilising her culinary talents that she had forgotten about that.
That afternoon she knocked on the door, offered to help him with his paperwork and cleaned his desk before he even asked. At first the irrititation at her presence was evident, veins bulging in the side of his head.
"You are a lady in waiting for my wife," he grumbled, "not the maid."
"Ah, but the Duchess has relieved me of my duties today so I am here to help you, Your Grace."
He grumbled some more but flicked his wrist in the air. He leaned back into his chair and watched her as she made sure to dust the shelves and clean the floor, all without a peep. The continuous, rigorous movements made her arms ache all the way to the back of her neck but it was worth it when she witnessed the cords in his neck now now where to be found.
In fact, he had relaxed in her silent presence so much that he focused back onto the papers he was sifting to before she had arrived.
Soon, they had a partnership; he would read letters and hand it to her, she would put them in a pile depending on certain matters and urgency.
The next day, the Duchess handed her the shoes, from his array of different ones, so she could polish them, the ones scratched and muddy from the accident now clean and as new as he had gotten them made.
"I think he's starting to ease up on you a little," the older woman whispered. "He barely complains about you now."
That was a start. With giddiness pushing her forward in her endeavours, she placed the shoes right out his door and knocked. "Your shoes are ready for you, Your Grace."
A grunt escaped before it opened. He eyed her, then bent his head to see what she was gesturing to. He begrudgingly took them inside.
She was about to leave when he stopped her. "Miss...Price was it?"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"You're not as bad as I initially deemed you to be. I shouldn't have doubted the decision as you were chosen by my wife, after all."
A backhanded compliment. Really it was Lord Caldwell that had chosen her but she knew that was his way of being grateful. Belinha internally screamed Yes! as she cursteyed.
Lord Caldwell leaned against the stairwell, chuckling at what his father had said. "With the results, a wound to my ego is a sacrifice I'm willing to make."