Duke of Havoc by Whitney Blake

Author:Whitney Blake [Blake, Whitney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2019-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

In the days following their expedition to town, Caroline was close to overseeing The Thornlands herself, or as much as someone in her position actually could, at any rate. This, of course, did not sit well with the Witch Sisters.

It all started with the growing layer of dirt on the floors.

Caroline had noticed, the more acquainted she became with her new home, that it was often – in a word – filthy. At first, before the Witch Sisters had engaged her in an all-out war, she did not remark upon the slovenly housekeeping. After all, it wasn’t her manor.

Though she, Aunt Lydia, and her father were poor, their house had always been clean. Knowing this, it was hard not to bring the state of things to Mrs. Humphrey’s attention. Originally, Caroline still felt it was not her place to criticize the housekeeper.

As time went on, she did not give a fig about offending either sister.

The mantelpieces were laden with dust. The handrails were, too. The wood flooring was scuffed. The marble floors had no sheen. The curtains were as dusty as the mantels. The chamber pots were ghastly.

Caroline knew the small herd of house servants was not to blame. No, as soon as the duke had disappeared, Mrs. Humphrey was content to laze about, giving no direction to any of the servants who nonetheless valiantly tried to attend to their duties while lacking a reliable overseer. Edgar, whose duty was not to be a housekeeper at all, did his best to keep things in hand. However, he could only accomplish so much.

Exactly thirty days after Caroline had arrived, she and the girls were coming downstairs in anticipation of dinner. The happy trio had been in Caroline’s room – Phoebe and Sophie were helping her compose a letter to her father.

The girls, who had never received letters from anybody, not even the duke, were always eager to read Caroline’s post. They constantly begged to have their words written in her notes. Caroline saw no harm in indulging them.

It is good for them to practice letter writing, and who writes to them? Caroline thought, watching as they trundled down the stairs. Perhaps, she would ask her father if he could write specifically to the girls. It might ease some of his own loneliness.

“Sophie, mind the hem of your dress,” she said. “It was just laundered.” Sophie had been scuffing it along the ground, which was, as it perpetually seemed to be while the duke was gone, dusty.

Phoebe, who had become more outgoing in the last few weeks, trotted ahead of her sister and tutor. The maid had said it was her favorite dinner being served this evening: pottage, vegetables, and soup. As such, she was very keen on arriving to the table before everyone else. Caroline didn’t have the heart to tell her that good manners would dictate she needed to wait to eat until all were served.

Suddenly, Phoebe slipped on the third to last stair.

Struggling not to curse, something she’d

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