Nellie brushed out the Duchess’s long hair, ready to style it into a suitable daytime look, one that would be attractive but also more practical than last night’s intricate styling.
Although her decision to walk away hadn’t just been to avoid him telling her off. She was sure she had seen desire sparking in his dark eyes when he had looked at her and that had set off a whirlwind of responses within her she had been unsure how to deal with. He was certainly a desirable man, if you liked that sort of thing. He wasn’t her type, though, of that she was certain. He was far too authoritative. Just because he was rich, handsome, tall and manly, he thought he was, oh, so special. Not her type at all. She could never be attracted to a man who thought himself so superior.
Not that it mattered. It was also highly unlikely that such a man would really be attracted to her.
In the cool light of day, it was obvious that she had imagined that spark of desire in his eyes. She must have simply misinterpreted his anger. But unfortunately, one thing she hadn’t imagined was her own reaction to his gaze. That had been decidedly unsettling and confusing. When his gaze had moved up and down her body, presumably in disdain, every inch of her skin had come alive. It was as if he was gently caressing her with his eyes. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.
She realised she had come to a halt, her brush poised above the Duchess’s head. She continued brushing, forcing herself to focus on what she was doing and not be distracted by that hoity-toity, stuck-up man. How dare he think that he could tell her off? How dare he think he could treat her like an underling in need of being pulled into line?
Yes, focus on that and not on how he made you feel when he looked at you.
She clipped a line of curls into place, determined to regain that satisfying sense of indignation towards that infuriating man. And she had every right to be indignant. After all, she had done nothing wrong when she walked away from him. He deserved to be put in his place, thinking he could tell her off when she was not even one of his servants. Walking away from him was the right thing to do. Hopefully it would have made him see that he couldn’t push everyone around, just because he had lots of money.
And, what did he expect her to do when he came barging into the kitchen all full of self-righteous indignation? Did he expect her to just stand there like some contrite child and let him tell her off? Well, if he had got his wish, if she had stayed in the kitchen while he told her off, he would have been in for more of a surprise than the one he got when she walked away. If he had tried to give her a dressing down, it would have been unlikely that she would have been able to keep her temper in check. If she had remained in the kitchen and listened to what he had to say, she probably would have made things even worse by giving him the sharp edge of her tongue.
Nellie smiled to herself. Haughty Mr Dominic Lockhart would not have liked that. He would not have liked it one little bit if she had let him know just what she thought of men of his class who thought they could lord it over everyone else.
She used the pointed end of her comb to tease out a few strands of hair, giving a soft appearance around the Duchess’s face. Smiling to herself, she remembered the servants’ reactions to her when she had joined them for breakfast. All conversation had died when she entered the kitchen. They had all looked at her with a sense of amazement and the scullery maid had served her breakfast in such a reverential manner, as if she were a conquering hero returning from battle.
Everyone seemed to be in awe of her. Everyone, that was, except the butler and housekeeper. They had looked down their noses, as if she was something unpleasant the cat had dragged in. But as they had no authority over her there was nothing they could do or say. She could tell they were just itching to give her what for, but they had no choice but to keep any reprimands to themselves.
Nellie inserted the tortoiseshell combs that would keep the Duchess’s hair in place and released a small sigh. The encounter with Mr Lockhart had been disturbing, to say the least, and a reminder of why she was pleased not to be in service any more.
Helping the Duchess dress today would be the last task she would perform before she left this house and returned to London. And it wouldn’t be a minute too soon. She was more than happy to get away from the rigid hierarchy of a country estate and not just the hierarchy between those who lived upstairs and downstairs, but between the servants as well. A hierarchy that put the poor scullery maid at the bottom of the heap, having to be a servant to the servants, as well as spending all day scrubbing pots in a fiercely hot kitchen. It was a life Nellie knew well. It was one she had endured when she had first gone into service. But those days were all now behind her.
She stood back to observe the Duchess’s hair and smiled with satisfaction at a job well done.
‘You’re unusually quiet this morning, Nellie,’ the Duchess said, looking up at Nellie’s
