Tabby inhaled a slow breath. It was all so elegant… so stately. But then, what had she expected? Hartland Abbey was home to a duke after all. Of course, it would be elegant and stately and all together imposing. Certainly in the eyes of a village girl, which Tabby was.
She did not belong here. What if the duchess saw her boldness as an insult and refused to see her? What if the butler didn’t even allow her through the front door? Tabby would starve, or worse. She shook her head. Now was not the time to think about the worse. She needed to be positive and present her best self.
God willing, it would be enough.
Tabetha paused at the porch, her heart racing. Two stone staircases led up to the landing, one jutting off in each direction to meet the drive. Large stone urns of flowers decorated the balustrades. The place was fit for royalty, to be sure. Tabby sighed.
Heaven knew she did not belong here. Perhaps she should turn back now before it was too late. Before she made a complete cake of herself.
When you take away the money and titles, we are all the same. Remember your place, but never think of yourself as less. Mother’s words floated through her mind, and Tabby lifted her chin. She could do this.
She must, for she had no other choice.
Tabby took a hesitant step, then another, and another until she reached the porch landing. Drawing in one last breath, she reached for the ornate brass door knocker. When the oak door opened, she exhaled.
A footman dressed in golden colored breeches and a navy tailcoat appraised her, then stepped aside, allowing her entrance.
Tabby curtsied, then turned her attention from the arresting footman to the sever looking butler. An older man with warm hazel eyes that betrayed his serious expression.
Tabby swallowed past the nervous lump in her throat. “I have come to call on the Duchess of Devon.” She averted her gaze to the double doors at the far end of the entrance hall. A mistake, for the imposing sight of them, set her nerves on edge all over again.
“Your name, if you please.” The butler narrowed his eyes, studying Tabby.
“Miss Tabetha Barkley.” Her heart raced as the seconds ticked by. If he refused her, she would have nowhere else to turn.
At last, the butler turned back to the footman. “Show Miss Barkley to the drawing-room while I see if the duchess is home to callers.”
The footman nodded, then turned to Tabby. “This way, Miss.”
Her heart fluttered in the oddest way when their gazes meet. The man was strikingly handsome with sandy brown hair and deep green eyes. She could not help but notice his height and muscular build as she followed him across the marble floor of the entrance hall.
She’d wager he caused quite a stir among the women of the house. How could he not, being as handsome as he was?
The doors opened, and she followed him through into the main house. More opulence greeted her as they traversed a carpeted hall. The walls were the same dark blue of the footman’s tailcoat and white and gold gilded trim, and moldings added an elegant feel.
She glanced out one of the many large windows they passed to the expanse of green lawn surrounding the mansion. Tabby could not help but think how marvelous it must be to live in such a grand house.
The cottage she had shared with her mother would not even fill the entrance hall, and their shabby furniture could never compare to the padded high-back gold and blue velvet chairs she now strolled past.
The footman stopped at the door, opened it, and stepped aside. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Barkley.”
Tabby strolled past him and into the room, then pivoted back. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled.
She smiled back, her heart somersaulting. The man was too good looking by far. Before she could say anything else, he closed the door, leaving her alone. Tabby turned, her breath catching at the opulence surrounding her.
There was no doubt in Tabby’s mind that she did not belong here. Still, she had no choice other than to stay her course. She inhaled a slow breath, then blew it out slowly as she willed her nerves to calm.
Gaining entrance had been her first hurdle. She had doubted her ability to do so, and yet, here she stood. The duchess would receive her. Her Grace would help her. Tabby had to believe the duchess would. Mother had assured her the Devon’s were the caring sort.
She trailed her gaze around the room, looking for a good place to wait. A pale green fainting couch near a tall window framed in white and pale green velvet caught her attention. Tabby strolled across the plush white carpeting, then sat on the brocade couch.
As she waited for the duchess, she took in the rest of the room from the marble fireplace to the vases of fragrant flowers strewn about on the mahogany tables, white columns, and mantle. If not for her station in life, Tabby would be comfortable in such a room.
Perhaps she was too comfortable now. Maybe she should not be sitting on the duchess’s beautiful furniture. Her walk had left her dress dusty, and Tabby would hate to offend the duchess or cause more work for her maids.
She stood and smoothed her skirts, then turned to the sofa to dust the cushion she’d been sitting on. No dirt clung to it, but Tabby still felt the need to brush her hand across the cream and pale green fabric.
Satisfied with the results, she straightened, then turned toward the door just as it swung open. Her heartbeat ticked up as she dropped into a deep curtsey. The duchess was regal beyond Tabby’s imaginings.
She seemed to
