The Inconvenient Duchess

no insult.’
    So her husband had left the marriage bed still cold and gone to London to be with his… She very deliberately buttered another slice of toast and bit into the corner, chewing as it turned to sawdust in her mouth. And there was no reason that it need bother her in the least. She had expected something of the sort. And this was neither a love match, nor she some giddy girl. ‘It is all right, St John. Thank you. You are right. It is better to know how things stand.’
    He sighed in obvious relief. ‘Good. I am glad you are taking this so well. And remember, as I offered before, if you need a strong arm to support you, and my brother is nowhere to be found, you can always call on me.’
    ‘Thank you.’ She smiled wanly back at him.
    ‘And now, my dear, I must be off. To see about the responsibilities you would have me attend to.’ He sighed. ‘To appear as idle as I do requires a surprising amount of effort. May I have the honour of joining you at supper this evening?’
    ‘Of course.’ As she watched him go, it occurred to her, if he was to join her for dinner, it meant that there must be a meal. Which required menus, shopping, and co-ordination of the staff. Perhaps the duke had managed to subsist on weak tea and stew, but surely there must be something else in the kitchen.
    She was in charge here. At least until the duke came and relieved her. And if she was in charge, there were going to have to be some changes.
    She stiffened her spine as she walked down the last of the steps to the servants’ hall and the kitchen where she had been the night before. The remains of breakfast were congealing in plates on the table. That they had not been cleared bespoke a slovenliness she wouldn’t have believed possible.
    When she examined the contents of the plates, the situation grew worse still. The crusts of bread were soft and light. Jam. Porridge in bowls. A single rasher of bacon still sat on the edge of one plate.
    She remembered her runny eggs and the inedible kipper and fought down an urge to scoop up the remains on the table before her and sneak them back to her room for later. As she stood there, a door at the far end of the room opened and awoman entered. She was short, stout and sour faced, and fixed Miranda with a glare. ‘Who might you be and what are you doing below stairs?’
    Miranda drew herself up to her full height and smiled. ‘I am the lady of the house. And who, exactly, are you?’
    ‘There ain’t a lady of the house. Least not since the dowager, her Grace, died.’
    ‘There is since yesterday, when his Grace and I were married. Mrs…?’
    ‘His Grace didn’t say nothing to me about it.’
    ‘As I understand it, you were out, and the servants had no idea how to contact you. Mrs…?’
    ‘His Grace didn’t say nothing about getting married,’ she argued.
    A kitchen maid crept in to stand quietly in the corner, drawn by the housekeeper’s raised voice.
    ‘It was a bit of a shock to him as well. Perhaps he neglected to inform you. But surely Wilkins…’
    ‘That old drunk ain’t allowed to get within ten feet of me or I’ll—’
    Clearly the woman was used to having her way with the running of the house. Miranda took a firmer tone and a half-step forward. ‘His Grace didn’t have to say anything to you, Mrs…?’
    She paused again and the woman reluctantly supplied, ‘Clopton.’
    ‘Mrs Clopton. You knew I was here, since you must have sent breakfast up to me earlier.’ She decided against mentioning the quality of the food. It could wait until she’d mollified the housekeeper.
    ‘I don’t pay no attention to what ladies they keeps upstairs. It’s no never mind to me.’
    ‘But it should be, Mrs Clopton. You are, after all, the housekeeper, are you not?’
    ‘I am in charge here,’ the lady informed her.
    Miranda waved a hand in the direction of the house, and glanced around the room, noting the growing cluster of servants gathering to witness the dispute. Whatever was to come of this, it would be known all over the house by the end of the morning and she could not afford to lose. ‘If you are responsible for what I have seen in this house, you had best not brag of it. It is no point of pride.’ She pointed down at the staff dining table. ‘I see evidence that someone in the house is sustaining themselves in comfort, but that is not the case above stairs.’
    ‘An’ I suppose you’ll be expecting the staff to work like dogs without a full