The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(29)

He frowned.

“My lord?” Hudson asked.

Bran gave his head a shake. “Nothing.” He told his valet about most things, but hadn’t revealed the encounter with Mrs. Shaw. It felt like a secret between the two of them, particularly given her rejection and subsequent behavior. “Please convey my appreciation to Jenkins. This shirt is even better than the last.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear it. I know he’s worked hard to achieve your satisfaction.”

“It’s too bad more of the staff don’t share that sentiment,” Bran muttered.

“Indeed.” Hudson was well aware of the issues surrounding several members of the staff. Aside from Kerr, the upstairs maid, Foster, possessed a rigidity that drove Bran mad, and the cook continued to complain about the changes Bran requested. She also failed to implement his instructions, much to his and Evie’s chagrin.

He kept thinking of Evie’s comments yesterday. “Hudson, I think it’s time to make some changes with the staff.”

Hudson’s eyes widened briefly, but then he exhaled. “For a moment there, I thought you meant me. You don’t mean me, do you?”

“Of course not. What kind of person would I be to drag you from Barbados only to terminate your employment? I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Excellent. Who’s getting dumped?”

“Foster—I don’t care for the way she treats Evie. And the cook, probably. No matter how many times I tell her not to serve Evie turtle soup, she continues to do so.” And any other number of dishes, but that one was the most traumatic.

Hudson shook his head. “Ghastly.”

“And then there’s Kerr.” Bran grimaced. “I’d hoped he would adjust to our routine, but his disdain is palpable, and frankly, he casts a gloom over the household.”

Hudson opened his mouth to respond just as Kerr appeared in the doorway. Bran worried he’d maybe overheard what he’d just said, but it was impossible to tell by looking at him. He wore the same scornful expression that always pinched his face.

“Mrs. Shaw is here,” Kerr said haughtily, stepping aside as she moved past him into the office.

She stopped short at seeing Hudson and blinked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“And this is why I would prefer not to show people to your office,” Kerr announced with a great deal of frost. “As normal people would expect,” he muttered before taking himself off.

Hudson coughed delicately. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Shaw.” He gave Bran a look that said the situation was probably a disaster and then quickly fled. The coward.

Bran’s cravat had never felt tighter. He rotated his neck, turning his head from side to side. “Good afternoon. I don’t, ah, suppose you overheard what we were discussing?” If she had, then Kerr had.

Her gaze was sympathetic. “I’m afraid so.” She sat down in the chair she’d used last time, her reticule in her lap. “But it sounds as if it needed to be said, if not in that fashion, perhaps.”

Bran went behind his desk and flung himself down in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That was not my intent, of course. But yes, it’s overdue. You heard what Evie said yesterday when she compared him to Abbott. I can put up with his obnoxiousness, but when it comes to my daughter, I won’t tolerate that sort of behavior. And if she’s noticing it… Well, it’s time for him to go.”

“You plan to officially dismiss him, then?”

“Yes. Along with Foster. She’s the upstairs maid.”

“I recall her name from the last time I was here. I didn’t like her attitude about Evie’s cut finger.”

It was good to hear that he wasn’t alone in thinking Foster was lacking. Lacking? She was practically insubordinate. Like the cook, who was definitely insubordinate.

“The cook is also a problem.”

“Her dishes aren’t very good?” she asked. “Or is it just that she doesn’t make marzipan with Evie?” She smiled at the last, and he knew she was joking.

“Well, I would like a cook who could do that. I’m afraid your sister has set an expectation I can scarcely achieve, particularly in my current predicament. I can’t even get the cook to make the food I want or in the manner I want it.”

Mrs. Shaw winced. “That isn’t good. You’ve spoken to her?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Then yes, it may be time to let her go as well.” Her gaze turned sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. You’ll be happier in the end, however.”

Of that he was certain. He was also rather certain that this conversation was incredibly easy and comfortable and somewhat banished his feelings of disquiet from yesterday.

He studied her a moment, noting that she’d forgone her typical drab clothing. She’d done the same yesterday. “You look lovely today. That gown is quite fetching.”

Her cheeks colored, and she tipped her head down. “Thank you.” The awkward air from yesterday invaded the room, and he regretted commenting on her appearance.

But she had to know he found her attractive? He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake. She’d also turned down his marriage proposal, so perhaps awkward was the best he could hope for. He considered bringing it up, just to smooth out any discomfort. But then he thought of what she’d told him before she’d run off—that she couldn’t have children. He did want more of them, and if she was barren, she couldn’t be his countess. His disappointment was as strong today as it was at the ball.