The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(80)

Not that Daphne was terribly worried about getting along with Mrs. Colson. She had met the housekeeper briefly when Simon had introduced her to the staff, and it had been quickly apparent that she was a friendly, talkative sort.

She stopped by Mrs. Colson's office—a tiny little room just off the kitchen—a bit before teatime. The housekeeper, a handsome woman in her fifties, was bent over her small desk, working on the week's menus.

Daphne gave the open door a knock. "Mrs. Colson?"

The housekeeper looked up and immediately stood. "Your grace," she said, bobbing into a small curtsy. "You should have called for me."

Daphne smiled awkwardly, still unused to her elevation from the ranks of mere misses. "I was already up and about," she said, explaining her unorthodox appearance in the servants' domain.

"But if you have a moment, Mrs. Colson, I was hoping we might get to know one another better, since you have lived here for many years, and I hope to do so for many to come."

Mrs. Colson smiled at Daphne's warm tone. "Of course, your grace. Was there anything in particular about which you cared to inquire?"





"Not at all. But I still have much to learn about Clyvedon if I am to manage it properly. Perhaps we could take tea in the yellow room? I do so enjoy the decor. It's so warm and sunny. I had been hoping to make that my personal parlor."

Mrs. Colson gave her an odd look. "The last duchess felt the same way."

"Oh," Daphne replied, not certain whether that ought to make her feel uncomfortable.

"I've given special care to that room over the years," Mrs. Colson continued. "It does get quite a bit of sun, being on the south side. I had all of the furniture reupholstered three years ago." Her chin rose in a slightly proud manner. "Went all the way to London to get the same fabric."

"I see," Daphne replied, leading the way out of the office. "The late duke must have loved his wife very much, to order such a painstaking conservation of her favorite room."

Mrs. Colson didn't quite meet her eyes. "It was my decision," she said quietly. "The duke always gave me a certain budget for the upkeep of the house. I thought it the most fitting use of the money."

Daphne waited while the housekeeper summoned a maid and gave her instructions for the tea.

"It's a lovely room," she announced once they had exited the kitchen, "and although the current duke never had the opportunity to know his mother, I'm sure he'll be quite touched that you have seen fit to preserve her favorite room."

"It was the least I could do," Mrs. Colson said as they strolled across the hall. "I have not always served the Basset family, after all."

"Oh?" Daphne asked curiously. Upper servants were notoriously loyal, often serving a single family for generations.

"Yes, I was the duchess's personal maid." Mrs. Colson waited outside the doorway of the yellow room to allow Daphne to precede her. "And before that her companion. My mother was her nurse. Her grace's family was kind enough to allow me to share her lessons."

"You must have been quite close," Daphne murmured.

Mrs. Colson nodded. "After she died I occupied a number of different positions here at Clyvedon until I finally became housekeeper."

"I see." Daphne smiled at her and then took a seat on the sofa. "Please sit," she said, motioning to the chair across from her.

Mrs. Colson seemed hesitant with such familiarity, but eventually sat. "It broke my heart when she died," she said. She gave Daphne a slightly apprehensive look. "I hope you don't mind my telling you so."





"Of course not," Daphne said quickly. She was ravenously curious about Simon's childhood. He said so little, and yet she sensed that it all meant so much. "Please, tell me more. I would love to hear about her."

Mrs. Colson's eyes grew misty. "She was the kindest, gentlest soul this earth has ever known.

She and the duke—well, it wasn't a love match, but they got on well enough. They were friends in their own way." She looked up. "They were both very much aware of their duties as duke and duchess. Took their responsibilities quite seriously."

Daphne nodded understandingly.

"She was so determined to give him a son. She kept trying even after the doctors all told her she mustn't. She used to cry in my arms every month when her courses came."

Daphne nodded again, hoping the motion would hide her suddenly strained expression. It was difficult to listen to stories about not being able to have children. But she supposed she was going to have to get used to it. It was going to be even more strenuous to answer questions about it.

And there would be questions. Painfully tactful and hideously pitying questions.

But Mrs. Colson thankfully didn't notice Daphne's distress. She sniffled as she continued her story. "She was always saying things like how was she to be a proper duchess if she couldn't give him a son. It broke my heart. Every month it broke my heart."

Daphne wondered if her own heart would shatter every month. Probably not. She, at least, knew for a fact that she wouldn't have children. Simon's mother had her hopes crushed every four weeks.

"And of course," the housekeeper continued, "everyone talked as if it were her fault there was no baby. How could they know that, I ask you? It's not always the woman who is barren.