"You read and write," he said. It was not a question; he had seen the neat hand in which the housekeeper said she kept the linen accounts.
"I do, sir."
"And figures? You can keep a column of sums?"
"Well enough."
Arthur made his decision. "Then from tomorrow, you will leave the kitchens. You will serve as my personal assistant in the management of this estate: my correspondence, my ledgers, my appointments. You will answer to me alone."
Clara stared at him, and for the first time, the careful curtain slipped. "Your Grace... that is not a post for a maid."
"It is the post I am offering you."
"The household will talk. The Duchess—"
"The household is mine to order," he said. "Be in this study at eight."
She searched his face, plainly trying to find the trap in it. She could not. At last, she sank into a low curtsy. "As you wish, Your Grace."
She went, leaving him alone with the dying fire and a great many questions.