"Then I shall leave you to get settled. If you require anything, your valet may ring the kitchen."
Jane pivoted sharply on her heel. She did not wait for his dismissal. She walked back into the cavernous hallway of the manor, her spine rigid, her footsteps echoing sharply against the stone floor. She ignored the confused, terrified whispers of Mrs. Gable and Sarah as they hurried past her to assist the Duke's invading army of liveried footmen. She walked straight to the estate office, went inside, and locked the heavy oak door behind her.
Alone in the dim, dust-moted room, Jane leaned back against the wood. Her lungs burned. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples.
Parasite. I would gladly pour this boiling tea straight into his lap.
She had said that to his face. She had insulted him, ordered him around, shared her meager, smuggled tea with him. He had listened to her complain about the estate's ruin, all while holding the deed in his own pocket. Why? Why the deception?
She pushed off the door and moved to the massive, scarred mahogany desk. The ledgers lay open, pages filled with her cramped, frantic handwriting detailing debts they could never pay. He had played a cruel game, and she had been the unwitting entertainment. She felt violated. The quiet camaraderie they had shared in the mornings, the unspoken understanding, it was all manufactured.
A sharp knock rapped against the door. Jane jumped.
"Miss Fielding." The low commanding voice vibrated through the heavy wood.
Jane gripped the edge of the desk. "The office is currently locked, your grace. I am compiling the inventory you requested for your agents."
"Open the door, Jane."
The use of her given name, spoken in that familiar, rough cadence, felt like a physical blow.
"It is highly inappropriate for the Duke of Penrith to address the housekeeper by her first name," she called back, her voice tight. "I will present the ledgers to you in the morning."
Silence fell on the other side of the door. For a long moment, she thought he had left. Then the heavy brass doorknob rattled violently.
"I have the master key, Miss Fielding," Thomas said. The aristocratic polish had cracked, revealing the hard, unyielding tone of the man she had argued with in the stables. "You can open it, or I will, but we are going to speak."
Jane gritted her teeth. She marched to the door and turned the iron key, throwing the door open. Thomas stepped inside, filling the small space instantly. He closed the door behind him with a firm, decisive click. He had shed the velvet greatcoat, but he still wore the charcoal waistcoat and crisp shirt. He looked dangerous, entirely out of place among the dust and peeling wallpaper.
"Do not ever lock a door on me in my own house," he said quietly.
Jane crossed her arms, tilting her chin up to meet his glare. "Your house. Of course, forgive me. I forgot my place. I was under the impression I was dealing with a laborer who respected personal boundaries, not a duke who dictates them."
Thomas sighed, running a hand through his immaculately styled hair, ruining the perfect sweep of it. Suddenly, he looked a little more like Tom. "Jane, stop."
"Stop what, your grace?" she snapped, the anger finally spilling over. "Stop being angry that you spent 3 months lying to my face? Stop feeling humiliated that I treated you like a human being while you were secretly assessing my competence?"
"I wasn't assessing your competence," he countered sharply, stepping closer. "I was assessing the rot."
"What rot? The rot left by my father? The rot left by your uncle?"
Thomas planted his hands on the edge of the desk, leaning over it. "When I inherited this title, I inherited 50 estates, 30 of which were bleeding money into the pockets of corrupt stewards and lazy tenants. I was told Fenwick Hall was a lost cause, a money pit managed by a spinster niece, who was likely skimming off the top."
Jane gasped, her hands curling into fists. "I have never stolen a single penny."
"I know that now," he said, his voice dropping, losing its heat. "But I didn't know it then. If I had rode up in a carriage 3 months ago, everyone would have lied to me. The ledgers would have been cooked. The staff would have hidden the damage. I needed to see the truth of this place with my own eyes. I needed to know what I owned."
"So, you played dress up," Jane sneered. "You put on a dirty shirt and mocked us."