Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(14)

“Are there no English servants here?” she asked curiously.

“No, Your Grace,” Ubertino replied. “Lu duca sent away the English when we arrived. He does not trust the people in this place.”

“Ah.” Iris remembered Dyemore’s saying something similar last night.

No wonder the abbey seemed deserted: usually an entire battalion of servants would be taking care of a house like this. One maidservant and two dozen men, most of whom apparently were on guard duty, were not nearly enough.

She nodded. “The duke is still asleep. I would like someone to attend him. But first, can you send a man on horseback to the Duke of Kyle with a letter?”

“Naturally I shall go directly to lu duca,” Ubertino said gravely. “But I am afraid it is not possible to send a horseman to this Duke of Kyle.”

“Whyever not?” Iris asked, trying for a smile. “I am, after all, your new duchess.”

“Indeed, Your Grace, and I am most ashamed that I cannot help you, but His Grace has ordered all the men to stay here to guard you,” Ubertino replied. “Until he wakes and gives a different order, we will do as he said.”

Iris fought to keep her expression neutral as heat crept up her face. It was humiliating that the servants wouldn’t obey her—no matter how apologetic Ubertino looked.

And more, she was irritated that she couldn’t send word to Kyle.

She inhaled. “Then would it be possible to have a bath?”

“Yes, yes, certainly, Your Grace.” Ubertino turned to Nicoletta and told her something in a flurry of words.

The maidservant scowled, shook her head, and snapped something back.

Ubertino insisted and finally the woman tutted and went to the hearth, where a kettle was already steaming over the coals. The other three manservants began filling large kettles with water from a cistern.

Iris raised her eyebrows in inquiry at Ubertino.

“Ah,” he said, his face a little redder from his argument with the maidservant. “Nicoletta says that perhaps you will wish to partake of breakfast while the bathwater heats. She understands the English,” he confided in a whisper, “but she does not speak it.”

“That is good to know,” Iris replied. “And yes, I’ll have breakfast while I wait.”

Ubertino looked relieved.

Nicoletta brought back an enormous stoneware pot of tea and plonked it down on the wooden kitchen table while Iris sat. Valente brought over a basket of bread and some hard-boiled eggs. Bardo offered a dish of butter and another of cheese, and Nicoletta poured the tea into a dainty china cup. Ivo was apparently in charge of the fire and heating the water.

Iris took a sip of the tea and nearly burned her tongue. The tea was strong enough to make her blink rapidly.

She smiled at Nicoletta anyway.

Nicoletta crossed plump arms under her bosom and lowered her brows, watching Iris.

Iris sighed silently and buttered her bread. She knew better than to offer food to the servants even though she sat in what was their domain—the kitchens. She might be in near rags, dirty, and in dire need of a bath, but she was the mistress of the house. As such she was forever apart from them.

She swallowed a bite of the bread. “Delicious.”

Nicoletta—presumably the baker of the bread—didn’t change her expression at all.

Perhaps the truce Iris had thought she’d struck with the maidservant the night before was over.

She sighed and addressed Ubertino. “Your English is quite good. How did you learn it?”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed. “In my youth I was a sailor and my ship often came across other ships from different countries. When this happened the passengers of these ships became … guests on our ship. A large number of these guests were English.”

He grinned again, rather roguishly.

Iris paused with her teacup raised to her lips and squinted at him. Came across …? Had Ubertino just confessed to having been a pirate?

Carefully she put her teacup down and glanced at the other manservants. Were they all former pirates?

Valente and Bardo stared back innocently enough.

She shook her head and picked up her teacup. “Ah … indeed. And do any of the other servants speak English?”

Ubertino shrugged. “Valente has some English. The others, not so much. But many are like Nicoletta and understand more than they can speak, Your Grace. They all know that you are the duchess now.”

“Ah.” Iris took another sip of her tea, remembering the duke lying so still in the bed, his scar angry and red. “Ubertino?”

“Your Grace?”

She hesitated, and then just asked her question. “Do you know how the duke got his scar?”

But Ubertino shook his head. “No, Your Grace.”

Iris nodded, frowning as she wondered if anyone knew how he’d received that awful slash across his face. It must have been horrific when it had happened. The cut would’ve laid his face open from brow to chin. How painful it must’ve been. How awful the realization that he was so scarred for life.

She frowned, feeling uneasy at her sympathy for the duke. He didn’t seem like a man who would like pity.

She finished her breakfast and pushed back from the table. “Thank you. The bread was lovely—fresh and with a nice crunchy crust.”