The Duke and the Enchantress

Chapter Eight - Dinner with the Duke

Chapter Eight

Justine had closed the window as dusk settled over the room, and started a fire in the small fire place to ward off the chill.  Now she stood by the bed and wrung her hands nervously.  “Madam? Miss? Missus?” She didn’t even know what to call her new mistress.  The woman had curled up into a tight ball on the top of the covers, and seemed to be sleeping like the dead.  Justine swallowed nervously and leaned forward to tap her lightly on the shoulder. 

At the slightest touch, the woman screamed, and launched herself off the far side of the bed, startling Justine so much that she also screeched and fell backwards onto her bottom on the cold stone floor.  The woman looked wild-eyed around the room, her face contorted with confusion. “What is this, where am I?” 

“Begging your pardon ma’am.” Justine crawled back to her feet, and brushed off her skirts.  “This is your room.  In Connor Keep.” 

The woman’s eyes searched around the unfamiliar room, and slowly her expression cleared.  “Oh yes, I remember now.” 

“Sorry to bother, but the duke’s been calling for you, and the baby wants to feed.”  Justine’s eyes darted to the door.  “You better hurry madam, the duke doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” 

The woman snorted in a most un-ladylike way.  “Perhaps the duke needs to know that the sun does not rise and set in his ass.” 

Justine gasped and covered her mouth.  “Shhh, you mustn’t talk like that.  If anyone should hear you...” 

“What will they do to me,” Willow moved to the bedside table, found the cup of water there, and drained it again.  She felt dry to her very bones.  “Throw me in the dungeons again?” 

“Servants have been flogged for such disrespect.” Justine said. 

“I need to relieve myself,” her eyes scanned the room. 

“Oh, right.” Justine fished under the bed and came out with a chamber pot.   

Willow stared at the pot for a long moment, and then shook away whatever she was thinking.  Without even waiting for the maid to turn her back, she hitched up her skirts.  Justine blushed and turned quickly.   Surely, she had never met such a strange woman.  Mrs. Short and the other maids were whispering that she was a witch.  Was this how a witch behaved?  So brash and undiginfied?  When she heard the cover of the pot being replaced, she turned again, and found Willow at the basin, washing her hands, and then splashing water onto her face. 

“Do you think I can get a comb?” Willow asked, drawing her fingers through the hair that had become knotted in sleep.  

“Oh you can use mine,” Justine dashed to the next room and came back with her own comb and brush, plus a length of ribbon.  She quickly helped the woman smooth out the knots, and then tie it back away from her face with the ribbon.  “Okay please now let's hurry!  You might not mind a whipping, but I do!”  

Willow didn’t really have the strength, nor the will to hurry.  They  moved back through the long halls, down two sets of stairs, and into the grand areas of the Keep.  Justine led her into the dining room, where the Duke was seated at the head of the big table, a jug of wine at his elbow.  His face looked dark and broody as usual.  “Sit,” he commanded, and gestured at the chair nearest to him. 

Although everything in her balked at obeying his command, she did slide into the chair, if for no other reason than the fact that her body was still weak and tired.  He waived his hand toward some unseen person in the doorway, and a moment later, the elderly nurse appeared with the baby.  “Your grace,” the nurse curtsied. 

“How is she?” 

The old woman smiled, “I think she is improved.  She did not vomit at all, and she slept quite peacefully.”  The duke held out his hands, and the nurse deposited the baby into his large hands.  Father and daughter stared at each other for a long moment.  He reached out a finger to touch the delicate fringe of brown hair at her crown, and to trail down her cheek.  He was no expert in babies, but he had to agree that the child did look somewhat improved.   He nodded to himself, and then passed the baby over to Willow. 

Willow took the baby, and looked up at the duke uncertainly. 

“Well?” The duke gestured to her front, “Do it!” 

“Here at the table?” She asked uncertainly. 

The duke actually laughed.  It was a deep, resonant sound that made the hairs on her arm stick up.  “This is the dining table, and my daughter wants to dine!” 

“So much for decorum,” she mumbled, but with a shrug of her thin shoulder, she began to unbutton the gown.  She felt the man’s eyes on her following her every move.  It seemed her job was not only to nurse the baby, but to entertain the man as well.  She bared her breast, and then rearranged the baby.  Violet was a quick study, and after only two tries she had latched on and was nursing with more strength and vigor than the first time.  Willow loosened the blanket that kept the baby contained and released her tiny hands.  Rather than look at the duke, Willow occupied herself admiring the perfect tiny fingers, with the even tinier fingernails.  When she stroked the baby’s palm, her hand reflexively curled around Willow’s finger and held it tight. 

Liam was entirely engrossed in watching his daughter, he didn’t even noticed when Mrs. Short materialized at his shoulder.  “Your grace,” she interrupted his reverie, “The dinner is ready to serve.” 

“Mmm, fine then.  You will bring food for this woman as well.” 

Mrs. Short looked mortified.  “You wish the wet-nurse to eat at the table, your grace?” 

Liam broke his gaze away from the nursing infant to glare at his housekeeper.  The woman had the good sense to take a step back in fear.  “Yes, that is my wish, Mrs. Short.  In fact I insist that she take all her meals with me, unless I inform you otherwise.”   

Mrs. Short’s left eye twitched, but she curtsied in reply and turned back to the kitchen. 

The woman had burped the baby and switched sides.  She was silent, and she kept that expressionless face that for some reason irked the duke down to his core.  Not that he liked a chatty woman, but this one was quite adept at hiding everything she was thinking and feeling.  The servers began bringing out the meal, platters of roast game meat, boiled potatoes and cabbage, spring greens, slices of cheese and stewed fruits.  A plate was prepared and set before the duke, and then a second plate, with somewhat smaller portions was put before the woman. 

She was staring at the food strangely.  Beads of sweat had popped up along her temple and her upper lip, and her skin had taken on a rather waxy appearance.  The child had finished her feed, and had fallen asleep on the second breast, with milk dribbling from her lax mouth.  The woman pulled her breast away, and covered herself again with the shift and the ugly brown dress.  The elderly nurse, who must have been waiting expectantly, hurried forward and took the child away. 

“Eat,” Liam commanded, gesturing at her plate.  “I have promised you three meals a day, and here it is.” 

She lifted a trembling hand to the fork, and took a slow, mechanical bite.  Her eyes closed as she chewed and swallowed the food.  Eagerly, she reached for more, and forgetting the duke entirely, began to shovel the food into her mouth very quickly, as though she feared that someone might take her plate away from her at any moment. 

After she had cleared about half the plate, she suddenly went very still.  The fork clattered to the floor as she launched herself from the chair, and looked wildly about.  She dashed for the doorway, but did not quite make her escape before her stomach heaved, and the meal she had just forced down in such a hurry came back, spattering across the stone floor, her feet, the hem of her skirt.  She made a move, as though she were going to run away, but she had hardly dragged herself two steps when her body seemed to wilt, and she dropped heavily with a dull thud.