Malia Martin by The Duke's Return Page B

I can only hope that you will continue using your authority so!”
    It was Trevor’s turn to be wary. He clearedhis throat “Yes, well, if you could show her where to go . . .”
    “Oh, yes, of course.” She stepped aside. “Come in, your grace.” Gesturing to the girl outside, Sara called to her, “Come, Trudy, Cook will be forever grateful for another hand in the kitchen. Especially now that we have another mouth to feed!” She beamed at Trevor.
    Trudy hurried up the steps, curtseying when she gained the door. “Your grace, I am ever so grateful.”
    “Nonsense, Trudy, it is I who am grateful for your help, dear girl. The kitchen is just down the stairs.” Sara pointed. “Tell Cook that I have taken you on.”
    “Yes, your grace.” The girl backed down the hall, dipping curtseys as she went.
    Sara turned to him when they finally heard the girl had clattered down the back stairs. “That was good of you, your grace,” she said as if it shocked her to her toes. “I did not realize that Mr. Lester was abusing her, or I would have done something sooner.”
    “And what is this?” called a quavering voice from deeper within the monolith of the house. Sara turned and Trevor saw the oldest man on earth hobbling down the hallway toward them. “You answering doors now, your grace?” the man asked, his cane tapping against the marbled floor. “To the drawing room with you,” he yelled at the Duchess as he came up to them.“And you.” He turned on Trevor. “Who may I say is calling?”
    “Oh, no, Filbert, this is . . .”
    “Tut, tut, tut!” Filbert cut off his mistress with the loudest tuts Trevor had ever heard. “I shall do what I ought, no need to coddle old Filbert. Now, off to the drawing room!” The butler turned to Trevor. “Who are you, man?” Filbert’s voice rang down the hall.
    Sara just shrugged, so Trevor cleared his throat. “The Duke of Rawlston.”
    “What’s that, boy?” Filbert leaned toward him, ear first.
    “Duke,” Trevor said clearly, “of Rawlston.”
    “Ah, yes!” He swiveled about, and Trevor automatically put out his hands to help the man who wavered precariously. Filbert, however, steadied himself with his cane, but then nearly bowled down the Duchess.
    “What the devil are you doing in the hall?” The old man actually planted long, thin fingers against his bony hips. “I shall receive the callers all right and tight!” Filbert shooed Sara off in front of him.
    “But, Filbert, ’Tis the Duke!”
    “Quit your yapping and get in the drawing room.” The man prodded her with the tip of his cane. “Come on, now, don’t be makin’ me angry with you.”
    “Filbert,” Sara tried again. “This is the Duke of Rawlston . . .”
    “Don’t you think I can still do this job? Areyou trying to tell me you want me to retire?”
    Sara blew out a frustrated sigh. “Of course not, Filbert,” she said loudly. Then, with a small shrug at Trevor, she ducked through a door just off the hall.
    Filbert tsked mightily. “Women these days!” Straightening as best he could, he tugged the bottom of his waistcoat, stuck his nose in the air, and marched toward the doorway the duchess had just entered.
    “Your grace!” The man’s baritone reverberated throughout the house. “Luke of Rat Town to see you!”
    Trevor snorted, but caught himself when Filbert threw him a dirty look. A long silence elapsed from beyond the door, and Trevor pretended to scratch his nose to keep his hand over his mouth.
    “Do show him in, Filbert.”
    “What was that?”
    “Show him in, Filbert!” The strength of her yell made Trevor’s ears ring.
    “Well, then, keep your slippers on!” The old man turned murmuring, “Holy mother of God, ye’d think the house afire!”
    Stiffening again, Filbert resumed his butler of the manor pose and in a nasal twang said, “She will see you in the drawing room, sir.” And bowed.
    Trevor was already through the door before he realized that Filbert