Scandal of the Year by Olivia Drake Page A

declared war. She had done so in words and by her actions tonight. She may have won the first skirmish by catching Blythe unawares, but Blythe would not make the mistake of underestimating the girl again.
    Rather than slink away in defeat, Blythe felt more determined than ever. She would win in the end. After all, the best possible outcome would be for her to win the love of the Duke of Savoy.

Chapter 7
    Since dawn, James had been cleaning silver utensils in the butler’s pantry near the cellar kitchen. It was late morning now, and the heap of dirty rags beside him had grown into a mountain. So had the pile of gleaming knives and forks. God only knew what ingredients were in the pasty concoction he was using, but it stunk to high heaven. The stench blocked out even the aromas of baking bread and roasting meat wafting from the kitchen.
    He rubbed at a stubborn bit of tarnish on a soup spoon. A family dinner party was scheduled for this evening, and of course the table couldn’t possibly be set with the same silver service that had been used at the ball a few nights ago. That would have been far too convenient.
    But at least he’d been assigned to serve tonight. After three days on staff, he finally would have the chance to take a close look at George Crompton.
    Was the man his cousin—or not?
    James cooled his simmering impatience. As the newest man on staff, he had been assigned every dirty task disliked by the other footmen. His temper was further eroded by the fact that he was isolated down here in the cellar, where the only natural light trickled through a window slit located high in the wall. Having spent most of his adult life in the West Indies, he was accustomed to being out in the sunshine and fresh air, not buried away like a mole in a dank burrow.
    He itched to join the other servants working above stairs. At least then he might finagle a way to search for evidence to prove that George and Edith Crompton were imposters.
    Hearing voices, he stepped to the doorway and peered into the dimly lit corridor. Outside the laundry room, a stout maid was handing a pile of folded linens to the Hindu servant, Kasi.
    The sight galvanized James. He had wanted to interrogate the old woman ever since his arrival here. She was the only one who had lived in India with the Cromptons. But Kasi had been forever upstairs, tending to the needs of the family. She didn’t even take her meals with the staff.
    Blast the silverware. He could not waste this prime opportunity.
    Tossing down the spoon, he seized a clean rag and scrubbed the black tarnish from his hands. He snatched up the obligatory white gloves and tugged them on as he rushed out into the corridor.
    The laundry maid had vanished. So had Kasi.
    But luck saved him. He caught a glimpse of her orange sari as she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.
    In hot pursuit, James strode swiftly down the passageway. The scents of starch and dampness hung heavy in the cool air. He spied the Indian woman as she started up the narrow wooden staircase that led to the upper floors.
    “Wait, please!” he called.
    Holding the pile of folded undergarments, she stopped on the second step and turned to gaze impassively at him. A tiny red dot glinted on her forehead in between her eyes.
    Was that the Evil Eye he’d heard whispered about by the other servants? They all seemed in awe of the woman.
    “Pardon me,” he said, giving her a respectful bow. “I hope you’ll permit me a moment of your time. I wanted to inquire as to how long you’ve worked for the Crompton family.”
    “I am ayah to sahib ’s little girls.”
    “ Ayah  … is that a nursemaid or a governess?”
    Her plump brown features took on a placid look. In her musical voice, she said, “ Ayah feed babies, play games, sing to sleep.”
    Questions gripped James. If Kasi had been with the Crompton girls since they were born, then she must be privy to the truth. She must know if the master of the house was the real