The Improper Companion

Chapter 3

"You are late, Miss Butterworth," the butler said to her, looking down his long nose at her.

"I most certainly am not," Fiona burst out, wagging her finger before his equally long face.

"What is all this commotion about?" the Duke appeared out of no where.

"This woman, you grace," the butler began indignantly, "is late. And she refuses to accept it."

"I arrived on time, your grace. Your butler is simply being a boor," Fiona retorted.

"I never—" he began but the Duke held up his hand.

The Duke closed his eyes as if in pain. And then, "Winterbottom, I asked her to come at half past nine. And she is on time."

"But all the other servants report at nine, your grace," Winterbottom sniffed delicately.

"Yes. But Miss Butterworth isn't a servant—she's a companion. To my mother. And since mother wakes only at ten, I asked to come at half past nine," the Duke explained patiently.

"Alright then, your grace," the butler said looking close to tears. With one last disdainful glance at Fiona, he stomped off.

"I think you need a new butler," Fiona said to the Duke.

"Winterbottom has been serving our family for the last thirty years, Miss Butterworth. So no, we do not need a new butler," the Duke replied coldly.

Fiona held up her hands in surrender. "It was a joke."

"I would appreciate it if you would attend to my mother now," he replied before walking away and disappearing into what she'd discovered yesterday was his study.

"Where is the duchess?" she asked no one in particular. She was standing all alone by the entrance of the grotesquely large hall, not knowing where to go.

You have made a mistake by coming here, her conscience whispered. Fiona didn't necessarily disagree with her. But it was too late now...

She tentatively navigated the house and asked a few friendly servants where she could find the duchess. And then she found herself standing outside her rooms.

Fiona raised her hand and knocked twice.

"Come in," she heard a heavy voice from the other side.

She pushed open the heavy door and went in.

There she was, the dowager duchess, laying on her bed.

"Who are you?" she questioned, taking in Fiona's appearance.

"I am your new companion, your grace," she curtseyed.

"Hmph."

"Your grace?"

"I don't really need your services girl, I said so to my son. But he was adamant, so I relented. I suggest you enjoy your time here and make use of the kitchens or roam the gardens—do anything you wish. Just don't bother me."

Fiona looked on with wide eyes. She didn't know what to say.

This woman clearly needed a companion—the Duke was right. She was just far too lonely and far too proud to admit it.

Fiona had two options—she could either get cowed by her grace's lofty title and just listen to her or she could show her that she was made of sterner stuff and do her duty.

The former was the easier thing to do, of course. But Fiona had never been one to walk away from a challenge.

She dragged in a deep breath.

"With all due respect, your grace, as kind as your offer is, I'm afraid I must decline. I came here with the sole intention of acting as your companion and fulfilling all your needs. And nothing—not even you shall keep me from doing my duty," she said.

The duchess just stared at her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

And then she heard her response. It was so soft that Fiona almost missed it.

"Very well."

"Really?" Fiona grinned.

"Fetch me my breakfast. Make sure you bring it and no one else."

"Right away, your grace," Fiona nodded and left the chamber.

This was good, wasn't it? Although she didn't seem very enthusiastic, at least she was giving Fiona something to do.

She happily skipped her way to the kitchens—again, after asking for directions.

"Hullo everyone. I'm Miss Fiona Butterworth and I am her grace's new companion," she announced as she entered the hot kitchens.

"Oh we all know who you are," one of the scullery maids smiled.

"You do? How?" she asked, perplexed.

"Well, you stood up to Winterbottom. That ought to make you popular," a portly man chortled.

"He's a bully is what he is," another maid complained.

"Now that's a stretch. He's just overprotective and a little possessive about the Duke and his family," the portly man admonished lightly. The maid merely rolled her eyes and turned to her dishes.

"Thank you for the warm welcome, I guess. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you better but later," Fiona smiled. "Her grace wished to break her fast if it's ready."

"It is. We shall send it up immediately," the cook nodded.

"No, I will take it."

"Miss Butterworth, I'll send it with our footman Tom."

"But Her grace specially asked me to bring it."

All the servants turned to look at each other's faces in confusion.

"What is it?" Fiona spoke up.

"There is no way you can carry the tray all the way to her chambers, my dear. It is too heavy for a girl like you to carry it."

Oh.

So it looked like her grace had other plans for her.

Very well.

"I can and I will," Fiona winked at the troubled servants.