CHAPTER 3 — HIS RIGHT-HAND WOMAN

Emeera continued to appraise the room. Surely, this was not where any house manager slept in. Not that majestic looking bed and the soft, white, Arabian rug.

“Mrs. Fletcher, what about my room?” Emeera asked in a tiny voice she did not recognize as hers.

“This is the room,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

"This is the room," she repeated to a stunned Emeera as she rearranged throw pillows that looked perfectly arranged to Emeera. Even the couch that held all the throw pillows was white.

“But this looks like… I don’t understand. Is this the room the previous housekeeper slept in?” Mrs. Fletcher turned.

“Ms. Charles I think it is imperative that I warn you again to mind your business if you want to meet a good end in this house,” she said sharply. But softened immediately after saying that. “If you must know, the last manager did not sleep here. He slept on this floor, but the room is the first after the staircase. This used to be the Duke’s wife’s room.”

“What happened to her?” Emeera asked before she could stop herself.

“She died. Nobody used it for many years. One day, His Grace opened the doors and said the room must be occupied to preserve it. Since then, we have cleaned it everyday and laid a new bedsheet every other day.”

“Then why give it to me? When he remarries—”

Mrs. Fletcher scoffed. “Marry? His Grace has sworn off matrimony. The grief from losing his wife took his mind. Anyway, it is done now. The mistress suite is finally open to the public.” She looked at Emeera like she was unfit to even stand in the room. “I shall be down overseeing dinner. Send for me if you need anything.” She swept out of the room, leaving Emeera there.

Emeera did not know how long she stood by the window watching birds by the pond. She thought of home far away in the deserts; home that looked like another world ago. The last time she saw those Middle Eastern sand dunes, she was a child and her mother had just died. She could not remember much, not even her mother’s face. She snapped out of the depressing thoughts and focused her eyes on the birds. She needed to return to Nancy. This strange house did not feel like home. And she had no clothes as she had assumed she was going to be a day worker.

“What are you thinking of?” a voice asked, causing Emeera to jump. But it was only the Duke.

“Your Grace. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in.” she curtseyed and kept her face down to hide her tears.

“Do you like the room?” he asked.

“Of course my Lord. Sorry, your Grace. I like it very much.”

He looked around and walked to the balcony with Emeera following closely behind him. “Mrs. Fletcher must have told you this once belonged to the Lady of Savoy,” he said. His eyes shut tightly for a second like he wanted to hide his pain.

“She did.”

They were back in the room. Emeera closed the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony. Alfred walked to the head of the bed. “I wanted you to know who this room belonged to, so this door wouldn’t seem strange to you.” He tapped on the glass wall and pushed it. To her surprise, what she thought was an opaque glass wall was actually a door. The door glided open to reveal a large master bedroom. His room and her room was divided by a glass door. The master bedroom was a sharp contrast to her feminine room. Everything there was black and gold and masculine. Even the fragrance smelled like a jungle. The room was dark with heavy black and gold curtains covering every window while her own room was the sunniest room in the house. In her room, the floor to ceiling glass windows were barely covered. Her room looked like it would allow even the moonlight in at night. She could imagine the silver moonlight on all the white in her room. Suddenly she felt so exposed. It was obvious the occupant of the master bedroom preferred the night and dark.

Then a thought struck. Nancy had told her the man was a playboy, and now he wanted her in a room that was separated from his own by only a glass. The entire household must be agog with stories.

“Your Grace, how many of your servants know of this door?”

“None. I had it fixed by a discreet company during the my first general renovations. The servants were all gone the week we did it. It was some months before my wedding,” he said.

“Mrs. Fletcher doesn’t know?” Emeera asked.

“Nobody knows. Your chastity will not be questioned on my account, dear Ms. Charles,” he said as he sauntered into the room. Emeera felt blood rush to her face.

“I have a request, your Grace. May I continue to live at home while working here?”

“No, you may not. I have a manor that needs round the clock attention. If I need your services at midnight, I expect you to make yourself —body, mind and soul, available to me…” the last statement caused a reaction in Emeera that the Duke caught. “And why do you look horrified? Trust me Ms. Charles, if I meant that kind of service, you would be the last woman on my mind. I hired you because you are not my type,” he said and closed the glass door from his room, leaving Emeera staring at her reflection in the glass, too stunned to speak.

Emeera finally slept after midnight, having spent the previous hours tossing in bed, wondering how she would cope with the man that was just a glass door away. Around six o’clock the next morning, a knock on her door woke up. It was Mrs. Fletcher with a long menu. “Good morning Ms. Charles.”

“Please just call me Emeera,” Emeera said and sat up.

“Very well then. Good morning Emeera. I am here for the week's menu.”

“I don’t understand why I’m to decide this when you are the head maid.”

“You run the manor now. Everything has to meet your approval as you represent his Grace. Emeera, you’re officially his right-hand.”