"Fiona, please stop singing—or whatever it is that you're doing," Nana groaned, walking about their small cottage on wobbly legs, the tap tap sound of her walking stick against the wooden floor punctuating her words.

"Why?" she asked, halting her song midway while her hands still worked as she put in some fresh bread into her lunch basket.

"Because my poor ears may start bleeding at any given moment."

"You're just exaggerating nana. I might not be the best of singers but I do have a pleasing voice—Lady Henrietta would say so often."

"Your Lady Henrietta was deaf. You told me so yourself," Nana rolled her eyes.

Fiona huffed before beginning to sing again.

She'd got out two words when Nana interrupted again.

"Don't you have to leave?"

"I do."

"Then leave."

"Oh alright. I'm sure the birds and the rabbits in the woods would enjoy my singing," she muttered as she took off.

"I highly doubt that, but whatever makes you happy."

Fiona pretended she didn't hear her, the way she usually did.

She strolled through the woods leisurely, singing all the while—no nana to interrupt her song this time.

But still, her brain whirred. She thought about how she could get the duchess to like her more. The old tyrant had softened a little—Fiona had sensed it. She didn't even demand that Fiona carry her trays of food any more.

But if she had to stay longer, she'd have to do better. And as much as she hated to admit it, she had taken a liking to the dowager duchess. There was something about her gruff manner that Fiona found endearing. It reminded her of her Nana Jeanette.

Not to mention, the Duke has caught her interest as well.

More than once he'd caught him checking on his mother. She'd seen the way he treated all the servants. Although he was gruff—a bit like his mother and grumpy, he was kind.

Except to her.

He wasn't unkind, per say. It was more that he couldn't tolerate her and wanted to be rid of her. Why else would he have heeded to Fiona's request for more books so quickly?

She sighed.

Why was she even thinking about the Duke? He was way out of her league and besides, he was betrothed. The house keeper had said so herself.

And although Fiona wasn't romantically inclined towards the duke, she couldn't help but feel just a teeny weeny bit of jealousy for the Lady he was to marry. She was a Duke's daughter, she'd heard. His equal in every way.

When she reached the Duke's estate, she removed her coat. She was surprised when Winterbottom took it from her hand—as if he wasn't quite sure why he was helping her.

Looks like the butler had softened towards her too, Fiona thought with a smug grin.

"The Duke requested your presence in the receiving parlour, Miss Butterworth," he informed her.

What now? Her two weeks weren't up yet. Was he dismissing her already?

Over her dead body.

Fiona stomped her way in the direction of the parlour. She knocked impatiently and waited for his permission to enter.

The Duke was seated on a plush sofa, a cup of tea in his hands. He looked almost relaxed. She'd only ever seen him with his head stuck in a heap of papers in his study.

My, but he was a handsome devil, she thought grudgingly. The curtains were pulled aside, allowing the sunlight to stream into the room. It glinted off his dark hair. And his skin looked smooth and tanned—as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

"Good morning, Miss Butterworth," he said and motioned for her to enter. Goodness gracious, even his voice was perfect.

"Good morning, your grace," she smiled slightly. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes. Please take a seat."

Fiona sat as demurely as she was capable of on a small arm chair opposite to him.

"Take some tea."

"No, thank you, your grace. It wouldn't be proper."

"I insist, Miss Butterworth," he said simply, his eyes taking that commanding look again. She complied. If she could put up with Baron Redgrave trying to get under her skirts, she could certainly handle a high handed duke.

"I'd like to talk about my mother."

"What is it, your grace? Is she unhappy with me? Have I made some mistake?"

"Not at all. I merely wished to hear from you about the progress you've made with her so far."

"Well, I can see that she still doesn't want a companion. But she seems to have taken a liking towards me. She even asked me to accompany her on her evening stroll the other day. And she asked me if the books had arrived."

"They have, as a matter of fact."

"Oh already?" Fiona clapped her hands in glee, her lips stretching in a wide smile.

But the Duke merely stared at her.

"Your grace?"

"Hmm?" he blinked.

"Oh never mind," she chuckled and stood up. "May I go to Her grace now? It is time for her breakfast."

He merely nodded.

Fiona curtseyed and left.