Chapter 12

12

CLARA

T he duke had given Clara permission to sleep as late as she pleased. Even had she not woken early worrying how to explain her continued presence at Rushlake to Mrs. Finch, however, she had no desire to give anyone to think she believed herself above the other maids.

Her attempts to find Mrs. Finch before the morning meeting had met with failure, though. The moment the housekeeper's gaze fell upon her in that meeting, Mrs. Finch's eyes widened and she lost her train of thought. The other maids followed Mrs. Finch's line of focus to Clara, who tried to keep calm.

Mrs. Finch called the attention back to herself and finished with her directions for the morning.

The servants began to chatter and disperse, but the housekeeper's voice sounded above the din. "Clara. Remain behind."

Clara nodded and waited for the room to empty. Mrs. Finch closed the door behind them and turned to her.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her lips thin with displeasure .

Last night, Clara had agreed to help the duke without hesitation. This morning, without him by her side to foster such confidence, she found herself uncertain how to explain things to the housekeeper to her satisfaction.

"I…"

Mrs. Finch's eyes filled with pity. "You couldn't bring yourself to do it."

"To…"

"To leave him. The flesh was weak."

Clara stared at the housekeeper, who offered her a sympathetic but pitiful smile.

"You are far from the only maid to fall for her master," Mrs. Finch said.

Part of Clara demanded she set the woman's understanding right—to let her know she had been asked to stay. By the duke himself.

But she could not. She had made a solemn promise to protect the secrets of the duke and his brother, and she would not go back on it, no matter the cost to her pride.

The excuse Mrs. Finch was offering her would serve well enough.

"I imagine not," Clara said meekly.

Mrs. Finch eyed her sternly. "If you mean to stay, I cannot stop you. But I warn you—I will not stand for foolishness toward His Grace on your part. Any foolishness at all, do you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You will keep a tight rein on those feelings, or you will be dismissed." She allowed her words to sink in for a moment, then the pity returned to her gaze. "You are a fool, dear, just as we all are when we allow our imaginations to be taken up with visions of grandeur and romantic notions. The sooner you can accept there's nary a hope in the world for your heart, the better it will be. Now get to work." She put out an expectant hand. "The wages I gave you."

Clara gave them back willingly, but as she dusted the map room, the housekeeper's words came to her again and again. She was right, of course. Clara was the greatest of fools, and there was no hope for her heart.

She worked for the duke as a servant, and she would continue working for him. Not only was it in her best interest financially, she had given him her word. But she could not let her heart have free rein when it came to him. She could and would control it rather than letting it control her.

It was nigh on noon when Eliza appeared in the doorway of the sitting room Clara was cleaning. "We are all wanted below stairs."

Clara began to gather up her things, but Eliza shook her head.

"Right away, Mrs. Finch says. Leave your things."

Clara obediently set down the rag, wiped her hands on her apron, and followed Eliza down the corridor to the stairs. In her time at Rushlake, they had never been called for a second meeting. It had only been a fortnight, however. Perhaps this was not out of the ordinary.

When they reached the servant dining room, however, it was not just the maids but the footmen and butler too, who were gathered there. They were lined up according to seniority, and Clara took her place at the end of the upper housemaids, while Eliza stood at the bottom of the line, just above the kitchen maids.

Clara mimicked the formal posture of the other servants, but her gaze shifted as much as her bowed head would allow, seeking for a hint of what was happening. Were they to be lectured by Mrs. Finch and Mr. Thurston?

Footsteps sounded in the stone corridor, and two sets of boots stepped into the room. The second pair gleamed with fresh polish. They unmistakably belonged to the duke.

Clara's heart thudded, but she shut her eyes.

The sooner you can accept there's nary a hope in the world for your heart, the better it will be.

She took in a deep breath and opened her eyes, keeping them trained on the floor as was expected in the presence of someone so far above her. The duke had made her promise to always look him in the eye, but she was not fool enough to think he had meant for her to do so in a situation such as this.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Cartwright said. "Thank you for gathering on short notice. His Grace and I wished to come to speak with you personally regarding a few important matters. We will not take much of your time; we know you are busy. So, I will come to the point. In three weeks' time, we will be welcoming a large number of guests to Rushlake."

A subtle stirring rippled amongst the servants, but no one said anything. They wouldn't dare.

"Many of these guests will remain at the estate for a fortnight. At the end of that time, we will hold a ball, to which even more guests will be invited. Needless to say, such events will require a great deal of preparation. Rushlake must be at its very best." He paused, as though to let the seriousness of the situation settle in. "Due to the number of guests we anticipate welcoming, we will also make use of the hunting lodge. His Grace and I have agreed that one of the maids should be tasked with its preparation. Rushlake's size will require as many of you as possible dedicating all your efforts to bring it up to snuff, as the saying goes. The hunting lodge, however, is a task manageable by one person, provided the preparation is spread out over the next few weeks. The servant in question will spend a few hours there each day. The remainder of her time will be spent assisting with tasks here. "

The impulse to lift her gaze to the duke's battled with Clara's determination to continue staring at the floor.

"Sir," said Mrs. Finch, "if I might offer a suggestion?"

"Of course," said Mr. Cartwright.

Clara's muscles tensed. What would happen if the housekeeper insisted it would be better to set a few maids to the task—and Clara was not even one of them?

"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Finch. "Might I suggest our newest upper housemaid for the task?"

Clara's gaze whipped to her, but she returned it to the floor just as swiftly. Of course. Mrs. Finch was doing what she could to keep Clara away from the duke.

"Clara is very capable," Mrs. Finch continued, "and it would be beneficial, I think, for her to become better acquainted with the lodge through a thorough cleaning and preparation of the space."

Mr. Cartwright chuckled softly. "His Grace and I discussed this matter earlier, and we too agreed that she would be the best choice for this assignment, did we not, Your Grace?"

"We did indeed," said the duke. His deep voice sent a cascade of chills down her back.

Mrs. Finch gave a fluttery laugh that made Clara glance at her from the corner of her eye. "What a happy coincidence, Your Grace!"

Evidently, Clara was not the only one affected by the duke.

"Indeed," he replied. "I wish to thank each of you personally, in advance, for the work you will be doing. I rely wholly upon you to ensure the success of this endeavor and the comfort of our guests."

There was a straightening of shoulders amongst the line of servants, as though hearing the duke recognize their importance had operated on them as a call to action.

"Well said," said Mr. Cartwright. "All of you may now return to your duties while I confer with Mrs. Finch and Mr. Thurston. Further instructions will be forthcoming."

The maids and footmen gave their curtsies and bows, and Clara followed suit, refusing to give in to the temptation to look at the duke as the whispers of the other maids reached her.

"He's bored of her," Sarah hissed to Mary, "and now she's being banished."

"Perhaps that means he's looking for someone to take her place." Soft giggles followed, quickly hushed and swallowed as the maids turned out of the room.

Clara sighed and followed behind.

"Clara."

The duke's voice stopped her in her tracks. How many times in her life had she heard herself called by her name, and yet it sounded entirely different when said by him.

"Would you stay behind a moment to discuss the hunting lodge?" he asked as the other servants passed around her.

"Yes, Your Grace." She shot a glance at Mrs. Finch, who was nodding as Mr. Carwright spoke to her and the butler.

"I would like the work to begin there as soon as possible," the duke said. "Today, even."

"Of course, Your Grace. I will finish dusting and make my way there immediately." She waited politely to be dismissed, but the silence continued. Finally, she chanced a glance up at him.

His eyes were upon her, but they swung to the other three in the room, who seemed too intent upon their conversation to take note of Clara or the duke.

When the duke spoke, his voice was soft and low. "In addition to the regular menu, Cook will be making a few dishes each evening for me to taste and approve for the coming guests. Naturally, I shan't be able to eat all of it. "

Mrs. Finch glanced over, and Clara dropped her eyes swiftly.

"I desire that the remaining food be used for charity. I thought you might be willing to take a basket each day to people in need." Each word was pointed, and she understood.

He wished for her to take the food to his brother.

"Gladly, Your Grace."

"Very good. I shall let Mrs. Finch know this addition to your tasks, which will begin today."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Feeling the housekeeper's gaze upon her, Clara guarded her submissive posture.

Still, the duke did not dismiss her. "Shall I finish the dusting, Your Grace?"

He cleared his throat. "By all means, yes. You are excused."

Clara curtsied deeply, then left the room without looking at him.

There. That had not been so difficult, had it? As long as she wasn't obliged to look into his eyes, she could keep her wandering heart in order. Being at the lodge the better part of the day, she would be able to avoid him quite easily too.

She finished her dusting, returned her supplies, and found Mrs. Finch to discuss her first visit to the hunting lodge.

The housekeeper was in her quarters, seated at the desk, but she looked up when Clara stopped on the threshold. She motioned for Clara to approach and set her quill in the stand.

"I believe His Grace wished for me to begin at the hunting lodge today, Mrs. Finch."

"Yes, he said as much. Your first task will be to take an inventory of what is needed there. Do you know how to write?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very good. You will make an inventory of each room, taking careful note of what is there, the state of it, and what is needed. Candlesticks, linens, rugs, chairs, fire pokers, et cetera. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a short silence. "Clara, the hurt in your eyes when I volunteered you for this task did not escape me. When you are infatuated with someone, even a small distance feels like torture. But believe me, you will thank me some day for the service I am doing you. When I saw you daring to meet his eye earlier…" She blinked and raised her brows as though the mere thought threatened to overcome her. "Suffice it to say, my dear, that I have witnessed a fair amount of…intermingling between servant and master in my time. One thing remains a constant in every case: it is not the master who loses at the end of such an affair." Her pointed gaze rested on Clara.

"Yes, ma'am," Clara said meekly, though the words pierced more deeply than she cared to admit.

Mrs. Finch opened a drawer and retrieved some parchment, an old quill, and a pot of ink. She handed them to Clara. "Shall I have one of the maids show you the way to the lodge?"

"No, ma'am. I know the way."

Mrs. Finch's brows went up, and Clara realized her error.

"That is," she said, "I understand it is just off the path that leads to the church, is it not?"

The housekeeper removed one key from the large ring at her waist. "It is. Here is the lodge key." She handed it to Clara, but her grip did not release. She stared at Clara fixedly. "Guard it with your life. I expect you to return in the afternoon to take the charity baskets the duke mentioned, whether or not the inventory is done. He did speak with you regarding them, did he not?"

"Yes, ma'am. I will be at Rushlake in time to assemble and take them."

Mrs. Finch dismissed her, and Clara made her way to the store room where the baskets were kept. Mr. Yorke must be hungry again by now, but he would have nothing to eat until this evening if he was obliged to wait until she brought him food.

She retrieved a small wicker basket and laid a clean cloth inside. Taking a quick gander into the bake room, she spotted a few fresh loaves of bread cooling on the table. The smell made her mouth water. If she took one of the new loaves, its absence would be noted, so she slipped inside and took from the pile of scraps used for puddings and breadcrumbs. It was not fresh, but perhaps Mr. Yorke could make toast with it.

She put the food in the basket, covered it with the cloth, then set the writing supplies on top.

The path to the lodge was entirely different in the light of day and without the duke or his brother to pass the time. But it was beautiful—everything at Rushlake was—and Clara hummed as she passed through the dappled shade of the trees above. Her life at Rushlake was far from perfect, but she was grateful for it. The mere thought of returning to The Coach and Lantern made her sick.

When the lodge came into view, she focused on the window of the room she knew Mr. Yorke to be using, but the shades were closed.

The front door unlocked without difficulty, and she stepped inside slowly, then closed and locked it behind her. With the light of day filling the entry hall, the fine furnishings of the lodge were apparent. It was not Rushlake, but no expense had been spared here, either. Dark oak paneling adorned the walls, while the floors boasted polished flagstone in need of a good mopping. A carved stone fireplace large enough to stand in served as the room's main attraction.

"Clara!" Mr. Yorke's head appeared at the top of the stairs, an enormous grin on his handsome face as he rushed down the stairs. "You have no idea how good it is to see a living, breathing being that is not a mouse. And…" His gaze settled on the basket on her arm, but his face filled with disappointment at the sight of the quill and parchment.

Clara picked them up and set them on the entry table, then pulled the cloth away to reveal the bread.

"You did bring good tidings of great joy," Mr. Yorke said, taking the quarter of a loaf.

"It is not as much as I might have wished?—"

"And yet it is everything I have ever wanted." He rotated the stale bread in front of his eyes like a trophy.

Clara smiled. "Let us hope its absence goes unnoticed. How are you faring?"

He tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth. "In near-bliss. The bed is fit for a king, the sheets dry, I can sing as loudly as I please, and twice now, you have brought me delicious food. The only thing I have lacked is company, and you have brought that as well. You are my only friend in the world, Clara. Whatever my brother is paying you, he ought to treble it."

Clara laughed softly. "I would certainly not be opposed, sir. Would you care to stretch your legs a bit? I must take an inventory of the lodge, but you should have some fresh air first if that appeals to you. I can ensure there is no one about."

He swallowed forcefully. "I would be forever in your debt."

Clara unlocked the door and walked around the lodge, looking for a secluded area where Mr. Yorke could spend a bit of time without worrying he would be seen. There was a small clearing amidst thick trees, intersected by a stream. She would be able to see it from the windows of the lodge's east-facing bedchambers.

Mr. Yorke took the basket of bread, a book, and a blanket with him and lay on the ground, half in the sun, half in the shade, while Clara began her inventory in the bedchamber.

She took careful note of what was needed at the lodge, glancing outside periodically to ensure Mr. Yorke was still well and trying not to wonder when she might see the duke next. Would she receive the food for the charity baskets directly from him?

What she should be doing was thinking how she could avoid him.

One of the footmen could set the food aside for Clara to handle in the kitchens. There need be no interaction between her and the duke. She was here to ensure Mr. Yorke remained hidden, not to maximize interaction with her master.

She would keep her distance, and soon enough, her heart would give up its ill-fated desire for more time with the Duke of Rockwood.