Chapter 13

13

WILLIAM

W illiam swallowed the last bite of a small mushroom tart and sat back in his chair, his gaze sweeping to the door for the fifth time at least. He had expected to see Clara by now, but there was no sign of her yet. In front of him lay nearly a dozen mushroom tarts, a few Bath buns, and roast venison.

Silas had ripped without compunction into the bread Clara had fetched last night. These items might well make him swoon.

The door opened, and William immediately perked up. But it was one of the footmen.

"Are you finished, Your Grace?" he asked politely.

"Yes, thank you. Did Mrs. Finch send you?"

"No, Your Grace. Mr. Thurston did. Is there a problem?"

"No, no. Only that Mrs. Finch had said she would send…one of the maids." He spoke in generalities, but he would have been every bit as disappointed if anyone but Clara had appeared .

"Yes, Your Grace. I believe Clara will wrap up the food and take it as soon as I have conveyed it below stairs."

William forced a smile and he rose from his place. "Very good. Thank you." He left the room, feeling uncharacteristically frustrated. Had he not been clear enough when he had told Clara his idea? Or with Mrs. Finch when he had provided the orders? Did Clara not realize he was anxious for news of his brother?

Stopping in the corridor, he set his hands on the sill of the tall window and stared outside.

After a moment of brooding, he chuckled softly.

He was being ridiculous. He did wish to know how Silas was doing, but that was not the true reason for his irritation. He had been looking forward to seeing Clara, and evidently, he had become so accustomed to having his way that he couldn't bear to have his will contravened.

Clara undoubtedly had her reasons for not coming herself. Perhaps she had been given different orders from Mrs. Finch. The housekeeper was her superior, after all. Mrs. Finch had likely assumed that, so long as the food was taken where it was supposed to go, it made no difference who came to retrieve it.

Well, it made a difference to William. Not a difference he could lay claim to, though. Why his mind had become so fixated on Clara, he couldn't say.

He looked in the direction of the lodge, obscured by nearly a mile of forest. He could go there himself and see how Silas was doing, but it would be unwise. They could not afford to draw more attention to the lodge.

No, he would wait for Clara's report instead. He had no doubt she would provide one soon.

But the next day, his impatience grew when still there was no sign of her. When the same footman came to retrieve the food that afternoon, William thanked him and waited for him to leave.

Was Clara avoiding him? It was beginning to seem that way. She had seemed different when he and Edmund had made their visit below stairs, but William had chalked that up to her not wanting to seem to be on closer terms with her master.

He sat in his chair for a moment, debating, then stood decisively and made his way outside. After a quarter of an hour of walking through the low-lying hedges of the French garden, he spotted Clara emerging from the servant staircase, two baskets in hand.

She made her way toward the carriage yard, then set the baskets in a small hand-drawn cart that rested against the outer stone wall.

William glanced around to ensure no one else was near, then called to her.

Her head came up, searching for the source of the voice until it settled on him. "Your Grace?" She curtsied, but the cart wobbled dangerously without her hands supporting it.

William hurried over, but Clara was already steadying it.

"Forgive my clumsiness," she said, taking the cart's handles.

"It is my fault. I took you by surprise."

She glanced around them nervously, as though fearing someone might be watching.

He smiled slightly. "You look as though you are up to mischief."

Her gaze flew to his, but when she caught sight of his smile, she let out a laugh. "Mischief at your orders, Your Grace."

He smiled more widely. "Indeed. And yet you have been avoiding me. "

Her eyes widened, and she averted her gaze—the perfect confirmation of his suspicions.

"Do you deny it?" he asked.

She hesitated.

"You can be honest with me, Clara. In fact, I insist upon it." He smiled to lessen the severity of his words.

"Very well. Yes, I have been…avoiding you."

"Because…?"

She took in a breath before answering him. The blue of her eyes had a somber gleam, like the sea on a stormy day, but she smiled ruefully. "Because Mrs. Finch thinks I am besotted with you."

William's smile flickered.

"It is why she believes I remained at Rushlake after intending to leave—because I couldn't bear to be parted from you." Red stained her cheeks. "I could not tell her the true reason for my choice to remain, so I did not contradict her."

William nodded. She had said it was not only the money that had kept her at Rushlake, but she was obviously embarrassed at the implication that she felt anything more for him than a maid for her master. What, then, had she meant?

He wanted to ask, but now was not the time. Nor would it ever be.

She continued. "If Mrs. Finch suspects me of crossing a line or behaving toward you in a way she finds unsuitable, she will have me dismissed, Your Grace."

William grimaced. Again he was reminded that the gossip that for him was a mere annoyance—and a nebulous one at that, for the servants wouldn't dare say anything in front of him—was for Clara a constant presence and a real danger.

"I regret deeply that you are being made to endure such talk, Clara. It is not what you had imagined, I am sure, when you agreed to come to Rushlake, and it is certainly not what I want for you. I will see that a reminder against scurrilous talk is given to the servants. Having said that, I would not allow Mrs. Finch to dismiss you."

Her eyes searched his, and she swallowed. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"You are protecting my brother and me; we will protect you . However, I do not wish to complicate things for you any more than they are. We can find another way to communicate. I will think on it."

"As will I, Your Grace."

He offered her a smile, and she returned one of her own. There was a hint of shyness to it. But it was normal for a maid to feel shy around her master—particularly when he held the highest non-royal title in the kingdom.

"Now, tell me: is my brother behaving himself?" He cocked a teasing brow, but Silas's jibes about taking Clara for his own flashed through his mind.

"Yes, Your Grace. Though, the novelty is beginning to wear off, I think. It is why I am bringing him two books." She pulled back the corner of the blanket the baskets sat upon, revealing them.

"If he resorts to reading, he truly is desperate."

The laugh this elicited from Clara sent a trill of pleasure through him.

A voice sounded nearby, and she stiffened. It was Mrs. Finch, speaking to one of the laundry maids. "I should go," Clara said.

He nodded. "We will speak later."

She tried to curtsy, but the cart again wobbled without her stabilizing hold, and their hands brushed in their efforts to set it to rights.

Clara quickly moved hers to a different place on the cart, well away from William's. He didn't know whether to be amused or hurt. But she was merely being respectful. It was her training as a servant, just as was curtsying.

He wanted to tell her there was no need for such things, but something stopped him. Those formalities were a protection—one he was beginning to think he needed more than he would have liked. He could not allow himself to pursue more intimacy with Clara.

She might be kind and beautiful, and he might feel more at ease with her than with anyone else, but he could not allow himself to be distracted from his goals.