Chapter 19

19

WILLIAM

" I s there aught else ye need, Yer Grace?" The young stable hand looked at William with a hint of concern on his face.

William had been staring into the dark outside of the stables, his ear cocked for any sign of raised voices. It went against everything in him to leave Clara with that brute of a man. He was not prone to violence, but in the case of John Quinn, he was tempted to make an exception. A man who sold his wife for profit had no business seeking her out again. For any reason.

"I will brush Comet down tonight," William replied.

The young man's brows went up. "As ye wish, Yer Grace." He handed William the brush. "She's taken to ye."

"I am not so certain of that, but she seems to be making some progress, at least."

" I be sure of it, Yer Grace. Only yesterday, she kicked me. And the day afore that, when Harry tried ridin' her around in that new saddle, she bucked somethin' fierce. "

William grimaced. "I am sorry to have thrust a troublesome horse upon you."

The young man smiled as he set aside the tack. "'Tis often the ones that require the most work that turn out to be the best ones, Yer Grace. Shall I stay to put her in her stall?"

William shook his head. "I will do it once I have brushed her."

"I'll be off to see to the tack, then. Good night, Yer Grace."

"Good night, Sam." He gathered up the things he needed and disappeared into the tack room.

William waited until the door was closed, then untied the rope keeping Comet in place and coaxed her to follow him. He had no desire to overhear Clara's conversation with John—well, that was not entirely true—but he did wish to ensure she was safe. He tied the rope to one of the stalls nearer the stable's exit. From that vantage point, he could make out what he thought to be John Quinn's arm.

The conversation was nothing more than a soft muffle of sound, and William brushed the mare until finally, it stopped and John Quinn disappeared.

William let out a sigh of relief, then walked to the edge of the stable. His eyes searched for Clara in the dark until he spotted her under the sole lantern over the servant staircase. He watched her disappear into the safety of the house.

She was safe at least.

And married.

John Quinn's arrival was a stark reminder of that. Wife-selling might be accepted amongst the lower classes, but that did not mean it was binding. No matter how ill William thought of the brute, under the law, he was Clara's husband.

William's feelings for her had developed and deepened almost without his realizing it. Perhaps that was because he had been sweeping them beneath the rug. She was a maid, after all, and dukes did not court maids—certainly not married ones. Other dukes had allowed themselves the liberty of entertaining dalliances with servants, but that was not at all how William saw Clara.

He had convinced himself she was a friend, but that was not the full truth.

He admired her kindness, her grit in the face of adversity, her loyalty and understanding.

He had fallen in love with her.

But he could not have her.

He was quiet as his valet assisted him out of his clothing ten minutes later. He needed to decide what to do with the coil of feelings in his chest. He had not sought Clara that evening with the intention of kissing her, but the moment he had seen her, there had been no denying the pull he felt—a pull so strong, he had not known how to resist. And the readiness with which she had returned the kiss…

But what was the upshot of it all?

How he felt for Clara, however she felt for him…such things meant nothing. The facts of the situation stood in stark contrast to his emotions.

Firstly, Clara was a married woman.

Secondly, Silas's name must be cleared—and before he got himself into some new scrape.

Lastly, William had a duty to the title he had inherited. He had a duty to himself and his future children.

The simplest way to pursue his duty and to clear Silas's name was to marry a well-connected young woman. Tomorrow, Lady Cassandra—just such a young woman—would arrive at Rushlake.

If he could not have Clara, what reason was there to resist a match that might save Silas and restore respect to the title?

William slept ill, and the sight of the hearty meal provided for him in the breakfast parlor restored him only a little despite not having eaten dinner the night before.

Edmund appeared shortly after he had sat down. "There you are, Your Grace. I worried when you did not return in time for dinner last night." He began filling his plate from the array of meats, boiled eggs, and toast on the sideboard. "How was your visit to Underwood?"

William suppressed a sigh. The visit felt like a lifetime ago. It had also felt like it lasted a lifetime. "It went well. Underwood was pleased, I think."

"Of course he was. Did you dine with him, then?"

"No." William busied himself with salting his boiled egg. Why did he worry Edmund could see the truth of what he had done in his eyes? The secrets he was keeping from his friend and advisor seemed to be piling up at an alarming rate, and William disliked the realization. "I wanted a bit of time to myself afterward. Did I leave you in a lurch by doing so?"

"Not at all. I hope you feel restored and ready for the days ahead." Edmund took his seat and lifted his brows in a question.

"Quite ready." William would act ready, and he hoped that would be enough. "How many guests are arriving today?"

"Seven by my count, Your Grace. The Beaumonts, the Kingsleys, and Lord and Lady Hawkesbury with Lady Cassandra."

William nodded. What would Lady Cassandra be like? Was she aware she was coming to Rushlake with an eye to a potential match with him? And if so, what precisely did she expect from such a match ?

"What can you tell me about Lady Cassandra?"

Edmund's gaze flitted to him, then back to the mutton he was cutting. He cleared his throat. "Let me see…she is quite tall, if I remember correctly. Handsome. Engaged in several philanthropic pursuits, I gather."

William took a bite of ham and chewed. He would have to be more direct. "Does she know why she has been invited to Rushlake?"

Edmund chuckled. "Yes, Your Grace. I have no doubt her father has made that clear to her. He wishes quite strongly for the match, though"—he put up a palm—"I tried to make it clear you are only beginning to entertain thoughts of matrimony."

William smiled. "Thank you." The truth was, however, that he had spent a great deal of time thinking of matrimony over the past twelve hours. It was simply not his marriage that had occupied his thoughts, but Clara's. "And, to your knowledge, what sort of match does Lady Cassandra seek?"

Edmund's brow was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," William said, "that I wish to know what exactly she is looking for. Does she expect a man courting her to act like a fool in love? To send her roses and spout verse?"

"Ahh, I see. I understand Lady Cassandra to be a pragmatist, much like her father. And, if you desire frankness, Your Grace, I imagine what draws her to Rushlake is primarily the prospect of becoming a duchess. Naturally, once she comes to know you personally, her reasons for wanting the match may well expand—just as they may for you when you meet her ."

William was unsure what to make of his friend's answer. He didn't know what to think of any of it. It seemed impossible that his heart could move so swiftly from Clara to someone else. He had been enamored of women before, but he had never felt for one what he now felt for Clara—the depth of connection, the friendship, the attraction.

But since that could never be, he would do his best to be open.

He needed to speak with Clara as soon as could be managed, though. He owed her that.

It was not to be, however. After breakfast, William was subject to a stream of questions from the housekeeper and butler regarding the menu, guest bedchamber selection, and the like. Afterward, Edmund wished to finalize some of the plans for the upcoming ball, and then suddenly, the guests began arriving at noon.

The housekeeper, butler, and several footmen and maids, all of whom wore neatly pressed clothing—and none of whom were Clara—were there to assist with receiving the guests. William greeted the Langleys with as much quiet and confident grace as he could muster, and they responded in kind. He was not ignorant of the evaluative edge to their gazes, however.

That was the purpose of this entire affair, was it not? For people to observe and decide whether they could approve of him?

It was nigh on two in the afternoon when Lord Hawkesbury's carriages arrived. William and Edmund took their places just inside the large, carved oak door as footmen and maids began appearing to assist with the trunks and valises the pair of carriages would contain.

William's heart somersaulted when Clara entered the hall behind two other maids. Her gaze flitted to him before she lowered her head submissively and formed a line with the others.

William's eyes lingered on her. He couldn't help himself. Her usual cap covered her blonde hair, and his mind went immediately to the events of the previous night, when Comet had stolen her cap and disordered her hair. And then he had kissed her.

"Do not rush the greeting with Lord and Lady Hawkesbury, Your Grace," Edmund said in a low voice. "They will all be tired from the journey, and there will be plenty of opportunity for you and Lady Cassandra to converse once they have rested."

Clara's gaze jumped to his, then away again.

William's stomach tied in knots.

The groom and stable hands took control of the horses drawing the carriages, and a footman opened the door of the first, offering his hand to the middle-aged man who stepped down. Lord Hawkesbury was followed by his wife, and William held his breath while the third and final occupant of the carriage emerged.

Lady Cassandra was handsome. Her head was covered by a fine straw bonnet, wrapped in green ribbon, but a few brown curls framed her face. Once her feet were safely on the ground, she gazed around curiously, taking in the facade of Rushlake, then moving to the open front door.

Out of the second carriage emerged a valet and a lady's maid, who were soon hidden by the flurry of servants assisting with trunks and bandboxes.

The three guests made their way up the stairs and through the door, where William greeted Lord and Lady Hawkesbury.

"We are honored to count ourselves among your guests, Your Grace," Lord Hawkesbury replied. "Please allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Lady Cassandra."

William turned his gaze to her as she executed a deep and exacting curtsy. He bowed in turn, and their gazes met. Hers was clear and direct, almost disconcertingly so.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace," she said .

"The pleasure is all mine," he responded politely, refusing to allow his eyes to travel to Clara as they wished to do. He was ever-aware of her movements, despite never looking directly at her.

William introduced them to Edmund, and they exchanged pleasantries for a time while the bustle of reception took place around them.

"You must be tired from your journey," William finally said. "We have your bedchambers prepared where you can rest and recover for as long as you wish."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Lady Hawkesbury.

Mrs. Finch stepped forward. "I will be happy to show you to your bedchamber, my lord and my lady." She turned and looked over the servants in the room, as though searching for one in particular. Finally, her gaze settled. "Clara, please accompany Lady Cassandra to her bedchamber."

"Yes, ma'am," Clara said obediently.

William was thus afforded a view of the woman he loved and the woman everyone hoped he would marry making their way up the stairs together.