Chapter 21

21

WILLIAM

W illiam's feet walked with leaden steps over the dirt path, as though they were trying to keep him in the garden. That was the problem: he never felt ready to leave Clara. No part of him truly wanted to go inside and make conversation with his guests, to say nothing of doing so with Lady Cassandra.

He had nothing against her, of course, except that she was not Clara.

"Your Grace."

William stopped. Clara was calling him by his title again. He longed to hear her say his name. But he might never leave the garden if she did. It was better this way.

He turned toward her. "Yes?"

She did not say anything immediately. The look in her eyes was almost tortured, and he walked back toward her in a hurry. "What is it?"

She shut her eyes. "I promised to tell you the truth, and I fell short of that just now."

His brows pulled together. "What do you mean? "

There was another pause before she spoke. "John did not just want money."

He kept his gaze on her, not comprehending. Did she mean he had come for her? She had already said as much.

"He has made threats," she said.

"Threats?" His breath was already coming more quickly. If John was threatening Clara…

"I have not been entirely truthful with you, Your Grace." She looked up at him, misery in her eyes.

A hundred scenarios passed through his mind, too quickly for him to grasp at one.

"At first, I kept it from you because I was afraid you would not employ me if you knew, and I was so desperate for work. And then, once I came to Rushlake, I feared you would doubt my loyalty and my trustworthiness if I told you."

"Told me what, Clara?"

"Why I was dismissed as a lady's maid."

He hesitated. "The husband of your mistress dismissed you because he disliked you."

"That is true enough. But it is not the entire truth."

He tensed. "What is the entire truth?"

She struggled, the same anguish in her eyes. "I told you I had worked for my mistress for nearly two years before she married. She was the one who corrected my speech and helped me read. She was a true friend to me, and I loved her dearly for it. But then she married." Clara's brows drew together. "Her husband was kind to me at first. Almost surprisingly so. I thought nothing of it, for I was eager to be liked by my mistress's husband. But with time, his remarks and attention grew more…significant. Bolder."

William's muscles stiffened as the full meaning of the word grew in the silence .

She dropped her gaze. "When I rebuffed his advances, he grew angry."

William didn't blink, so intent was his gaze on her.

"The next day, I was dismissed. When I asked the reason, my mistress said I had stolen from them. Her husband had claimed as much and"—the pain in her eyes grew—"she believed him." She took in a shaky breath. "I was so angry and hurt. And fool that I was, I did the only thing I could to take revenge before I left, a branded thief: I stole from him." She looked up, her eyes finally meeting William's.

Heavy disappointment settled in his stomach. He would never have believed Clara capable of such a thing. Nor of concealing it from him. He had trusted her with his most important secrets—things he had not even told Edmund or his own family.

And yet…behind the disappointment, there was relief. And anger. Relief that she had rebuffed the man. Anger at him for treating her in such a way.

"Last night, I told John I had no money to give him," she continued, "and he demanded I steal something from Rushlake—from you—to pay his debts. I refused, and he threatened to tell you I am a thief. He said you might reward him for the information."

William looked away. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the information about her past—around the fact that she had kept all of this from him. What else might she be keeping from him?

"I have made a great many foolish decisions in my life, Your Grace," Clara said, her voice trembling. "But I value your trust too much not to tell you the full truth."

William scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I have entrusted you with things that could ruin me and my entire family, Clara. You assured me I could trust you. "

She stepped toward him with almost frantic energy, her hands out. She dropped them, as though she had thought better of touching him, instead grasping her fingers together. "And you can! I swear it, Your Grace. The theft was a rash decision, and one I have regretted ever since. But I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you."

William's gaze whipped to hers. His heart hammered as their eyes locked, hers pained and apologetic.

Even more than the hurt he felt at her deception, he was frustrated that she had allowed herself to be goaded into doing something so contrary to what he knew of her. The first time he had met her, had she not returned his signet ring?

"Why did you do it?"

Her shoulders lifted helplessly. "It was foolish and rash. But you do not understand, Your Grace. I had done nothing wrong—indeed, I had been loyal to my mistress. But I was to be branded a thief—and who would believe the word of a lady's maid against that of her master?"

She was right, of course. She could have easily submitted to his advances to keep her position, but she had not—and it had cost her dearly. It was understandable that she would do what she had done out of anger and self-preservation, even if it was regrettable.

"I was desperate for work," she continued, "but I had no reference to provide and no family to turn to. After weeks of failing to find work, I met John. He was kind, willing to help me, and he seemed not to think worse of me for my actions. I was scared. Scared of the future."

William nodded, frowning deeply. She had married John in her most desperate state. "What happened last night? You said he threatened you." William gritted his teeth. He should have stayed with her .

She lifted her shoulders. "I told him I needed time. I am to meet him tomorrow night in the village."

"You will not go now, though. Will you? His threats have no power now that I know the truth."

She shook her head. "He said if I told you the truth myself, he would see the news is spread about that he witnessed you coming out of the woods at night with me—a maid and a wanted thief." Her cheeks tinged with pink, but he couldn't determine whether it was from the reference to their interaction last night or from the humiliation of being called a thief.

William wanted to assure her no one would listen to the jabbering of a drunkard, but it was not entirely true. Combined with the rumors already circulating in and around Rushlake, John might well do significant damage. And if Lord Hawkesbury were to get wind of such gossip…

"What do you intend, then?" he asked.

Silence met his question. She had no answer.

"I will go," he said.

"What?" Her wide eyes searched his. "No. On no account. I will go. I will speak with him. Perhaps you could give me an advance on my wages?—"

"No." The word came out hard as steel, even to his own ears.

Clara's lashes fluttered in surprise. "I will work to repay it, Your Grace. I promise."

"It is out of the question, Clara. You cannot give him even a penny. Do you not see what will happen if you do? The next time he needs money—and you know as well as I that it is an inevitability—he will come to you again with more threats. Or perhaps the same ones. You will never be free of him."

Her tortured brow was all the acknowledgement he needed that she knew he was right.

"I will go," he repeated .

"Your Grace?—"

"What is the sum of his debts?"

"Nearly two hundred pounds," she said, as though the amount would be enough to make him see sense.

He gave a nod.

"Your Grace," she pleaded, "I beg you not to give him the money."

"Be at ease, Clara. I have no intention of giving him two hundred pounds. But I do wish to speak with him. Promise me you will not go see him yourself."

She hesitated, her clear, troubled eyes holding his. Her mouth turned up at one edge in a rueful smile. "You have required a great number of promises from me today."

He chuckled softly. "Have I? I do not apologize for it. Those promises are the only thing that will allow me to sleep soundly tonight."

"Then I promise it."

He let out a relieved breath.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Only a man good to his core would show me the mercy and forbearance you have."

Her words warmed him. She always made him feel as if he were the most admirable man on earth, just the way he was. That he could accomplish anything.

"I must return to my guests," he said, though every bone in his body resisted the thought of leaving. He had only meant to spend a few minutes in the garden, but it must have been half an hour by now. Their conversation had been difficult and trying. But he would infinitely prefer painful conversation with Clara over the polite nothings expected of him inside.

"And I must take these to the lodge." She gestured to the basket of flowers a dozen feet behind her. They were likely beginning to wilt in the sun.

"My family will arrive tomorrow," he said. "I will tell Mrs. Finch that I wish for you to be there to lend your assistance. I will be there as well."

"I would be happy to assist them."

"Do not speak so soon," he countered with a small smile. "You haven't yet met my aunt. She is…well, let us just say that she is lively."

"Perhaps that is where your brother came by his liveliness."

"Undoubtedly. None of them are aware of Silas's presence here, though, so there will be a great deal of to-do over it once it becomes known. I will need your help to ensure the reunion does not draw attention."

"I promise it, Your Grace."

Their gazes caught, and they both smiled. She looked more enchanting than ever with her eyes full of amusement.

"Evidently, I need no encouragement to make promises to you," she said.

Her words struck him, for he found a similar desire within himself to make promises. Not just any promises, though. Promises meant to last forever.

But they were promises she had already made with someone else. And the man she had made them with—the person who should have been protecting her—was the very man making threats against her.

Well…he wouldn't do so once William spoke with him.