Chapter 24

24

CLARA

A n immense weight had been lifted from Clara's shoulders, and she went about her morning duties full of gratitude. That gratitude would readily have taken the form of a long and passionate embrace with the duke, but since that was impossible, she settled for carrying out her tasks with cheer and efficiency. She was determined to focus on that bright spot rather than the heavy rain clouds that hung over a future without the duke.

The debate over whether to stay at Rushlake or leave raged on in her mind. Both prospects were bleak.

At least she would not be forever searching for ways to settle John's debts.

Once the guests began their preparations for dinner, she sat down in the servant dining hall to take a cup of tea, grateful for a moment of rest amidst the unstoppable tide of duties over the past few days. The other maids finally seemed to be warming up to her, and the footmen too.

Mrs. Finch bustled into the hall in the hurry they had come to expect of her since the guests' arrival. "Clara, you are needed in Lady Cassandra's bedchamber immediately."

Her mouth opened wordlessly, and she glanced at her fellow maids, all of whom looked just as nonplussed as she was.

"Now," Mrs. Finch said impatiently.

Clara stood. "Needed for what, ma'am?"

"Her toilette. You were a lady's maid before, were you not?"

"Y-yes, ma'am, but?—"

"There was an incident with her mother's hair, and they have but one lady's maid between them, which means Lady Cassandra will not be dressed in time for dinner unless you step in and help. Hurry now! And change that filthy apron."

Breath coming quickly, Clara changed her apron for one of the clean ones hanging on the nearby peg. Lady Redgrave had always found Clara's work more than satisfactory, but it had been some time since Clara had coiffed anyone's hair but her own.

When she reached Lady Cassandra's bedchamber, she gave a soft but firm knock, and the lady's voice sounded, calling for her to enter.

"Ah," Lady Cassandra said with a large, glittering smile, "so you are to be my savior. When Mrs. Finch said one of you had experience as a lady's maid, I hoped it would be you. I am glad of it. A familiar face is always welcome."

"I hope my work will please you, my lady," Clara said. "I see your dress has been laid out. Will you tell me what you have in mind for your hair?"

Lady Cassandra did precisely that, and Clara set to the task of achieving the vision the woman had. Her hair was dark and thick, and it glistened in the warm afternoon light streaming through the windows.

Clara had been about her work for a quarter of an hour when another knock sounded and the door opened to admit Lady Hawkesbury. She was already dressed and her hair pulled into a high bun with a few curls allowed free. "Walker worked her magic and finished sooner than we had anticipated. I thought I would come offer her to you, but I see you are in good hands."

"Yes." Lady Cassandra turned her head slightly to admire Clara's work in progress. "Clara is very capable. Come, Mama. Have a seat."

"I shall just let Walker know she may rest," her mother replied.

She was gone less than a minute before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She looked at her daughter with a critical eye but seemed satisfied enough.

"A fetching coiffure," she said as her daughter applied perfume to her wrists. "I doubt whether the duke will have seen anything like it."

Clara forced her hands to stay about their work and her face to remain impassive. Propriety dictated she act deaf in such situations.

"That is a lovely scent, my dear." Her mother cocked a brow. "Yet another enticement."

Lady Cassandra replaced the stopper on the perfume. "I am not at all certain the duke takes note of such things."

Clara fumbled with a pin and it dropped onto the rug. "Forgive me," she said, glad the act of reaching for it provided an excuse for her warm cheeks. The duke most certainly took note of perfume. Certain varieties, at least. The one Lady Cassandra wore was far more potent and floral than the one his mother had worn, but it was a pretty scent.

"Every man takes note of such things," said her mother, "whether they realize it or not. What is your sense for how things lie with him? "

Clara's heart thrummed, but she forced her focus on Lady Cassandra's hair.

"It is difficult to say," Lady Cassandra replied. "I suspect that much goes on in his head that one would never infer from his face. But I appreciate a man who guards a bit of mystery about him."

"Provided ‘mystery' is not another word for scandal, I tend to agree."

Clara kept her eyes low and trained on the pin she was placing, but her cheeks could have lit the fresh logs in the grate.

"There is already the scandal with that brother of his," Lady Hawkesbury continued.

"That is not his scandal, though, Mama. Of anyone, you should know that a person cannot control the actions of her siblings. And surely, one must be willing to overlook some aberrations if one wishes to become a duchess. Besides, the duke seems the last man to cause a scandal."

There was a short silence, but Clara could see some sort of wordless communication passing between mother and daughter. Could they see her guilt by the red stain of her cheeks?

"You needn't worry about Clara," Lady Cassandra finally said. "She will keep our confidences. Will you not?"

"Of course, my lady," Clara hurried to say. Inside, however, all she could think of was the number of potential scandals the duke was harboring—and that she herself was one of them.

She left the bedchamber ten minutes later with inexpressible relief. The sounds in the entry hall and the footsteps on the stairs made it clear the last of the guests had arrived, so Clara picked up her pace toward the servant stairs.

She had taken a few steps down when she heard a familiar voice .

"The trunk can be put in the dressing room," said the woman's voice.

She went still, her pulse jumping to life. It couldn't be her, though.

"Right away, my lady," replied the footman.

Clara didn't move, wondering if she had heard correctly. Slowly, she turned around and went up the three steps, permitting her to see down the corridor.

She froze. Stopped in front of the Oak Room door were Lord and Lady Redgrave.

Clara rushed out of sight, heart hammering fit to break her ribs as she took the stairs down as quickly as she could.

Why had it never occurred to her that the duke might be personally acquainted with her past master and mistress?

More importantly, though, what was she now to do? How could she fulfill her duties as a housemaid when she might stumble upon Lord Redgrave at any time? The man had the power to see her hanged. He had merely dismissed her after accusing her of theft, but that was before she had truly stolen anything from him.

She needed to find the duke. She could not simply ask his whereabouts, but common sense dictated he was in his bedchamber dressing for dinner or perhaps in the drawing room already.

The thought of going to his bedchamber was quickly dismissed. It would be the height of impropriety, besides possibly exposing her to the Redgraves. She would try the drawing room first.

Rather than going to its main door, she approached from the music room. She hurried past the harp, the settees, and small tables, then slipped through the door and into the vestibule between the music and drawing rooms. First listening for the sound of conversation, she turned the handle and pushed the drawing room door open enough to see within.

The duke and his brother Frederick were on the far side of the room, but the duke's back was turned toward her. Frederick, however, she had in full view. Two other guests were seated in chairs, their profiles visible to Clara, though they were too busy conversing to pay mind to anything else.

Hands shaking, Clara pushed the door open a bit further and made a motion with her hand.

Frederick's gaze flicked lazily toward her and away, then snapped back again.

Aware she was breaking every possible standard of propriety and servant decorum, she pointed to the duke.

Frederick said something in a low voice to his brother, who turned and caught eyes with Clara. She didn't even need to motion for him to come. He said something to Frederick, then he made his way toward her.

Relieved, Clara pulled the door almost all of the way closed and fell back into the dark space between rooms, waiting. The door behind her stood slightly ajar, allowing a bit of light in.

The duke slipped into the vestibule and closed the door behind him.

"Is everything well?" he asked urgently.

"Yes," she assured him. "That is, no. Not entirely." She could hardly see him in the windowless vestibule, but she could feel him. She always could.

"Is it Silas?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

"No. It is Lord and Lady Redgrave," she said, her eyes adjusting enough to make out his concern. "He is here."

He frowned more deeply. "Yes, they arrived half an hour ago. What of it?"

"Lady Redgrave was my mistress, Your Grace. "

The whites of his eyes became more visible as he stared at her.

"Perhaps I should leave," she said. "At least while they are here."

The duke's resulting frown warmed her heart, even in her current state. She did not wish to leave, particularly not when she might be needed by him or his family.

"I think that unnecessary," the duke said. "How much did the watch fetch when you sold it? Perhaps you can offer him something of similar value."

"I never sold it. I intended to do so, but I couldn't bring myself to."

"Then why not return it to him and beg his pardon?"

She shook her head. "I know Lord Redgrave, Your Grace. He is vengeful."

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw—the same jaw her hand had stroked when they had kissed. What she wouldn't give to return to that grove by the stream just now.

His gaze swept to hers suddenly. "Then give it to me."

"What?"

"The pocket watch. Give it to me."

"But…what will you do with it?"

"I will hit upon something. Either way, it is safest if it is not in your possession."

She swallowed, feeling uncertain. How could she saddle the duke with the thing that put her at risk of being hanged or transported? It seemed…wrong. It would be to hand him yet another scandal of the sort Lady Hawkesbury had mentioned.

"Lord Redgrave is dangerous, Your Grace, and this is not your responsibility. You have done more than enough for me already."

He took her hands and looked into her eyes. "Clara, you have helped me with and safeguarded the most perilous secret I possess, one that could implicate you in a murder. Let me help you with this. Trust me."

She hesitated again. But she did trust him. She trusted him with her very life. "When can I give it to you?"

"Can you fetch it now?"

She nodded.

"Go, then. I will wait here. Frederick will manage the guests until I return."

Minutes later, Clara returned, cheeks warm and breath coming quickly. It was no small thing to dash up multiple staircases and back down again, all while fearing the Redgraves might see her.

The duke smiled slightly at the sight of her and put out his hand. She let the watch and chain fall into it, wondering what in the world he meant to do with it.

But she would trust him.

"You must do your best to keep out of sight of the Redgraves," he said, slipping the watch into his inner coat pocket. "Check every corridor before walking through it, every room before entering. I will see whether I can find assignments that keep you away from the guests whenever possible." He put a hand on the doorknob to the drawing room. The sound of muffled conversation within had grown since they had first entered the vestibule.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said. "I am so very sorry to add to your troubles."

"You could never be a trouble, Clara. Never think it. We will speak later."

She wanted to ask when and where they would manage such a conversation, but she did not. Somehow, they always seemed to find each other.