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Chapter 29

29

CLARA

C lara was more than ready for the guests to depart Rushlake. Keeping out of sight of the Redgraves meant she was on edge all day long, forever peeking around corners and trying to subtly influence the tasks she was given to reduce the likelihood of happening upon her past master.

Beyond that, the work required of the servants over the past week and a half left them all depleted and ornery with one another. The only thing keeping them from each other's throats was the announcement made by Mrs. Finch at dinner yesterday: His Grace had given permission for them to hold their own ball the evening after the one upstairs.

The excitement this elicited amongst the maids in particular was significant, as most of the servants who had come along with their masters and mistresses would still be at Rushlake to participate.

Clara tried to mimic the anticipation the others felt all while imagining a world where she might dress in the elegant gowns she had seen in Lady Cassandra's bedchamber and dance with the duke on the grand ballroom floor upstairs. In that dream, he was proud to call her his, staring into her eyes and laughing with her, unconcerned with the thoughts and opinions of his esteemed guests looking on.

Instead, she was obliged to accept the invitation from one of the guests' valets who wished to secure the first dance in the servant hall. She agreed with good-natured grace, trying to cheerfully resign herself to reality rather than dwelling on what could never be.

Clara went up on her tiptoes, reaching for the highest bookshelves she could reach from the fourth rung of the library ladder. It was only two days until the ball, and the house was bustling with preparations to receive the additional guests who would attend for the evening. The servant hall was rife with gossip about the duke and Lady Cassandra. Everyone was eager to offer a guess as to when the engagement would be announced and how soon they would welcome the new duchess to Rushlake again.

The consensus seemed to be that the engagement would be announced at the ball.

The timing mattered little to Clara. What difference did it make whether her heart was dealt the final blow in two days or five?

The library door opened, and Clara went still, bracing herself for the worst possible intruder.

But it was only Mrs. Yorke, who stepped inside before noting Clara on the opposite side of the room.

Clara climbed down from the ladder in a hurry. "Forgive me, Mrs. Yorke. I will return later."

"No, no. I merely forgot my shawl here yesterday." She went to the small table beside one of the chairs and picked it up. "Besides, I have been hoping I might happen upon you."

Clara's brows went up. "Oh? "

Mrs. Yorke smiled kindly. "Will you be in trouble if I steal a few minutes of your time?"

"Not at all," Clara said, both curiosity and wariness settling in her chest.

"Will you sit down with me?" Mrs. Yorke took a seat on the settee and gestured for Clara to take the chair across from it.

Clara obediently sat, setting her duster gently on her lap.

Mrs. Yorke watched her with an expression Clara found difficult to read. "I would far prefer to have a relaxed conversation over a cup of tea, but as that is not possible, I hope you will forgive me for being direct—perhaps uncomfortably so."

Clara's chest tightened, but she nodded.

Mrs. Yorke studied her for a moment before speaking. "May I ask what your feelings are in regards to my brother-in-law?"

Clara's lungs constricted, and it was seconds before she was able to breathe enough to say anything. "He is my employer, ma'am."

"I know this," she replied with a hint of amusement.

"He is…a fair and kind master," Clara continued, "and I am?—"

"Clara…" Mrs. Yorke tipped her head and looked at her with a sympathetic but knowing smile. "I am not asking what sort of master William is. I am asking what your feelings toward him are."

Clara swallowed. Mrs. Yorke seemed kind and witty and understanding—not the type of woman to trap her into saying something she would regret. But why was she asking?

And how was Clara to respond? Was she to admit that the duke was all she thought about, day and night? That a part of her wished she had never met him because then she would never have known a man like him existed? That she was terrified that, even if she left Rushlake, she would live the rest of her life dreaming of him ?

Her throat tightened and her eyes stung as Mrs. Yorke watched her in silence. She reached out a hand and covered Clara's with it. "I did not intend to upset you."

Clara shook her head and dashed away a tear. "Please do not apologize. I am merely tired."

Mrs. Yorke nodded, but it was clear she believed she had received her answer despite Clara's silence.

"I should finish dusting," Clara said.

"Of course." Mrs. Yorke rose to her feet. "I will not keep you any longer." She walked to the door, then stopped before opening it. "Please believe that I am a friend to you, Clara, just as you have been a friend to my family."

Clara could only nod before Mrs. Yorke smiled and left the room.

When the door closed, Clara let out a breath and dropped her head. She might as well have written out the confessions of her very soul.

She wished she had been brave enough to ask why Mrs. Yorke was posing such a question. Had Clara been so glaringly obvious in her love for the duke? Mrs. Yorke had found them in the garden, but surely the duke had explained the circumstances to her—that he had been comforting a widow after the discovery of her husband's death.

That was all Clara could allow herself to believe had happened. If she allowed herself to focus on the duke's confession of what he felt for her, she began to feel reckless and then hopeless. What cruel world would bring two people together but make it impossible for them to act on the love they felt?

She forced her feet to take her back to the bookshelves, but before she had reached the ladder, the door opened again, and she froze.

Lord Redgrave closed the door behind him. "Clara."

She stood rigidly in place .

"I was certain it was you I saw in the gardens the other day," he continued, walking toward her at a leisurely pace. "But then you were gone so quickly. It was only when I spoke with Mr. Cartwright that my suspicions were confirmed." He only stopped when he was close enough that she was obliged to lift her chin to meet his eye.

His brows raised. "What? No greeting for your former master?"

Clara fought with herself, trying to decide whether she should, in fact, greet him. The man had the power to send her to the gallows. She had to tread carefully.

"Perhaps your conscience has hold of your tongue," he mused, his eyes raking over her face. "Or are you crippled by the fear I shall reveal your sordid past to the duke?"

Clara wanted to say He knows , but she hesitated. If there was a way to turn that information against her, Lord Redgrave would find it, and she had no desire to implicate the duke.

"Shall we make a deal, Clara?" He stepped even closer until there was a bare inch between their faces.

She pulled back as much as she could without giving ground.

" I will forget about your history of crime," he said, "if you will tell no one what you thought you witnessed in the gardens. Unless you have already done so…"

She shook her head, but her heart hurt for Lady Redgrave. Was she oblivious to the character of the man she married? Whatever the case, she deserved better.

"Good girl." Lord Redgrave lifted a hand to her face, which she turned away. His hand hovered in midair. "Still so shy? I had thought I detected more experience in that pretty face of yours. I might provide you with a valuable education, you know." He touched the back of his finger to her cheek.

Clara grasped his hand and pulled it away, but he broke free and caught her by the wrist.

His eyes flashed at her, while her chest heaved and her nostrils flared.

"I could have you hanged," he said, his lip curled.

"Then do it," she breathed. "And may your conscience torture you for the rest of your days—if conscience you possess."

" My conscience?" he scoffed, his grip on her wrist tightening. "You are the thief, Clara. Do not forget that."

The door opened suddenly, and Lady Redgrave appeared on the threshold. Her gaze took in the scene, and she stepped into the room, shutting the door rapidly behind her.

Thudding from the encounter with Lord Redgrave, Clara's heart batted even more wildly against her ribs at the sight of her past mistress. And in such a situation….

"Unhand her," Lady Redgrave said.

"No," her husband replied. "This thief escaped once. I have no intention of letting her do so again."

"Thief?" Lady Redgrave repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"Your memory is not so bad as that, surely," he replied caustically as she approached. "She stole my pocket watch, and I mean to see she pays for her crime."

"Do you mean this pocket watch?" Lady Redgrave pulled at a chain around her neck. Out of the bodice of her dress emerged the watch Clara had given to the duke.

Clara's eyes widened. How had she…?

Lord Redgrave's grip on her wrist weakened as he stared at the trinket his wife held.

"I thought I had told you," Lady Redgrave said casually. "I found it in the pocket of one of your old waistcoats a month or so ago. As you have acquired a new one, I have been using it now and then." Her brows drew together. "Are you certain I did not tell you?"

"Utterly," he replied through gritted teeth. His eyes swept between his wife and Clara, who kept silent. "You arranged this, didn't you? Together."

"Arranged what?" Lady Redgrave sounded amused. "This is the first I have seen of Clara since you dismissed her. Besides, if she had stolen your pocket watch, she would be a strange thief indeed not to sell it."

Lord Redgrave's hand remained around Clara's wrist, but she met his eye as he turned his to her. She would not surrender under the intensity of his gaze.

Finally, he released her.

"If you do not mind," Lady Redgrave said, placing the watch chain over her head again, "I shall keep this. I am quite fond of it."

Her husband seemed less than pleased with this statement, but after gritting his teeth, he left the room.

Lady Redgrave remained still until the door had closed. The moment the latch clicked, however, her eyes turned to Clara.

They stood looking at one another for a few seconds.

"That was very kind of you, my lady," Clara said, unsure what to make of what had just happened.

"It was nothing," Lady Redgrave responded. "The very least I could do after all that happened." Her expression grew suddenly tortured. "Oh, Clara, can you ever forgive me?"

Clara found her eyes swimming in tears and her throat thick. "Forgive you? You just rescued me, my lady."

Lady Redgrave walked toward her, shaking her head. "Far later than I should have. I think I knew in my heart of hearts even then that you had done nothing wrong. But I was too enamored of him. Foolish and in love. In denial." She shut her eyes, her brows knit. "It was not long before I discovered just how foolish. But by then, the damage had been done." She met Clara's gaze. "I should have protected you from him, and instead?—"

"You should not have had to," Clara replied. "Do not, for heaven's sake, take the blame of his misdeeds upon yourself."

Lady Redgrave smiled wryly and took Clara's hands in hers. "You are every bit as forgiving as the duke said you would be."

Clara's heart stuttered. "He gave you the pocket watch?"

She nodded. "He seems to hold you in admiration. As do I."

Clara's cheeks warmed, and she dropped her eyes to the floor. Lady Redgrave would see the truth in a second.

"I have no doubt you are happy here, Clara, but I should like very much if you would agree to be my lady's maid again."

Clara's head whipped up. "But…but your husband…"

"My husband no longer meddles in my affairs, nor I in his."

Clara's mind went to the scene in the gardens, and she swallowed. "I saw him, Lady Redgrave. With…"

"I know, Clara." She offered a grim smile. "That is, I haven't any notion with whom you saw him, but there are any number of beautiful women within these walls he would gladly meet in secret. And he can be so charming when he chooses that most succumb."

"I never did, my lady."

She smiled and pressed Clara's hand. "I know. And I treasure you for that."

"How do you bear it, my lady?"

Lady Redgrave let out a long breath. "At first? Not well, as you know better than anyone. But I have since come to realize that my husband's misdeeds, as you call them, are a reflection of him and him alone. They have very little to do with me, and I have very little to do with him as a result, which I am content with." She smiled. "I would be even more content to have you in my employ again. "

Clara's heart raced. This was it—what she had been wanting: a return to life when it had been happiest.

And yet…

"You need not give me an answer immediately," Lady Redgrave reassured her, seeming to sense her hesitation. "Only promise me you will think on it."

"I will," Clara replied fervently.

Lady Redgrave smiled, then pulled her into her arms. "You are an angel, Clara," she whispered.

They pulled apart, and Clara watched her retreat toward the door.

Finally, a happy future was within her grasp. It was not the happiness her heart most wanted, but it was happiness nonetheless.

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