Chapter 5

5

WILLIAM

W illiam smiled knowingly at Edmund, who sat across from him in the swaying carriage, staring out of the window as they made their way into Kent.

Edmund's gaze flitted to him. "What?"

"Come, then," William said with amusement. "Let me have it."

"Have what?"

William chuckled. "Edmund. If you keep it inside, it will spoil your day. Give me my reprimand and be free of it."

"I haven't any idea what you are talking about, Your Grace." Edmund looked through the window again.

William watched him for a moment, then stretched his legs as far as the carriage would allow. "Very good, then. I am glad my behavior today meets with your full approval." He pulled off a glove finger by finger.

Edmund shifted in his seat.

"What was that?" William asked.

Edmund cleared his throat. "Nothing, Your Grace. "

"Mmhmm." William set his gloves beside him on the seat, then laid his head back and closed his eyes.

The silence lasted all of fifteen seconds.

"It is only that I am here to advise you, am I not?"

William smiled and opened his eyes. "You are."

"And you are paying me a generous salary to do so."

William nodded.

"But if you do not think my advice worth taking, it feels wrong of me to take your money."

William tried to control his smile. "I take a great deal of your advice."

"But not in this instance."

"It is only the matter of one maid, Edmund." That maid was currently seated outside next to the coachman.

"A maid you bought . From her husband, no less. How do you think that news will be received at Rushlake? Or in the House of Lords?"

William didn't respond. Perhaps it had been unwise of him to pay the maid's husband and to agree to employ her. But how could he have done otherwise? How would he have lived with himself?

"At the very least," Edmund said, "would it not have been prudent to ask for a reference from the lady she claims employed her?"

"But I do not need a reference for a lady's maid, Edmund. Whether she can dress a woman or coif her hair has no bearing at all on what will be required of her at Rushlake. Besides, her manner of speech seems evidence enough that she has experience working in a large estate with a genteel mistress. And a woman who can perform the duties of a lady's maid, an ostler, and a coaching inn maid can surely manage the duties of a housemaid."

Edmund sighed. "Let us hope you are right. "

"In the utterly impossible event that I am not ," William teased, "she can easily be dismissed."

He hoped, however, that for the sake of his pride and Edmund's confidence in him, Clara would not force such an event.

William had not been exaggerating when he had warned Clara she would be required to do a great deal of walking at Rushlake Hall. The estate had been constructed with the intent to impress, which meant long corridors, multiple floors, and a multitude of bedchambers and other—in William's eyes—superfluous rooms, such as a correspondence room, a trophy room, and a map room.

"They all add to your consequence," Edmund said as they walked into the study for a meeting.

"And to the number of servants I must keep," William replied dryly.

His mind flitted to Clara. How was she faring? Though it had been almost a week since their arrival at Rushlake, he had yet to see her. It was not abnormal, of course. The servants were meant to do their work as inconspicuously as possible.

He had been hesitant to ask the housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, about Clara, thanks to Edmund's warnings. It wouldn't do for him to take too keen an interest in a maid, particularly given the circumstances surrounding her employment. And yet, it was precisely such circumstances that made him wish to ensure she was well. Had the wound on her cheek been properly cared for? Had she settled into her duties without undue difficulty?

"Has Mrs. Finch said anything about the new maid?" he asked casually as he poured them drinks from the decanter .

When he looked up, Edmund was watching him. William raised his brows, but Edmund remained silent. "What?"

Edmund took the glass. "She is a very pretty young woman." The comment was meant to sound offhand. It was anything but that.

"And a married one." William took a seat.

"To you?"

William shot Edmund an unamused look.

Edmund lifted his shoulders. "She would be considered something akin to it in the eyes of many."

"Excepting the law and the church," William said flatly. "Now, shall we return to my question?"

Edmund tipped his glass gently from side to side, eyes on the liquid within. "Mrs. Finch has made her an upper housemaid. She made an impression, I gather, with her proper speech and calm confidence."

William took a sip from his glass, stretching his feet onto the velvet-upholstered footstool. It didn't surprise him that Clara had made an impression. She exuded a level of capability most housemaids only achieved with significant time and experience.

"I gather, however," Edmund continued, "that not everyone is thrilled with her arrival. It seems the story of the auction has made the rounds."

William frowned. "How? You have not said anything, have you?"

"Naturally not. But the haut ton does not have a monopoly on gossip, Your Grace. It has always amazed me how news can travel from London to Edinburgh in a matter of days."

William sighed. "And what form have these feelings amongst the other servants taken?"

"Mrs. Finch did not say, but given what I have seen in the past, I imagine a bit of ostracization and a generous dose of coldness. Nothing you need concern yourself with. This is all Mrs. Finch's domain."

William nodded, but it bothered him all the same. Surely, the maid deserved a reprieve from poor treatment. "You wished to speak on another matter, I think?"

"I did." Edmund set his empty glass on the table beside his chair and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "On the matter of achieving your acceptance and increasing your influence amongst your peers."

William stifled a sigh. It was not that he didn't wish for acceptance and influence. He did. Deeply, even. His duty to magnify his position and the Yorke name had been drilled into him by his father as far back as he could remember. It was just that he hadn't realized a strategy would be necessary now that he held a dukedom. He had assumed the title itself would come with such things. "And what do you suggest?"

"I have a few ideas, Your Grace."

William narrowed his eyes. "Your tone alone frightens me."

Edmund chuckled. "There is no need for fear. I am not suggesting anything out of the ordinary for someone in your position."

"Someone in my position…. And how many men are there in England who have come suddenly into a dukedom?" He raised his brows, waiting. "A rough estimate will suffice."

Edmund grimaced.

"Precisely. But let us have the first suggestion. What must I do to court the favor of my esteemed colleagues?"

"Do you want the most effective option first? Or the most palatable?"

William stared at his friend for a moment, considering. The sooner he could garner favor and influence, the better. He rose to his feet. "Effective. "

"Very well. What you now lack that your fellows have in abundance is connections."

William nodded, pacing the floor, and spun the large globe as he passed it.

"And the most certain and tangible connection is…"

William stopped the globe with a hand and stared. "Edmund."

Edmund stood, putting up his hands, as though trying to reason with the duke. "I know. I know. But you cannot deny it would be effective."

"I can hardly wrap my head around the life I am leading now. The last thing I need is to throw myself into marriage."

"But only think, Your Grace. You could easily find a daughter of a peer, ready and willing to become a duchess. Someone born and bred to fill such a role. And what is more, I think if we played things right, we could kill two birds with one stone, as it were."

William narrowed his eyes. "Meaning…"

"We have discussed the obstacle you face as a result of your brother's…situation."

They had. Ad nauseum , in fact. William's younger brother, Silas, had fled to France over a year ago as a result of a murder accusation. An unmerited one, William now knew. As though that was not scandal enough to be attached to the Yorke name, the man who had accused Silas of the murder was Lord Drayton, one of the most influential and wealthy peers in England—and the man truly responsible for the murder. Drayton's animosity toward the Yorke family was a significant barrier to William's thriving in his new position.

"I have not heard from him in almost two months," William said with a frown. "I am beginning to worry."

Edmund blew out a breath. Anytime the topic of Silas was broached, his stress was tangible .

"What of his situation, though?" William asked. "Do you have an idea?"

Edmund leaned forward even more. "Can you imagine the bridges a marriage between you and Drayton's daughter would build?"

"No," William said flatly. He gave the globe another spin and set to pacing again. He had thought he was ready to discuss this topic, but he had been wrong. It was entirely overwhelming. And marrying a daughter of Drayton's was utter hogwash. Drayton would never allow it. And William would never ally himself with that man in such a way even if it were a possibility. "Next suggestion."

"You mean my next suggestion for a wife?" Edmund clarified.

"Edmund," William said in a warning voice, "I will marry eventually. I will produce heirs. I promise. But for now, I am unable to entertain such a thought. Let us move on to the next, non-marital suggestion."

Edmund sighed. "My next suggestion is that you host guests here. A great number of them, preferably. People will be able to see you at your ease at Rushlake. They will be able to socialize and enjoy themselves under your wing."

"Under my wing and at my expense."

"Yes," Edmund granted. "It will engender trust and confidence, Your Grace. There is no way around the financial investment it requires."

William had always assumed money abounded for titled men, but he was coming to realize that the lifestyle expected of such individuals could quickly drown one in debt. "And who are we to invite to such a party when the entire point of it is to convince people I am someone worth accepting invitations from ?"

"Your Grace," Edmund said with a broad smile, "their curiosity and desire for entertainment will outweigh any reservations, I assure you. And at the end of it all, we will have a ball, where we can invite even more guests, who will naturally wish to hear from the others about their experience staying with the Duke of Rockwood."

William rubbed his forehead. After a morning of going over accounts, he was feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. Talk of marriage and hosting guests were no cure. Parties and polite conversation were not his preferred way to spend time, but evidently, they would need to become such if he was to fill the shoes of his father's cousin. "Very well. Perhaps you can work on compiling a list of people to invite. In the meantime, I think I will take a walk."

With no fewer than twenty servants employed in the gardens alone, someone should certainly be enjoying them.

However, a few minutes of walking amongst the short hedges and flowered beds of the formal gardens left William baking under the late morning sun. Desperate for shade, he cut through one of the smaller paths and beneath the ivy archway that led to the woods where he would be protected from the summer heat.

The cover of shade the dense leaves above provided was a welcome respite, and William marveled silently at the way his view was filled as far as the eye could see with tall trunks and thick vegetation. It was difficult to believe this land all belonged to him.

Rushlake was vast, and William was both overwhelmed and gratified by that fact. He was accustomed to managing an estate, as he had inherited his father's upon his death, but there was simply no comparison. Yorke Manor was fine and respectable, but both the grounds and house were less than a tenth of the size of Rushlake's.

He neared a small area where the trees were less dense and a dirt- and moss-covered mound rose up amongst them. It was the ice house—a perfect example of the type of thing Yorke Manor lacked that set Rushlake apart as a truly fine estate.

A burlap sack sat just outside the ice house's iron grate door, which was open. William frowned. This was only the second time he had even seen the ice house, but he was reasonably certain the door was kept locked.

He walked toward it, and the sound of movement within met his ears. It was almost completely dark within, but he stepped inside, stopping well before the drop-off where the ice was accessed by ladder. It was delightfully cool within. He squinted, trying to make out the movements of whoever was working at the bottom.

The person's head turned up to look at William. "Thank heaven," the female voice said. "I had begun to think no one would come. Bring me the sack, if you please. The pieces are much larger than I anticipated."

It was Clara—he knew that from the way she spoke—but he heavily suspected she didn't know to whom she was speaking. From her vantage point, he would be but a silhouette.

Edmund would undoubtedly tell him to rectify that situation and make himself known, but William hesitated. Perhaps it was the fact that he had not been spoken to in the authoritative way Clara was speaking to him now for weeks and weeks. It had all been deference and crushing politeness since he had become duke. It could be that it was a welcome divergence from so many mornings spent writing correspondence or going over accounts at his desk. It might be a reluctance to leave the blissful chill of the ice house. Or perhaps William was simply losing his mind.

Whatever the reason, he retraced his steps and brought the burlap sack back to the top of the ladder. Crouching, he extended the sack toward the maid, but the hole where the ice was kept was deep, and her fingers reached for it in vain.

"You will have to come down," she said with a hint of impatience and, William suspected, chattering teeth. "I will need your help holding the sack open."

William hesitated another moment, but he was determined to see this through, so he turned around and took the ladder down into the cold, ice-filled abyss.

Clara moved to the side to make way for him, but the amount of space uncovered by chunks of ice and the straw that blanketed it was limited, and their bodies pressed against each other.

"Hold it open as widely as possible," she said as she bent and picked up the nearest piece of ice.

Edmund would have been horrified to hear William being spoken to with such authority by a mere housemaid, but William's mouth pulled into an amused smile as he obeyed the instruction. Part of him wished to offer to exchange duties with her, but the moment he spoke, he would give himself away, so he remained silent.

He was impressed by her strength as she hefted a large block of ice and slid it into the bag.

"Do you think that is enough?" She looked around the dark hole, then at the bag.

William cleared his throat, and her head whipped around. Apparently, he could not even clear his throat without betraying that he was not a servant.

Her wide eyes searched his face in the dark, then her lips parted in surprise—unwelcome surprise. "Your Grace!"

"Forgive me," he said. "It was so hot outside, I could not resist when you ordered me to help you."

She shut her eyes in consternation and dropped her head. It was too dark to see, but he suspected her cheeks would be red too. The impulse to touch one to see whether it was as hot as he assumed it would be was immediately discarded.

He was losing his mind. It was Edmund's talk of Clara's beauty and his nonsense about her being his wife.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," she said, eyes still averted. "I swear I had no notion to whom I was speaking. I have been awaiting a footman."

"And I bear a striking similarity to one?"

Her head came up, her eyes wide again. "No! Of course not. Only, all I could see was a man's silhouette and?—"

"Clara," William interrupted, smiling. "I am only teasing. You bear no fault. The blame lies entirely with me."

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on his. As though remembering herself, she dropped her chin, breaking their gazes. "Please, Your Grace." She grasped the bag just under his hand and pulled it toward her firmly.

William resisted. "Let me help."

"No. Your Grace," she added quickly.

"That is an order, Clara." Without waiting, he slung the sack over his shoulder and began climbing the ladder. It was an awkward affair, and by the time he reached the top, a few beads of sweat had gathered at his hairline despite the coolness within.

He set the sack on the ground, then extended a hand to Clara.

She glanced at it, then up at him. After a moment's hesitation, she took the hand, and he pulled her onto firm ground.

Edmund would have fits if he were witnessing this, but there was no chance of that. They were entirely alone in the woods. And William did not regret it. It was nice to have a respite from playing the part of a duke—for it certainly still felt as though that was what he was doing.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Clara said, taking the bag, her cheeks every bit as red as he had imagined. Their vibrant color made her blue eyes look even brighter.

"It was the least I could do after playing that trick on you."

She smiled slightly, and William's heart tripped. Would some people truly believe the two of them were married?

Perhaps not married, but lovers? That was entirely possible.

A bird took flight from a nearby tree, making the leaves rustle and their heads turn. The silence returned in full force, however, and a thought struck William.

"What are you doing fetching the ice? Surely, that is a duty for someone else."

She hesitated. "Normally, perhaps."

"And what about today is abnormal?"

She said nothing, and comprehension began to dawn upon him.

"Clara, your duties as a housemaid are fairly specific, and though I am no expert in the matter, I am quite certain they do not comprise fetching ice from the ice house. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Your Grace," she said meekly.

He watched her for a moment. "Were you assigned this task as a punishment of sorts?"

"It is not a task anyone relishes."

"I understand why, but that is not what I asked. Were you assigned it as a form of punishment? I must insist that you answer me. Truthfully."

She shut her eyes. "I believe so."

"And have there been other tasks outside of your regular duties as an upper housemaid that have been required of you?"

Another hesitation. "Yes."

"Such as?"

Her hands gripped the bag tightly. "Fetching water and scrubbing the kitchen steps. Emptying the chamber pots. "

William's mouth went tight. Those were duties of the scullery maids and lower housemaids.

"And is there something you have done to merit such punishment?"

Her gaze came up to meet his, imploring. "Please do not make me answer that, Your Grace."

"Clara," he said, stepping toward her. "I again insist that you answer."

She swallowed, then dropped her gaze away. "Not many of the servants are pleased with my presence here, Your Grace. There is…talk."

"What sort of talk?"

There was a pause. "About us, Your Grace."

His heart stuttered. "Us?"

She nodded.

"And what are they saying?" William waited, but his heartbeat was quick and strong.

"They say I am only employed here because…you…because you and I…" She glanced up at him, her blue eyes tortured and her cheeks scarlet.

His jaw clenched. "I understand." They were punishing Clara for no reason at all. Until today, he had not even seen her at Rushlake, much less enjoyed the level of intimacy they seemed to assume. Edmund had warned him of this, but William had interpreted such warnings as for himself—the way he would be viewed. He had not truly considered how they would affect Clara.

"I will speak with Mrs. Finch." He turned toward the house.

"No!" Her hand grasped his, halting his progress, and he turned toward her in surprise.

Her gaze flitted to their hands, and she dropped his, averting her eyes. "Forgive me. But I beg you to say nothing."

"Why not? "

"I must prove myself to them, Your Grace. It is the only way. If you speak with Mrs. Finch, it will only make things worse. It will confirm to them that the rumors about us are true."

He watched her for a moment. What precisely did people think they were doing? Stealing kisses in corridors? Concealing themselves in the map room for intimate moments?

The images such ideas presented, unbelievable as they were, sent his pulse racing. He hardly had time to sit down for a proper meal, much less whisk a busy maid into his arms without anyone noticing.

"Very well," he said. "If you truly wish for me to stay silent, I will."

"I do wish it, Your Grace."

His jaw worked, his frustration bubbling. He couldn't help but admire her resolution, though. She would rather perform degrading tasks to prove herself than have him step in to save her.

She glanced up at him. "I am sorry. I never meant to cause you trouble."

"It is not your fault," he said curtly. He looked at the heavy burlap sack and shook his head. An upper housemaid should not be carrying such a burden all the way to the house. He would have offered to do it, but evidently, that would only make things worse for her. "Is a footman coming to assist you?"

"They assured me one would," she said.

He nodded. "I should go."

"Of course. Good day to you, Your Grace."

He looked at her one last time, then strode back to the house, full of frustration. When he looked through the window of the long corridor a few minutes later, Clara was carrying the heavy sack toward the servants' entrance by herself .

He was fairly certain she had known that would be required of her when he had asked whether someone was coming to assist her. She had likely been worried the duke would insist on helping, and she would rather do things on her own than accept assistance from him.

It was undoubtedly for the best, but it bothered him all the same.