Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"I suppose her hair blends very well with the snow," Claire muttered to herself. "And the way the flowers have been woven into her hair, do make her look rather beautiful."

Her words were as bitterly cold as the winter snow outside and lacked assurance to herself as she watched Lord Bannerdown and Lady Samantha take a turn around the garden. Further down, Mrs Elizabeth Brooks followed. They left footprints in the snow, the side-by-side prints matching one another: one strong, booted, and the other dainty and small. What would Claire's look like alongside Lord Bannerdown's?

Lady Samantha had her delicate hands—hands of a lady, hands that Claire herself had once had: soft and unmarred by the hardship of working life—tucked away into a cosy sheath that enveloped both hands in a fur-lined muff that covered the length of her wrists. She would clasp her hands together inside the tube, keeping them warm.

Envy burned Claire's throat as she watched them until they passed on, out of sight. She even craned her neck to watch them better. And then she berated herself for doing that, wishing she did not feel this way. She had no claim on Lord Bannerdown. She was not even truly the woman he believed her to be! She needed to calm down. She needed to be realistic.

I need to get away from Lady Florence's window and return to my duties before somebody sees me watching them. Embarrassment flooded her as she withdrew from the window and returned to the closet, where she had prepared Lady Florence's gown for the evening dinner. But she needed to pair it with jewellery and perhaps pick a matching bow to adorn the young woman's hair.

Moving to the vanity, she looked for a pair of onyx earrings. But beneath Lady Florence's pearl-encased jewellery box was a creamy corner of a letter, embossed with a flourishing signature. Claire bit her lip, glancing at the open door.

There were no footsteps that she could hear, and so Claire reached for the corner of the letter. She felt wrong in doing so, but this was the second letter she had noticed in Lady Florence's room, and then there had been that familiar man outside the playhouse …

I am merely ensuring that she is not causing herself any ruin, Claire told herself. And that she is corresponding with honourable men who are not saying improper things to her.

Gently tugging the letter free, she noticed a name written in cursive: Victor—

But before she could read anything else, footsteps rushed into the room, and Claire startled, caught red-handed.

Lady Florence stood in the doorway, her hands balled into fists and her face tight with outrage.

"Miss Gundry!" she cried. Her eyes dropped, appalled, to where Claire snatched her hands away from the letter.

"Lady Florence, I did not see anything!" she protested. "I swear, I—"

"You have no right! You may be my governess, but that does not permit you to go through my belongings!"

And she was right. Florence was younger than Claire, but her higher rank meant that she could have Claire's employment taken away from her at a moment's notice.

"Please, Lady Florence, calm down," she said quietly, raising her hands and stepping away from the vanity. "I merely only saw a name. I did not read any of the letter's content."

"As you should not have! That is private."

"I understand," Claire answered. "But I wanted to look out for you. At the playhouse there was a man who was watching you. I know your cousin would want to know you are keeping the right company—"

"My cousin has not cared about me for six months," Lady Florence cried. "He does now, but only since you have encouraged his effort. He would not know if I had already wed!"

"Lady Florence!" Claire admonished. "Do not say such things. Of course, Lord Bannerdown would notice. He cares for you!"

"He only cares about his work and the war that haunts him," she spat, shaking her head. "And you care only to speak to him. Ever since you have grown close to Lord Bannerdown, you have barely spent time with me."

Her accusation struck Claire as childish, even as she felt wretched for thinking that.

"That is not true," she whispered. "I care for you, Lady Florence. You are more than my ward but a friend. I wish to see you grow into a wonderful young lady of the Ton, and I see that you are excited for your future in society. You are well-skilled and will make a fine wife to a wonderful man, but I would like to make sure that he will be as wonderful as you deserve. This—this Victor … does he treat you well? Does he speak to you as you deserve?"

"Miss Gundry," Lady Florence hissed, her cheeks flushing with humiliation. "Do not ask such things."

"Are you risking your reputation?"

"No!" she shouted, averting her gaze. "Miss Gundry, you are a lovely governess, but you do not need to concern yourself with such things about my life." She paused. "Unless you wish to report back to Lord Bannerdown."

"I am no storyteller," Claire assured her. "We all have things we wish to keep close to our hearts. I only want to know you are safe. Are you entertaining a romance with this Victor?"

Lady Florence's gaze bore into the floor as she paused, and Claire half feared the young woman would retreat and ignore her. But she didn't. She only moved further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

Her face was a picture of tenderness, her smile demur and her eyes widening in excitement for whatever she was about to say. It was a large change from the angry girl who had given her an outburst, flying into the room earlier.

"The truth is, Miss Gundry," she began, "is that Lord Victor, the man who writes me those letters, is a gentleman. I met him a year ago at the assembly halls in town. Of course, my parents were still alive, and they knew that I had danced with him after my father introduced me to him. But it was only once that we got to dance. Yet it was enough for me to know my affections." She looked at her vanity, at the letter. "Ever since, we have traded letters. He is the second son and lives very happily so for that fact. We have enjoyed one another's company. He went to Oxford for a year, and after he did not find what he was after, he returned to Bath."

"Which was why he was at the playhouse," Claire guessed. But the question lingered. What had Lord Victor gone in search of out in Oxford? She could only hope it was something honourable. "Do you know what it is he searched for?"

"I do not know," she answered. "He spoke little about it, but I imagine it was his sense of purpose, perhaps. He was very keen on proving himself to his family, so I can only think it was in relation to that." Her cheeks were brushed with a pretty blush. "The playhouse was the first time I have seen him in a long time."

Claire stepped back, nodding. She hummed in thought. She wasn't sure if she should let Lord Bannerdown know. After all, if Lady Florence was not yet on the marriage market, and he had not had a chance to scope out her potential suitors, then he should know there was a man already involved in Florence's affections.

"His letters are very kind," Lady Florence said quietly as if hopeful of swaying Claire's thoughts. She only shook her head in response as she gathered her thoughts. She could not betray Florence's confidence or even give somebody else's secrets away, for she had her own, and she did not want Lord Bannerdown to know.

"Lady Florence, you are too young for romance," she said gently, carefully.

The young lady went to open her mouth, but Claire held up a hand to stop her. "Merely because you are not yet out in society. You will have more prospects once Lord Bannerdown presents you upon your debut. Lord Victor. I understand the circumstances under which you have met him, but there will be other men when you properly enter society."

Her voice was kind, and she expected—perhaps hoped—for understanding since Lady Florence had confessed her secrets but a deep-seated anger settled in Florence's face, and she stood to her feet, rounding on Claire, pushing her back.

"Leave!" she ordered. "I respect you, Miss Gundry, but I am rather angry with you at the moment, and I would like you to leave."

"Lady Florence—"

"Leave!" Her cry came out torn and desperate, furious, and delicate hands pushed Claire's shoulders, forcing her backwards hard enough that she had to grip the doorframe to steady herself. She had only moments before the door came swinging closed, and she pulled her fingers away from being caught.

As her feet faltered and she fell back, only just righting herself on the railing behind her, Claire sensed someone approaching. She stiffened, only to turn around and find Lord Bannerdown getting nearer. He glanced at Lady Florence's closed door.

Claire momentarily forgot about the argument and could only think about how his hair was dusted with a fine layer of snow with the dark strands speckled through. Her chest tightened and she had to look away from the redness of his nose from the cold.

"What has happened?" Lord Bannerdown asked, cocking his head. "Is my cousin all right?"

"Quite," Claire said. "Merely… aggravated. Women things, of course."

She did not want to betray her charge's trust and wished to keep her secrets for now. Until at least I know the full story. I cannot go to Lord Bannerdown with no knowledge of the full story and go quiet when he asks questions. At least that was what she told herself. The truth was she hoped confidence would be kept should she ever think about spilling her secrets. But she also cared for Lady Florence, and she wished to see her happy, so she said nothing further.

"Ah," he said, his smile awkward. "It sounds like something I should not wish to trouble myself with."

"Indeed," she assured him. "How was your walk with Lady Samantha?"

"Dastardly cold," he told her. "But it was pleasant enough. Lady Samantha is lovely both in looks and person, as the viscount always said, but I must admit that I do not know how to help her. That is how I see her, somebody to help. I feel responsible for her grief, but I do not know how to aid her."

Claire met his eyes, which looked wistful as he hoped. There was a desperate tilt to his mouth as if saddened by his helplessness. Claire paused. Was he … waiting for her advice? She had once given him advice about Lady Florence, and he had appreciated her counsel.

But how could Claire possibly advise him on how to better be there for Lady Samantha?

She bit her lip, idly toying with a frill on her skirt. Claire had to admit that she had grown rather fond of the earl, and to encourage him further into Lady Samantha's arms did not feel comfortable. She was biased, she realized.

How can I do this when it could push them closer together in marriage? Society does not wait for grieving, unmarried women, whether betrothed or not.

Claire had a sneaking suspicion that Lady Katherine had done something regarding the other girl's presence. But … Lady Samantha looked barely older than Lady Florence, and the thought of Lord Bannerdown courting her for his mother's sake …

Perhaps he might like her himself.

He did say she was lovely in looks and person, she reminded herself bitterly.

Silence filled the corridor, and Lord Bannerdown cleared his throat before straightening up, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Yes—ah, well," he said, unsure of how to respond to her silence, so he continued talking as if it was a mere continuation of his previous words. "It is not my responsibility, I suppose. I am merely feeling guilty."

Counsel him! Claire told herself but she could truly not bring herself to.

Claire gave him an uncomfortable nod. "Of course, My Lord. I should—I should take my leave."

"Miss Gundry—"

"Good day, Lord Bannerdown."

She curtsied and left quickly, hurrying down without looking back at him. How could she meet his gaze when she thought such terrible thoughts? She was selfish, choosing her own affections for the earl over the ability to help him be a better friend.

But they might not only be friends eventually, Claire thought as she pressed herself to her door, quickly opening it, and trapping herself inside. I could not live with myself watching them wed.

She gasped for breath and pushed her back against the door as she entered her bedroom, trying to calm down her racing heart. Guilt gnawed through her stomach.

I am terrible, she thought. I am keeping so many secrets.

Even the soft comforts of her bedroom could not bring her any relief. And especially not as she moved further into the room, dismissed by Florence for the time being, and not wanting to see Lord Bannerdown lest he see her crimes written on her face.

She went to her writing desk, thinking of writing an order for a new book in town. Fiction always cheered her up.

But as she got closer, Claire's breath caught. She gripped the back of her writing chair and steadied herself as panic choked her. With wide eyes, she took in the mess of her escritoire. Paper was scattered across the wood surface, ink pots were in disarray, and her quill was torn. Somebody had rifled through her belongings.

But even more worrying was that her mother's letter that Claire had ignored, had put away in the escritoire drawer, was right on top, the letter open, revealing Claire's own heritage.

Her secrets were bared, and somebody had read them.