Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A week passed, and Claire spent her days tutoring Lady Florence in their duet and testing her on European poetry. Ernest had promised he would come by to watch her performance, but as of yet, he hadn't.

Claire didn't mind, as Lady Florence still wished to perfect her notes before Lord Bannerdown joined them.

But by the end of the week, Lady Florence's mind was decidedly not on her pianoforte or the singing notes but on the play. It was all she talked about that morning when she broke her fast. Claire had a hard time getting the excited young girl to complete her lessons for the day, but she was still incredibly endeared by the display of passion Lady Florence had for the arts.

By the time they made it to the Bath playhouse, Claire was rather excited herself and dressed in a modest but pretty navy-blue dress with frills on the sleeve cuffs and the neckline. The skirt fanned around her hips and fell to the floor in layered ruffles, and while her long sleeves kept her conservatively covered up as a working woman, she felt beautiful. Her hair was done up into a bun, prettier than she would usually style it, while the lower half of her hair was left to trail down her back.

They made their way to their box, curtained off from the rest of the audience, with a gilded gold railing to stop them from toppling over the edge and plush red seats. Below, the stage was lit atmospherically with low candles encased in glass, and the curtains were open, depicting the backdrop of two households in Verona.

An orchestra was in the pit before the stage, and Ernest nodded towards the box on the other side of the theatre to them.

"You see the box with the blue curtains? Although it is empty now, that is for the Duke and Duchess of Colchester," he told her. "They are patrons of the playhouse and pour a large sum of funds into it. His Grace served in the king's war as a general. He and White were friendly and worked together brilliantly. I imagine many men owe their life to His Grace."

Claire was surprised as she nodded. It was strange how all the men in their finery had once bloodied their military uniform in the name of war. She could not quite get her head around the tragedy of which men had lost friends and family and which women now had remarried since losing husbands in the battle.

She turned her attention from there as she noticed Florence sat just in front of them, eagerly awaiting the play to begin.

"It is most exciting, Lord Bannerdown," Lady Florence said. "Thank you for inviting us!"

"It is not a problem," Ernest told her. His gaze flickered to Claire, and he looked at her in that way that said he hid secrets and fun mysteries, but as though he knew she did, too. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You look beautiful tonight, Miss Gundry." As if realizing the outright compliment, and how improper it might be to speak of his ward's governess in such a way, he stuttered and continued, "As do you, Lady Florence. I am very fortunate for my company tonight."

"Do you come to the theatre often, Lord Bannerdown?" Florence asked, her fingers curling around the railing at the box.

He shook his head. "Between the hospital and taking over Little Harkwell—" He paused when Florence's forehead creased. "Well—I find myself with little time for theatrical leisure."

Claire gave Florence an encouraging smile as the girl turned back to the stage. Ernest was saved from his blunder by the stage lights going up, and a woman, a narrator, entered the stage.

"Two households, both alike in dignity …" she began, and then Claire watched Florence's rapture and knew any attention the girl might have had for anything else around her was gone. A fire could begin in the rafters, but as long as the play continued, Florence would be oblivious. She truly loved Romeo and Juliet so much, perhaps finding solace in tragedy.

Ernest leaned closer to Claire. "Romeo and Juliet was not my first beloved play, but it did quickly become one of my top reads. How about you?"

"Oh, I found I was rather lured in from the start," Claire said. "I find Romeo to be woefully dashing and heartfelt, and Juliet is most understandable. I have always loved literature. My father had a beautiful library—"

She halted her own words, worried about how to describe her father's library without revealing her noble background.

"That he … that he showed me," she finished, for it left it to interpretation. He might have owned it; he might have worked in one. "And I often buried myself in there for hours."

"You visited during the day?"

"Mostly when he worked," she answered, not quite a lie. "I could not find it in myself to live through a day without reading."

"You are very well-educated, then," Ernest said, and it wasn't entirely a question, but she nodded all the same. She could say that she had a governess for many years, for a commoner would not have had one and would not have the same access to education as a noble girl. "How did you come to learn so much? You must have found some way to access material, surely."

"I …" She truly did not want to outright lie, but she could not reveal the truth about her past. "I found my ways." She made sure to give him a mischievous smile, to let him fill in the blanks any way he pleased. "I craved knowledge, so I made sure I had it."

"Admirable," he praised. He paused to look at the play, and Claire was glad for the moment's reprieve.

On the stage below, Juliet and Romeo danced together, their palms held an inch apart. Palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss …

Claire looked down at where Ernest held the arms of his seat, and Claire moved her own clasped hands closer to his. She held her breath, their own hands merely an inch apart, before she chided herself on being too forward and pulled them back.

He was unaware as he leaned back in, talking before he looked at her.

"I did very similar things," he said to her, a smile quirking at his lips a moment before he regarded her, and her stomach dropped at the weight of his gaze on her. That smile undid something in Claire that she had … not felt in a long, long time. She swallowed and glanced away. "In order to fit into society, I did what I could. I hoped for the best with what I did not have and fought for what I did have and possessed. I want to be a medic but … I also have a duty to my inheritance." He winced. "And my mother, of course."

"She is a beautiful countess," Claire said, thinking of the maids' gossip about Lady Katherine.

"Indeed." He grimaced. "But I sometimes wish I did not have to descend such a path with her." He shifted in his seat, turning away from the play. With their voices pitched low, they did not have to worry about disturbing Florence's viewing experience. "May I be very honest, Miss Gundry?"

"Of course, My Lord."

"Sometimes, I find myself missing the battlefield. But other times, I find myself missing the life I had before both the war and this inheritance came to fruition." His attention was on her as if trying to decide if she would be his confidante or not. But Claire only smiled, even as her chest tightened in tender sympathy.

"I know the feeling rather well, My Lord," she said. "And I understand the pain of having no choice."

His forehead pinched in empathy. "I am sorry that you do."

She mustered a smile. "For what is it worth, if you survived the war and helped many men do the same, then you must be a fine medic. And you make a very considerate, admirable Earl of Bannerdown."

"And you are a fine, intelligent governess."

"So, however we achieved our fates, at least we know that we are good at what we have in life."

If I were still Lady Claire, what would we do? Would you ask me to dance? Ask me to the theatre while we courted, perhaps? Or am I only here because I am your ward's governess, and you pitied me for being alone for one night?

The thoughts threatened to bring her mood down, so she turned her focus back to the stage, where Romeo and Juliet were sharing a tender kiss. She watched them embrace passionately and felt a curl of jealousy for love that was acquired through hardship yet burned so brightly.

I wish for that, too, she thought quietly. When she felt the burn of the earl's gaze on her, she did her best to avoid meeting it. The play continued in such a way. Florence was almost hanging over the rail in rapt attention and excitement, and Claire was utterly aware of how close the earl was to her, while he himself seemed to go through the motions of watching the play but paid little mind. Instead, he kept glancing at Claire, and she felt it every time he did so.

***

The play concluded, bringing with it tears of sorrow and applause for the actors. Ernest laughed when the ‘dead' Romeo and Juliet actors simply picked themselves up off the stage floor and curtsied and bowed with their fellow castmates.

Florence's tears shone in the dim light as she joined the audience in tossing a single rose onto the stage. But her cries of applause were full of happiness. As tragic as the play was, Claire realized she was happy to have watched it.

Claire smiled as the young girl turned and dipped herself before Lord Bannerdown. "Thank you for such a lovely evening, My Lord," she murmured, her voice high and soft.

"Anything for my cousin," he said. "Perhaps this is something we can do once a month, perhaps even twice a month, if it is something you shall enjoy."

Florence smiled, nodding eagerly, and the three went outside. Ernest called for their carriage, and as they milled about the theatre, Claire noticed Florence's gaze go beyond her, and she could not help turning around to glance down the length of the playhouse. The evening was dark and cold, but Claire could make out a young man whose eyes were shadowed by the lamplight above him.

The illumination showed his eyes on Florence, who had grown quieter and had a smile lingering on her lips that she couldn't seem to quell.

She wished to press Florence but knew she should not do it before the earl, so she kept her mouth closed and tried to focus on where she knew the young man from. He was oddly familiar, but Claire could not place his face. His head of blond waves was distinctly familiar, but after seeing Lady Granting in the bookshop, Claire found herself on edge, questioning if anybody recognized her.

She turned her attention away before the man could look from Florence to her and let the young lady have her moment in privacy. Perhaps their acquaintance had something to do with the perfumed letter that was on Florence's escritoire.

Let her be, Claire thought. You can tutor and guide her, but you cannot tell her what to do. If anything untoward happens, you can inform Lord Bannerdown. For now, let Florence have whatever semblance of happiness this fleeting look and correspondence might bring her.

Their carriage pulled up shortly, and Florence launched into a spiel of her favourite moments from the play, and Claire found that she no longer had to guide every conversation between the cousins. Lord Bannerdown answered in kind, and before long, the carriage pulled them towards Little Harkwell, and their conversation filled the quiet winter night.

At the manor, Lord Bannerdown bid them both goodnight and retreated, but not before he glanced at Claire for a moment longer and offered her a soft look, which she returned. Florence skipped off down the length of the hallway, giddy with the excitement of the playhouse, and left Claire to utter her own quiet goodnight to the earl.

He turned away and walked to his chambers while Claire found herself moving towards her own. But before she could even get to the second-floor landing, she heard stifled sniffles coming down the hallway, and moments later, Winnie hurried towards her with red-ringed eyes. She swiped her eyes with the back of her hand as soon as she saw Claire and straightened up. But the moment she tried to compose herself, Winnie's face crumpled, and her tears began afresh.

Alarmed, Claire went to her. "Winnie?" she cried. "Winnie, whatever is the matter? Come, we must make you some tea down in the basement."

"I—I cannot," Winnie sniffled. "Lady Katherine already thinks I am lazy and incompetent. I cannot have her catch me shirking my duties."

"What has she instructed you to do now?" Claire asked.

"Nothing," Winnie answered sadly. "She simply ordered me out of her rooms."

"Then she will not notice if you have a cup of tea with me." Claire ushered her along towards the stairs leading down to the basement, where she lit the fire and began to heat water. She found some ceramic mugs that the maids often used, prepared two mugs of tea, and brought them over to Winnie, sitting down together at the wooden table.

The bench was hard beneath her, nothing at all like the luxurious velvet of the playhouse chairs or that of the music room, and she knew she was fortunate to have such privileges of sitting down in comfort.

She offered her friend a small smile. "What has happened?"

Winnie shook her head. "It is only the same every time," she sighed. "Lady Katherine wishes for her third bath of the day. Heaven knows why she puts me through it every time! She accuses me of scrubbing too hard, and then before I know it, she is hurling her bar of soap at me, or splashing the hot water all over me, or just criticizing everything I do. She is cruel, telling me how I could do with such a bath, but she knows I do not have the same means she does. She makes me feel ever so small."

Claire's brow pinched. She knew many mistresses who treated their lady's maid like a friend, but many others who abused them, such as Lady Katherine. Whether their weapon was a harsh word or blow, it was abuse all the same.

"You should cast her into one of your writings as a villain," Claire suggested. "I know I cannot do anything to change your situation, and I know employment is hard to come by, so I will not disrespect you by encouraging you to leave and find another job, but you could perhaps resolve any conflict by writing in the heroine who is brave and able to speak more freely than you can." She reached across to hold Winnie's hand. "What do you say?"

"I actually have been writing a few scenes out," Winnie said. "I could do that."

"You must show me them!" Claire encouraged. "If you are comfortable."

Winnie's teary eyes turned brighter as she nodded. "I would like that very much. And Claire? You look beautiful. The playhouse must have been grand."

"Perhaps Lady Katherine might attend with his lordship, and we shall go together."

Winnie gave her a smile before she hurried over to a loose brick in the wall by the fireplace, where she pulled the brick free, and from within the gap, she produced a few rolled-up pieces of parchment. Winnie had flirted a little with the butler and had him take a few sheets every now and then before the supplies were delivered to Lord Bannerdown.

Thinking of the earl, she considered how sharp the candlelight had turned his features to be. He was a man with strong brows and sharp cheekbones, but his smile softened the harsh planes of his face, and she had liked watching him out of the corner of her eye during the play.

"My writing this time," Winnie said, sitting down and jolting Claire out of her thoughts, "is a dashing prince who sweeps a poor servant off her feet and marries her, bringing a whole life of riches and wealth.

"Prince Patrick is a man who has never quite wanted to be a prince. The eldest of three, he far wishes that he was not the heir. He is mysterious and stoic to many, but it is a quiet sort of reservation. He is not an ignorant man but one who thinks very deeply indeed, and he does not know how to exist in the world that he is in. He often thinks of how he did not ask to have such a role …"

As Winnie talked, Claire found herself thinking, It is almost like Lord Bannerdown. He does not want this inheritance, much preferring medicine and hospitals to manor houses and balls, but his role in society demands that he take up the title.

"One day, he is ordered to throw a banquet to celebrate the town's independence from a cruel governing hand—this is where I am thinking of writing Lady Katherine into my tale—and in honour, Prince Patrick invites both nobles and commoners to the ball, for he thinks, should they not have a chance at fun, too?"

Claire bit back a smile. Just like Lord Bannerdown inviting me to the theatre.

"He is ever so handsome, dark-haired, and has a secretive look in his eyes. He is broadly built, of course, for he is a hunter and a rider, a swordsman, as well as a well-read prince." Claire pretended to prop her face up on her palm, so her fist covered her smile. Winnie was getting so lost in her story that she did not notice.

"So, when he meets the heroine, a certain Miss Winona—"

"I like what you have done with the name," Claire interjected.

"Thank you." She giggled. "When the two meet, both agree they cannot let anything happen, for Patrick cannot even ask Winona for a dance in front of many eyes. But Winona is brave and asks why he thought of inviting the commoners if they cannot dance with anybody they please. It is as though they are there for the glory of Patrick to say how considerate he was in thinking of them. Their argument gets rather heated behind closed doors and …"

She stopped herself, her eyes bright. "Well, the two share a beautiful kiss. And the story of love begins where Patrick fights to have Winona's status elevated, but at the same time, he wishes to have better behaviour towards commoners. It sets an example for the town to see a princess who was once a commoner."

Winnie was breathless by the time she finished. "What do you think?"

Claire grinned, having loved the tale so far. "I think it is lovely. And I would like to read it when it is done. I think even Lady Florence would. She enjoys reading, and I know she likes a happy ending or two. The intrigue of their social status would definitely raise some eyebrows."

"And I shall be all the more happier for it." Winnie paused, a wicked smile gracing her face. All traces of her tears were gone. "Speaking of falling for someone with a different status … I see you are growing softer with the earl. I have seen how you look at him."

"I do not!" Claire protested, laughing. "That is unbecoming of a governess!"

But a blush warmed her face. She scooped her tea into her hands for something to do as she sipped.

"Do you have feelings for the earl?" Winnie said. "Because for my heroine, it worked out rather well."

"Winnie!" Claire cried, her voice high with incredulity, even as she couldn't resist smiling. "I do not have feelings for Lord Bannerdown. That would be preposterous."

"I'm just saying. It wouldn't do any harm, and he is very easy on the eyes." The lady's maid wiggled her brows at Claire, a grin on her face. "I do hope you two can attend the theatre together again."

"I was chaperoning," Claire protested, but it was a weak one at best, for she knew the earl had explicitly told her to enjoy herself for the night.

"I am sure you were," Winnie teased.

But Claire paid her no mind as the maid put her story away and finished her tea. She knew better than to fall for her employer … Even if several moments had passed between them. And even if, when he held the dinner party last week, she had kept catching his gaze on her. And she swore she'd felt his hand brush hers at the theatre that night …

But no. She knew better. Too many secrets weighed in her heart for her to ever think about opening it or hope for the heart of another. She mustered a smile, finished her tea, and the two women stood up, ready to retire for the night.

"Ah," Winnie said on the stairs. "Before I forget, a letter arrived for you earlier today. It was forwarded from a different address in London. I was awfully curious, so you must let me indulge my curiosity once you have read it! I left it on your dresser in your room lest anybody see your mail. Goodnight, Claire."

Claire's heart thudded as she mumbled a goodnight back, her thoughts drifting to who could have sent her a letter and how close she had been to getting caught if the letter showed her previous address. It was not unknown for it to happen, but only twice before had it happened. Only her butler from Flogsend had her address in this new location and knowledge of her new life, so Claire's worry began as she went to her room and closed the door, immediately snatching up the letter.

It was not handwriting she was familiar with, but as soon as she opened it, her worry turned to white-hot anger. For the letter was from her mother. The very woman who had abandoned Claire at the age of six.

A woman who had turned her back on Claire and her father. A woman who had caused Claire's life to go the way it had and forced her into a life as a governess, and while she cared for Florence deeply, she could not help feeling very resentful that, after nearly two decades, she thought it okay to simply reach out.

My dearest Claire,

I hope this letter finds you healthy and well, a grown woman, with perhaps even your own life and marriage in full, beautiful swing. I am reaching out to you in the hopes of reuniting. I have made many mistakes in the past, and I hope you will allow me to right those wrongs of mine and grant me a reconciliation. You may write to me at the return address on my letter. I eagerly await your response, for a letter cannot convey everything that is in my heart.

Ever your mama,

Magdalene.

Claire read the letter once, and only once, before throwing it into the nearest drawer, banishing it from her sight. Her stomach turned sour in a sickly way, and anger coursed through her. How dare she write to her, asking for a second chance, as though Claire owed her any grace!

Claire clutched her sick stomach, shaking from both fury and anxiety, as she tore her beautiful theatre gown off and dressed in her nightdress.

Intent to ignore the letter completely and refusing to answer it, Claire climbed into bed, banished all thoughts of her mother from her mind, and hoped sleep would come to her quickly.