Chapter 2

2

U SEFUL C OMPANION .

A lady, in her 24th year, anxiously desires a SITUATION as above. She is a good reader, domesticated, and industrious. She would be most suitable for an elderly lady. Salary a secondary object.

—Advertisement, The Times of London

The next day, when the butler delivered the post, Claire eyed the missive hopefully, but it was only a letter for her aunt in a hand she did not recognize.

Claire helped her sit up in bed and then watched as the old woman peeled up the wax seal, read, and then sighed.

“Another charity requesting my support. So many poor, miserable people in this world. Write a reply for me, please.”

Claire rose in silent obedience, her aunt’s shrewd gaze studying her in disapproval.

“You’re even more aloof than usual today. And what a long-suffering expression you wear. I suppose you’re still upset about that note the gentleman left. I did not prevent your reading it because I am a mean old bat, but because your father insisted the rest of the family cut ties with you. I am merely enforcing his wishes. Be glad he did not forbid me to shelter you as well.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

Agnes Mercer narrowed her eyes. “I know you find your life here an odious one, but there are many in your situation who would happily trade places with you. Fallen women often find themselves facing far worse fates. You might have ended up in the Magdalen Asylum, one of the charities I support, or even the workhouse, if not for me.”

“Yes, Aunt.” She forced herself to add, “And I am grateful.”

The old woman harrumphed, clearly not convinced, and handed her the key to her desk.

Claire accepted it and turned. A brass quill and ink holder sat on the desk’s surface, along with a wax jack, but paper itself was kept in the drawer. She unlocked it and slid it open. Her gaze strayed to a few letters in the far-right corner, the top one face down with its seal still intact. Might one of them be for her? Aware of her aunt’s hawklike eyes, Claire withdrew only paper and closed the drawer.

She spread the blank page before her and dipped the quill, saying, “Ready.”

Agnes Mercer began her reply, her voice growing increasingly thin and reedy as she continued. She thanked the charity’s governors for their request and gave her stipulations for agreeing to make a donation. Claire could have written it without the woman’s prompting, as she had written similar responses on her aunt’s behalf many times before.

Claire finished the last line in silence and stood to take it to the bed for her aunt’s scrawly signature. But the woman had fallen asleep.

How unusual. She always made sure the desk drawer was locked and the key returned to her before dismissing Claire or allowing herself to nap. It was so unexpected that Claire watched the woman’s thin, flat chest to make sure it rose and fell, which it did, with weak regularity.

Claire would surely be caught if she unsealed the letter to read, but perhaps she might write a brief one of her own. Dare she?

Claire sat back down at the desk, gingerly slid the drawer open just enough, and pulled forth another sheet of paper. Glancing over her shoulder to assure herself her aunt still slept, Claire dipped her pen in the ink and began another letter.

Dear...

Dear who?

She longed to write Dear Mamma . Oh, how she missed her. Thoughts of her kind, gentle mother brought with them a potpourri of memories—encouraging talks and affectionate embraces—along with dry, brittle husks of regret.

As far as Claire knew, the only one of her family who had ever written to her in Scotland was Emily. Then again, Emily had been gone from home when it had all happened and probably didn’t know what Claire had done. How foolish and stupid she had been.

Even if Claire wrote to Emily with the hope of a future reconciliation, she knew Emily was not the one she needed to persuade. Mamma was. And Mamma had never gone against Papa’s wishes in her life.

Claire thought again of the stern reply to Emily’s letter Aunt Mercer had dictated, telling her not to write again. If Emily had ignored the edict and written again anyway, Claire did not know it. The butler or sometimes the footman swept up the post and delivered it to the mistress of the house without delay.

But yesterday Campbell had said there were others .

Claire again peered at the small stack of letters on the right, behind extra ink bottles and quills. If they were letters from her family, it might be worth the risk. She tentatively slipped her hand inside and, not quite able to grasp them, used her other hand to slide open the drawer an inch farther.

Whiiine.

“Hm?” Aunt Mercer snorted awake. “What are you—?”

“All finished. Ready for you to sign.” Claire surreptitiously slipped the extra piece of paper back inside. No use in wasting it for one word. Aunt Mercer detested waste. As Claire rose, she nudged the drawer closed with her hip.

“Lock it and return the key.” Aunt Mercer held out her hand, and as always, Claire complied.

After that, Claire left the woman to resume her nap, taking the charity letter down to the hall for the butler or footman to post later. Hearing a small squeak of protest nearby, Claire stepped back and looked down the corridor.

There stood the footman, Fergus, standing close to Mary. The young housemaid backed away until the wall stopped her. He propped a hand on the wall over her shoulder, hemming her in on one side. He leaned down as though to kiss her, but Mary turned her face, ducked, and slipped from his grasp.

Neatly done , Claire thought.

“Come on, Mary,” he wheedled. “Ye don’t want me to tell the missus I saw that ginger-haired assistant kissin’ ye.”

Mary hastened away toward the servants’ stairs. The footman turned to follow, but Claire called, “That’s far enough, Fergus.”

Claire said it with all the authority she could muster. In truth, she had little authority in this house, but as lady’s companion and a relative of Agnes Mercer’s, she theoretically ranked a notch above this impertinent footman.

“Ah, Miss Summers.” His eyes glinted to find a new mouse in his tomcat sights. “Jealous, are we? Don’t be a shrew. If yer very sweet to me, I might give ye a look at this letter just come.”

Another letter?

He stepped closer, a sly smile tilting his lips. “I can see yer interested. So perhaps I’ll have two letters’ worth.”

When Claire remained silent he came closer yet, his smile widening. “Thinking about it, are ye?”

Claire inwardly bristled. She may have fallen for a lord, but she was not about to be seduced by a lecherous, spotty-faced footman.

She held her tongue and managed a small smile of her own. His eyes darkened and he stepped close. The man thus distracted, Claire swiped the letter from his grasp and spun away, much as Mary had.

He swore.

A quick glance told her it was only a note from Aunt Mercer’s lawyers. Devious pig.

She handed it back. “You were right; I was thinking about something. About whether I should have you dismissed now or wait until after my aunt wakes from her nap.”

The sly smile vanished. “Ye don’t have that kind of power.”

“It’s not my power or lack of it that would hand you the sack. A mere mention to my pious aunt of your lascivious behavior would do it.”

He blinked. Looked sincerely stricken. “Don’t, miss. Please. Just a little jest. Won’t happen again.”

“Perhaps I will keep quiet if you agree to leave Mary alone. What has she ever done to deserve such behavior?”

For a moment that snakelike gleam returned to his eyes. “Oh, ye’d be surprised.”

“And sickened, no doubt.”

“Now, now. Not my fault. She’s no better than she should be.”

Was there any truth to his claim? If so, Claire was in no position to judge another woman’s indiscretions.

She lifted her chin. “Either way, she is far better than you are. Watch your step, for I shall be watching you.”

A few days later, another caller came to the front door. Claire was in her room reading when the knocker sounded below. She stood and looked out the window, glimpsing a man’s black hat and billowing greatcoat, but that was all. She wondered if this one would be sent away too.

Claire returned to her reading.

Aunt Mercer had said she would not need Claire that afternoon, so Claire was enjoying the rare luxury of reading a book of her own choosing. Aunt Mercer did not possess—or allow—many novels, but rereading The Pilgrim’s Progress was proving more pleasant than being forced to read aloud yet again from Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women .

Some time later the housemaid tapped and came in with fresh towels. “Here you are, miss.”

“Thank you, Mary. My aunt has a caller?”

“Aye. Some gent’s been with her for nearly an hour now.”

“One of her doctors?”

“Don’t know. Dinna hear his name.”

The housemaid turned to go, but Claire asked, “Mary, has Fergus been bothering you?”

The girl tilted her mobcapped head as she considered. “Now ye mention it, he’s left me alone for a few days, God be praised.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The maid departed to continue her duties.

A short while later, another knock rattled her door.

Expecting Mary again, she called, “Come.”

Instead, when the door opened, Campbell stood there looking awkward.

“A gentleman to see you, miss, in the drawing room.”

A gentleman? She instantly thought of the fair-haired Scotsman who had been turned away. Had he come back? Brought news of her family? Why would her aunt allow her to receive a male caller now, when she had refused before?

Claire rose. “Give me a few minutes, please.”

The butler nodded and retreated.

Claire tidied her hair and arranged a white linen tucker at her neck, adding needed adornment to the plain grey day dress.

Then she went down to the drawing room, nerves thrumming through her.

She crossed the threshold and drew up short, heart banging against her ribs at the sight of the handsome, elegantly dressed man awaiting her.

Lord Bertram. Here? Now?

“What on earth are you doing here?” she blurted with no attempt at politeness.

“Miss Summers.” He bowed. “I have just met with your aunt, as you are probably aware. Surely she mentioned she had written to me.”

“She did not. I am astonished to see you. I had no idea she contacted you nor have I any idea why she would.”

“No? I must say that surprises me.”

“Then that makes two of us. Why did she want to see you?”

He hesitated. “If she did not tell you, perhaps I had better leave it to her to explain. Still a bit of a mystery to me anyway.”

Did he assume Claire had wanted to see him? She hurried to correct that humiliating misapprehension. “If you think I asked her to contact you, to interfere in some way, you are greatly mistaken. I had not thought to ever see you again.”

He held up his hand, pinkie ring flashing with the movement. “I have no wish to start a quarrel. In fact, I am glad to see you looking well and living in such a ... respectable house. Is the old woman kind to you?”

A denial was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She would not seek this man’s pity.

She squared her shoulders. “You said you came to meet with my aunt. Why did you ask to speak to me?”

“I merely wanted to assure myself you were well. I confess I have thought of you often. I regret what happened between us, and I also regret it is not in my power to make amends. I hope you will allow me to at least apologize.”

She was so flabbergasted by his overdue apology that she could barely fashion a reply. Finally, she managed, “Say what you like. It changes nothing.”

When Lord Bertram left, Claire marched directly to her aunt’s bedchamber. She found the woman propped up by pillows atop her made bed. She was dressed—with help from the lady’s maid—in a favorite Sunday frock with her ruby cross pendant at her neck and a lap rug over her legs.

She looked at Claire with interest. “You saw him, then?”

“I did and was astonished to find him here at all, let alone at your invitation. I did not realize you were acquainted with the man.”

“I was not. Never met him till today.”

Claire frowned in confusion. “To my recollection, I have never mentioned his name. So how...?”

“Your father named the man in one of his letters.”

“Why did you wish to see him?”

“Several reasons. To satisfy my curiosity, first of all. He is handsome, I grant you. Well-spoken. Titled. I can see why he turned your head. Yet he is also in a great deal of debt.”

“How do you know that? I doubt he would offer such information.”

“He did not, nor did he deny it. I looked into the man’s situation. Not bad for an old woman confined to her bed, ey?”

Claire was too befuddled to be impressed. “Why go to the trouble? What were the other reasons you mentioned?”

“I am ... not prepared to say as yet.”

At the vague answer, irritation flared, as it often did in her aunt’s presence, and for once, Claire failed to hold her tongue. “What, did you invite him here to remind me of my stupidity? My humiliation at his hand? I assure you no reminder was needed. I repent of it daily.”

Agnes Mercer’s eyes glinted. “Ah. So the mouse has a voice after all. Not the insipid milk-and-water miss I’ve known these last two years. I am glad to see some spark in you.”

“Are you? When you have chastised and suppressed my every expression except docile compliance?”

“Careful, my girl. I don’t like that sharp tongue aimed at me, but you will need that spirit and courage when I’m gone.”

The thought brought unease and even fear. Claire admitted, “I don’t know where I’ll go after you die.”

“What about after you die? I know where I hope to go.”

“Are you not certain? With all your churchgoing and donations and piety?”

“Pff. That gets me nowhere. The only reason I can hope for heaven is this.” She lifted the cross on its gold chain.

“Your necklace?”

“Don’t be daft. What it symbolizes. The cross alone renders sinners acceptable to God.”

“Do you include yourself in that number, or only me?”

“I am in the same boat, my girl. But you are still at sea.” She waved her veined hand. “Now, enough of that. Have you given any thought to where you might go?” Her lips quirked. “While alive, I mean.”

Worry pinched Claire. “I have thought about it but have made no decision as yet.”

“Your mother won’t have you, you know. Your father made his wishes clear.”

“As you’ve often reminded me. Speaking of the future, I hate to ask, but I will need some money. Most companions are given an annual allowance.”

“An allowance? Ha. You have had a roof over your head, a warm bed, and meals prepared for you. You’ve been given proper clothing. Not to mention spiritual instruction from my minister. Far more than most in your situation would expect. I’d say you’ve already received more than adequate compensation.”

All the old shame washed over Claire, paired with heavy defeat. She hung her head. “I am sorry. I do appreciate having a home here.” But for how long?

Another wave of her hand. “Enough idle chatter. Off with you, now.”

Claire swallowed. “Do you not wish me to read to you?”

“Not today.” She tapped her whiskery chin. “I have a great deal to think about.”