Clara’s cheeks bloomed with color. “How – how do you know that?”
Unlike most girls her age, Clara did not spend her time dreaming of the day she would make her debut into high society and snatch herself up a dashing husband with a fancy title. Boys held little interest for her. In fact, aside from the gardener, the butler, and the footman (all of whom were old enough to be her grandfather) she’d never even spoken to a man who wasn’t her father, let alone thought about what attractive qualities they sought in a woman.
Her gaze dropped self-consciously to her small, barely noticeable breasts. If it was ‘bosoms and buttocks’ men were after then surely she was out of luck.
“Because I’ve both,” said Poppy, “and I’ve been fighting off worthless bounders for as long as I can remember.”
“Bounders?” Clara’s head canted to the side at the unfamiliar term. “What are those?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Marching into the kitchen with all the authority of a general in the British Army, Agnes gave Poppy a quelling stare before she turned her attention to Clara. “Come along, dear. Lady Irene would like to have a word with you now that you are up and about.”
At the mere mention of her stepmother Clara’s stomach curdled with dread. She’d known she would have to talk to Lady Irene eventually, of course. It was inevitable given the events of the past four days. She had just been hoping that ‘eventually’ would be far, far in the future.
“I think I would like to go back to bed now.”
Agnes’ expression softened. “I am afraid you will have to face her sooner or later. Better make it sooner and get it done with once and for all. She is waiting in the front parlor. I will remain right outside the door if you need me.”
With great reluctance Clara slid off the stool and followed Agnes out of the kitchen. Rain pattered against the windows as they made their way down the hall and through the foyer. Agnes stopped at the parlor door.
“Good luck,” she whispered. “Keep your chin up.”
Clara took a deep breath. Do not cry, she ordered herself sternly. No matter what Lady Irene says or what she does, don’t you dare shed any tears.
Shoulders stiffening with resolve, she opened the door and stepped into the parlor, her walking slippers sinking silently into the thick carpet. All of the curtains were pulled closed and candles lit the room in a soft, flickering glow. Seeing her stepmother sitting by the stone hearth where a small fire crackled and popped, Clara approached with small, reluctant steps.
“You wanted to see me, Lady Stepmother?”
“Clara. There you are. Have a seat, dear child.” Lady Irene nodded at the chair beside her own. In between the chair was a small mahogany table upon which sat a sterling silver tea set. Steam rose in a lazy gray circle from a porcelain cup framed with delicate red roses. Bringing the cup to her lips, Lady Irene took a small sip while she watched Clara over the curved edge. “Would you care for some tea? I am afraid I can never get warm on days like these.”
“No thank you.” Bracing her hands on either armrest, Clara sat on the very edge of the chair, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Lady Irene’s expression may have been pleasant enough, but Clara knew that the emotions Lady Irene revealed on the outside were often very different from what she was thinking on the inside.
“Very well.” Setting her cup of tea down with a tiny clink, Lady Irene folded her hands across her lap and turned in her chair so she was facing Clara directly. “First let me begin by saying I cannot possibly imagine what you are going through. To lose a husband is one thing, but to lose a father is something else entirely. As I am sure you can imagine, Henrietta and Gabriella are positively devastated.”
Clara’s fingernails dug into the chair. Henrietta and Gabriella, devastated? They hadn’t sounded very devastated when she’d heard them laughing in the drawing room! How could they be, when they’d hardly known her father? He was her papa, not theirs. And she was the only one who had the right to mourn him. Not her stepsisters, and certainly not her stepmother who had been his wife for less than a month!
She opened her mouth to tell Lady Irene precisely that, only to bite back the words at the last possibly second. If there was ever a time to be intelligent instead of impulsive, it was now. For she hadn’t only lost her father. She had also lost his protection and was, she realized with a sickening thud in the bottom of her gut, completely at the mercy of the woman sitting beside her, smiling as though she were a cat who had just swallowed a very tasty canary.
“Your father was a good man,” Lady Irene continued. “I know we would have been very happy together, just as I know that he would have expected me to care for you as though you were my own daughter should anything ever happen to him. Which is exactly what I intend to do.”
“You – you do?” Try as she might, Clara couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. It pitched it upwards, as though she were attempting to hit a high-note. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You do, Lady Stepmother?”
“But of course.” Were it not for the dark glitter in Lady Irene’s eyes Clara almost would have believed her. “We are a family, Clara. Your father’s unfortunate and tragic death does not change that. Since your father did not have any male heirs, this estate and everything belonging to it will soon be inherited by your uncle. I have already been in contact with Mr. Witherspoon and as he has no intention of leaving Sussex he has graciously allowed us to remain here.”
Clara’s mind whirled. She had never even considered having to leave Windmere. It was her home. The only home she’d ever known. “That – that is quite generous of him,” she managed, not knowing what else to say.
“It is indeed. However, some changes will have to be made. As I am sure you can understand, without your father we are now under considerable financial duress.”
Financial duress? Clara knew her father had never been as wealthy as a duke or even an earl, but he’d managed his money well, investing in various projects and companies which was one of the reasons he had traveled so much. There was also the land itself which yielded quite a few crops including a twenty acre parcel of forest which had just recently been harvested and was waiting to be shipped to market.
She must not know about the lumber, Clara decided. Or the wheat or the barley or the apple orchards. As a thirteen-year-old girl she probably shouldn’t have known about such things either, but she’d always had a vivid interest in the agricultural side of a working estate and her father had encouraged her curiosity.
“Lady Stepmother, the income made from the estate–”
“Is a mere pittance compared to the expenses. Gabriella will be making her debut this season, and in two years you and Henrietta will be doing the same. Do you know how much money it takes to launch a debutante into society? No,” Lady Irene said, her mouth twisting when Clara slowly shook her head. “I thought not. Suffice it to say we shall soon be in debt up to our corsets which is why some changes will need to be made beginning with the servants. Since you know them more than I do, I would like you to make a list of all their names and positions.”
Clara frowned. She was happy to help, but it was a rather odd request. “And then?” she asked, sensing Lady Irene wasn’t quite finished.
“And then I would like you to rank them in order of their effectiveness.”
“What for?” she said warily.
“So I know which ones to let go, of course.”
“But you can’t do that!” Clara exclaimed, horrified.
Lady Irene lifted a brow. “Can’t I? Over the past few weeks I have been observing the household staff and I must say, I find them appallingly lazy. Which is only to be expected, I suppose, given they’ve had no one to watch over them since your mother died.”
“They aren’t lazy! They are exhausted and overworked!” Clara jumped out of her chair, hands curling into angry fists of indignation. “And if you fire them the ones who remain will become even more so. They depend on this job for the
ir livelihood. Many have been here since before I was born!” And she could not imagine seeing a single one of them leave. They were her family, as much as her father had been.
“Your loyalty is misplaced, Clara. Which is only to be expected, I suppose, given how close you are with the housekeeper and that red-haired maid. What is the housekeeper’s name? Agnes, isn’t it? I believe Agnes is getting on in years,” Lady Irene said when Clara remained stubbornly silent. “She is paid the most and she works the least. Retirement would no doubt do her well. And that red-haired maid is far too careless. Why, just yesterday she misplaced my favorite hairbrush. The dimwitted fool put it in Gabriella’s room, of all places.”
Clara’s heart jumped into her throat. If she lost Agnes and Poppy… if she lost Agnes and Poppy she did not know what she would do.
“I can help,” she said impulsively, desperate enough to say – and do – anything that would ensure her little family was not broken apart any more than it already had been. “I can help them. I – I can do the laundry and dust and help with the cooking.”
“You?” Lady Irene scoffed. “Help the servants? Now you are simply being foolish.”
“I wouldn’t mind. Truly,” she insisted when her stepmother rolled her eyes. “I already know how to cook and I am a very hard worker. You wouldn’t have to pay me and–”
“Very well,” Lady Irene interrupted quickly. A bit too quickly, Clara thought. “I suppose we can try it, at least for a time. What can it hurt? Hopefully it will instill some much needed discipline in you, if nothing else. And if it does not work then I shall simply let the staff go as planned, beginning with that old housekeeper.”
Clara bit down hard on her bottom lip. She would make it work. She had to make it work.
“When would you like me to start?”
“Tomorrow morning is as good a time as any, I suppose. Of course we’ll have to get you some different clothes. No use dirtying up your dresses and having to spend more money on new ones. Your old gardening frocks should suffice. I had them moved to the upstairs attic. Be a dear and fetch them down, won’t you? Unless…”
“Unless what?” Clara asked when Lady Irene hesitated.
“Unless you wanted to move your things up to the attic. It would only be temporarily,” Lady Irene said with an airy flick of her wrist. “My sister is visiting soon, and I could not very well ask her to sleep in the attic, could I? Besides, Henrietta tells me you have an unusual fondness for the third floor. Your mother used to paint up there, did she not?”
“She did but–”
“Splendid! I will have one of the maids help you. Now if you will excuse me my dear, I have quite a few letters to write.”
As Clara walked out the parlor she happened to glance back over her shoulder. Seeing the curling smirk on Lady Irene’s face she was filled with the uncomfortable impression that this had somehow been her stepmother’s grand plan all along… and she was but a pawn in a game she did not understand.
“What do you mean our mother is coming to visit,” Thorncroft said flatly.
“Exactly what I said.” Shrugging out of his waistcoat Adam unbuttoned his wrist cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows before pouring himself a glass of brandy and settling into an empty wicker chair. He stared thoughtfully across the back lawn, fingers tapping idly against the side of his glass before raising it to his mouth and taking a sip. “She should be here by the end of the week.”
Far more restless than his brother, Thorncroft prowled across the large open terrace, the heels of his boots clicking rhythmically on the gray stone. Dozens of sheep grazed quietly in the field behind the formal garden, their dingy winter coats freshly sheared to reveal the soft white fleece beneath. To his west the sun was slowly sinking lower and lower into the sky as though pulled by an invisible string. Its shimmering descent marked another day come and gone.
Another day without his son.
Another day without his wife.
Another day spent enduring Adam’s endless prattle.
“Did you invite her?”
Adam snorted into his brandy. “What kind of a fool do you think I am? One does not invite our mother anywhere. You should know that as well as anyone. She goes where she pleases, when she pleases. And right now it pleases her to come here. Oh it won’t be that bad,” he said when he saw Thorncroft’s expression. “Humor her for a few days. She’ll grow bored and return to town. You know the country life has always bored her.”
“It has always bored you and yet here you are, still bothering the piss out of me.”
“That is not a very brotherly thing to say.”
Thorncroft fixed Adam with a cold, unblinking stare that had made lesser men tremble in their boots. “Forgive me if I am not feeling very brotherly.”
“Sod off,” Adam said cheerfully. “If I wasn’t here the pretty maid with the big tits would have found you dangling from the chandelier days ago. You need me, whether you admit it or not.”
The dark truth – the truth he had never admitted out loud, even to himself – was Thorncroft did not need anyone. He never had. As a duke his acquaintances were endless. But his gruff, prickly nature and brooding temperament made it all but impossible for people to get any closer than arm’s length, even his own family. Katherine had come the closest. She’d touched his heart in a way no one else ever had. And his son… Thorncroft’s throat convulsed. He still could not think about his son. His bright-eyed, chubby cheeked, mischievous son. Robert should have been running around chasing fireflies while his mother stood by Thorncroft’s side, her head heavy on his shoulder. Instead they were both in the ground, their bodies slowly decomposing, never to look upon another sunset ever again. What were the words had the priest said as he’d scattered a handful of dirt upon their glossy black coffins?
Earth to earth; ashes to ashes; dust to dust.
He had also spoken of their ascent into heaven. Not being a religious man, Thorncroft had never given much thought to what happened to a person’s soul after their body left this world. Having his wife and son taken from him in such a brutal manner had not helped him with his relationship with God, but Katherine had always been devout in her faith and he knew that if there was a place in the sky where angels sang and the roads were paved with gold that she was there now, watching over their little boy while he chased fireflies into eternity.
“Care for a drink?” Adam asked, holding up the decanter of brandy he’d stolen out of the study. Amber liquid sloshed temptingly inside the glass carafe but Thorncroft shook his head. The days of drinking himself into a mindless stupor were behind him. He had responsibilities. Tenants that were depending on him. Business deals that needed his full attention. Land grants that had to be written. For what was work, if not another way to drown out the voices in his head?
“Suit yourself,” his brother said with a shrug before topping off his glass. Kicking his legs up on the terrace railing he reclined as far back as his chair would allow, slouching down until the top of his head was barely visible. “You know, I always thought of the country as a place where women went to have babies and men went when they no longer had the energy to chase after women. But it’s all rather peaceful, isn’t it? The clean air. The quiet. The fluffy white things.”
“Those ‘white fluffy things’ are sheep,” Thorncroft said dryly.
Adam squinted. “Is that what they are? I thought they were unusually small horses.”
“What would you have done if you’d been the heir instead of the spare?” Thorncroft asked, genuinely curious to hear his brother’s answer. He knew Adam would not take offense to the question. While some brothers were irrationally jealous of their second tier placement in the family tree, Adam had never displayed even a flicker of resentment. Quite the contrary. He relished being the spare, if only because it gave him all of the wealth and prestige of being a duke’s son without any of the responsibility.
“Enjoyed myself,” Adam said without hesitation. “Which is more than can
be said for you. Promise me you aren’t going to marry right away. I know I suggested it before, but I’ve since changed my mind. You’re only twenty-one, you know. You have an entire life of sin and debauchery ahead of you.”
Thorncroft went to the railing and leaned against it. In the field a tiny lamb cried for its mother. The ewe answered with a low, patient call and the two quickly found one another again. Watching their swift reunion, he felt a dull clenching in his gut. “That will not be a problem as I have no intention of ever marrying again.”
“And leave me responsible for continuing the family line?” Tilting his glass back, Adam finished off the brandy in one long swallow. “I think not. You’ll find another wife,” he said with confidence. “Just give it time. In the meanwhile you and I are going to drink every pub dry between here and Gloucester before we make our way to London for the season. You’re going to be the talk of the entire town, you know.” His teeth flashed white in the encroaching darkness. “‘Tragically Widowed Duke of Thorncroft Seeks a New Bride.’ I can see it now. The gossip rags are going to have a bloody field day with you.”
Which was precisely why Thorncroft had absolutely no intention of getting within twenty miles of London. “I am in mourning,” he reminded his brother with a dark scowl. “Give Katherine’s memory some damn respect before you try to sell me off to the highest bidder.”
Adam blinked innocently. “No one’s trying to sell you off, let alone me. I only want what’s best for you. You’re too serious, Andrew. You always have been even before… well, you know.” He sobered. “I know you will never be able to replace Katherine. God knows she was a gem and you were lucky she ever agreed to marry you. But that doesn’t mean you should write off the possibility of ever finding love again.”
Thorncroft’s hands tightened on the railing until his knuckles turned white. Love? Love was an empty promise that had stolen everything away from him. Love was having your heart ripped out of your chest while it was still beating. Love was holding the broken bodies of your wife and son, knowing there was nothing you could do to save them.
A Duchess by Midnight Page 5
