Chapter 5 #3
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.