Chapter 6 #2
Her heart thudded as their eyes met, his blinking, no doubt at the pervasive smell in the room.
“Your Grace,” Eliza’s voice squeaked, as she rose to her feet.
Clara hurried up with her, grasping the maid’s arm firmly to stop her from her nervous, chattering admission of guilt.
“It was me, Your Grace,” Clara said, swallowing. “In my clumsiness, I fear I made a great mess.”
Silence followed this admission, and it lasted long enough that Clara chanced a glance at the duke. His eyes were on her, something unidentifiable in them.
His gaze shifted to Eliza. “What is your name?”
Eliza did not respond, and Clara bumped her with an elbow.
“Forgive me,” Eliza said. “I didn’t know you was speakin’ to me, Your Grace. Eliza is my name.”
“You are dismissed, Eliza.”
Her eyes grew round, and her chin trembled.
“I believe he means from the room,” Clara said, half question, half reassurance.
“Yes, of course,” the duke clarified.
A burst of shaky laughter erupted from Eliza, which she hurried to cover with a hand. “Yes, Your Grace.” She set down her cleaning supplies, and moments later was gone.
The duke stepped into the room, and the silence stretched long as Clara awaited her fate.
She kept her head held low, but her eyes watched his glistening boots as they drew nearer and nearer, then came to a stop two feet from her.
“It was not you, was it?” he finally asked.
“It was, Your Grace.” She did not think the duke would dismiss Eliza for her clumsiness, but if he mentioned the incident to Mrs. Finch, she wouldn’t hesitate to. Clara was no favorite of the housekeeper’s, but her work was satisfactory and consistent. She stood a better chance than Eliza.
“Clara,” the duke said.
She shut her eyes and took in a breath. Why did hearing her name on his lips steal her breath like a thief?
“Cleaning the fireplace is not one of your duties,” he said.
“Not normally.” Realizing it sounded as though she was correcting him, she hurried to add, “Your Grace.”
“There seems to be a great deal of abnormality in your days,” he commented with a hint of dry amusement. “I shall just ring for Mrs. Finch. She can verify to whom she gave the task.” He took a step toward the bell.
“No!” Clara grasped his hand, then dropped it as though it was a white-hot iron from the forge. She clasped her fingers into a fist and brought them to her chest in embarrassment.
“Clara.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Look at me.”
She brought her eyes up slowly and met his brown ones.
“Protecting Eliza is honorable,” he said. “But I do not wish for you to lie to me again. Do you understand?”
She nodded quickly, then dropped her gaze, for meeting his kind eyes did things to her she would never admit to. The way he was speaking to her did not feel like a master chastising his servant. It felt like a man begging his friend for honesty.
“I take it my perfume spilled,” he said.
“I am very sorry,” she said, unable to stop herself from stealing a glance at him.
But he was walking toward the dressing table, his back to her.
Clara hurried over to move the perfume-saturated rag upon it. “I wiped up the perfume, but I have yet to thoroughly clean the area.”
He picked up the blue bottle that had spilled and shook it gently, looking at the little that remained of its contents. “It was the scent my mother wore.”
Clara clenched her eyes shut. “I am so sorry, Your Grace.”
He shook his head. “I have it made up regularly. It is one of the few things I remember about her.” He opened the stopper and ran the bottle under his nose, frowning. “It never quite captures her, though. Perhaps it was the clothes or her skin that made the difference.”
Clara brought her hand to her nose and smelled it, intrigued.
The duke watched her with curiosity.
“I have a great deal on my hands from cleaning it,” she explained.
“And? What is your assessment?”
She put her hand to her nose again and shut her eyes. It was difficult to detect with the room so full of the scent, but there was a subtle difference to the one on her skin. It was a gentler scent.
She opened her eyes. “I think you are right. There is a difference on the skin.”
His gaze shifted to her hand, a mixture of curiosity and hesitation in his eyes. “May I?”
Heart thrumming, Clara nodded and extended her hand toward him.
His fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, and he lowered his head until his warm breath tickled the bare skin near her dress sleeve.
He shut his eyes and inhaled, taking every last bit of Clara’s breath with him. She cast her eyes to the ceiling, trying to calm the pulsing of her heart and keep her eyes and thoughts from wandering.
“It smells differently on you,” he said after a moment, his brow furrowed. “Different from the bottle, yes, but different from what I remember when my mother wore it too.”
“It does?” Was that a good or bad thing?
He nodded, then readjusted his light grip on her wrist and inhaled lightly again, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.
A throat cleared nearby, and Clara jumped back in surprise as the duke’s hand released hers.
Mrs. Finch stood in the doorway, watching Clara, her nostrils flared.
Heat rushed into Clara’s cheeks, and she began gathering up her things.
“What happened here?” Mrs. Finch asked.
Clara’s gaze flitted to the duke.
“A small incident involving one of the other maids,” he said evenly.
Mrs. Finch’s lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure. “Eliza, I don’t doubt. I will speak with her immediately, Your Grace. It will not happen again.”
“I do not wish for her to be dismissed, Mrs. Finch. It was a simple accident, and there is no real harm done.”
Clara kept her eyes trained on her belongings as she gathered them, but her racing heart was warm with gratitude toward him. He took care of his servants in a way she found as refreshing as it was admirable.
Mrs. Finch gave a curt nod. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
The duke strode to the dressing table, opened the top drawer, and took out a pocket watch, which he glanced at, then slipped into his tailcoat. His eyes met Clara’s for a brief moment, then he nodded and left the room.
It was not until the sound of his footsteps disappeared that Mrs. Finch spoke. “You will finish cleaning, then come speak with me.”
“Yes, Mrs. Finch,” Clara said meekly.
It was not Eliza who needed fear dismissal today.