Chapter 14 #3
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “Have you any other family?”
“None to speak of,” she said calmly. “I never knew my mother, and I have no brothers or sisters.”
William frowned. It stood to reason, he supposed, for he could only imagine a brother or father would have rescued her from the situation in which he had found her.
“May I ask a question, Your Grace?”
“You need not request permission.”
She looked unconvinced. “You have over a dozen horses in your stables. Why ride a green one?”
He smiled slightly as the horse reached for a tuft of grass near the cart wheel. “I bought her on an impulse, even greener than this.” He narrowed his eyes as he absently stroked her neck. “I suppose I wanted the challenge. Why are you smiling?” But now he was too. He couldn’t help himself.
“I simply find it curious that you seek out challenges. Most people try to avoid them.”
William gave a wry chuckle. “It is rather strange, I suppose. It certainly seems that way to Edmund. He is still trying to convince me to sell her.”
“But you do not wish to?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t proven what I wish to prove.”
“And what is that, Your Grace?”
He glanced over at her at the form of address and smiled ruefully.
“Forgive me. It is none of my business.”
“No, no. It is not that. It is just that…well, I came into the title unexpectedly—and tragically, as you undoubtedly know. My father had always dreamed of inheriting or of seeing me do so, despite how improbable such a thing was. I was woefully unprepared when the impossible came to be. Beyond that, I was shocked by the way I was treated, by the expectations others suddenly had of me. I had always been Mr. Yorke or, amongst my family, my given name. Then, all of a sudden, it was Your Grace, Your Grace, Your Grace.” He gave an ironic laugh.
“And it seems grace is all that is expected of me. I am pampered and cosseted, urged away from any type of work—unbefitting, they say. I have felt as though I am losing touch with myself, becoming less and less capable, more and more reliant upon others for everything.” He stroked the horse.
“So I bought Comet. To prove to myself, I suppose, that I am not incapable.”
It was quiet except for Comet’s munching, and he glanced at Clara. “No doubt I sound like a spoiled ingrate to you.”
She shook her head. “I know a bit about the pain of being called by a name that is unfamiliar, of longing for your old one, of part of you wishing to return to a past version of your life.”
He watched her, a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue. What life did she wish to return to? And why did hearing her say so make his heart twinge?
More than anything, though, his heart reached for her, because for the first time in months, he felt understood. By a maid, of all people. She did not think him ungrateful or silly. And that alone took away some of the difficulty of the past months.
“What is your name, Your Grace?” There was a hint of timidity in her voice as she looked up at him, as though she feared he might be angry with the question.
“William,” he replied. “What is the name you wish to be called by?”
“Taylor. I was married to John for such a short time that Quinn feels foreign. Wrong, even. Now, it is a reminder I do not wish for.”
William nodded, and he felt the impulse to take her hand—to reassure her that, just as she understood him, so did he understand her.
“I should return,” she said, offering the reins to him.
“And I.”
Clara returned to the cart and grasped the handles.
The mare skittered sideways in surprise, and William grasped the reins tightly, speaking to calm her.
“Still afraid of the cart, it seems,” William said once they had begun walking again.
“A moving cart is a different matter from a still one,” Clara said. “That is a task to be conquered another day.”
“Indeed,” he said. “But she has made progress. Thank you.”
“It was no trouble at all.”
They walked without speaking for the next few minutes, and William wondered at how natural it felt.
As the Duke of Rockwood, he was expected to have ready conversation whenever he was in company.
Here, he could be silent without worry. He could let his mind wander, and as he did so, he found it returning again and again to the woman beside him, who would glance up at him and smile every so often.
They reached the fork in the path, the left leading into the trees, the right continuing to Rushlake.
“This is where we part ways,” he said. Much as he might wish to continue walking with her, they could not be seen arriving at Rushlake together.
Clara held the horse steady as William used a nearby stump as a mounting block, swinging his leg over the saddle.
“Be safe, Your Grace.” Her fingers brushed his as she handed him the reins.
“I will.”
Their eyes held for a moment, and William stopped himself from asking when they would see each other next. All he knew was that he wanted it to be soon. “Good day to you, Clara.” He gave his horse a kick and rode into the woods, his mind full of the maid he had left on the path.