Chapter 20
TWENTY
CLARA
Lady Cassandra was perfect. At least in Clara’s eyes. She was the embodiment of everything the future Duchess of Rockwood should be. Elegant and refined, confident and beautiful.
And seemingly, she had brought enough clothing to stay at Rushlake forever.
The lady’s maid that had accompanied the family was assisting Lady Hawkesbury, so Clara helped Lady Cassandra out of her traveling boots and unpacked her things.
Lady Cassandra sat upon the bed, watching and instructing Clara, who fought the stitch of jealousy which had made its home in her chest.
“That can go in the top drawer,” Lady Cassandra said as Clara pulled a frilly collar from her belongings.
“Yes, my lady.” Clara obediently set it in the drawer. She could feel the woman’s eyes on her and felt a flash of warmth flood her skin. Was it obvious she had spent the evening with the man this woman hoped to marry?
Of course, Clara didn’t know Lady Cassandra intended to marry the duke, but it was a fair assumption. The woman was no fool, after all.
“What is your name?” Lady Cassandra asked, tilting her head curiously.
“Clara, my lady.”
“A beautiful name. And how long have you been at Rushlake, Clara?”
“Just over a month, ma’am.”
“And before that?”
Clara tried not to stiffen as she folded a pair of embroidered stockings. “At an inn, ma’am.”
“I only ask because your manner of speaking tells of a gentler upbringing.”
Clara hesitated for a moment before responding. “I was a lady’s maid once, and my mistress was kind but particular.”
“Ah. That explains it. I would like the pale pink satin for this evening,” she said, her curiosity mercifully at an end. “And the pearl necklace and matching earrings. They are in the silver box.”
Clara reached into the bottom of the trunk and pulled out a silver box with a hand-painted enamel lid. She took it to the dressing table, set it down, and opened it. The contents glistened and glittered—pearls, diamonds, sapphires, and rubies.
Since John’s departure, Clara had tried and failed to come up with a solution that would satisfy him without requiring her to steal from the duke.
Lady Cassandra had enough valuable jewelry here to pay for John’s debt many times over.
Two pieces might even be sufficient, and given the tarnished state of the ruby ring in the box, Lady Cassandra might not notice its absence. At least not soon.
Besides, what was one ruby ring to a woman like her? She was likely to become a duchess.
Clara pulled out the pearls and shut the lid firmly but carefully. She would not steal from Lady Cassandra. She would have to find another way out of her difficulties.
Once everything had been removed from the trunks and her clothing set out for the evening, Lady Cassandra stated her intent to rest, and Clara left her in peace.
She shut the door quietly, her shoulders lowering with the sigh she released. She had known this was coming—the woman the duke was meant to court—but she had not expected how deeply envious she would feel of Lady Cassandra.
There was no question the woman was a suitable match for him. She was everything a man of such position would wish for in the woman he would make a duchess. And didn’t Clara want what was best for the duke? Didn’t she wish for his success and happiness?
She made her way down the stairs and to the servant hall. Three of the other maids were there, taking tea at the table after the tumult of the last few hours.
“Clara,” Eliza said with her guileless smile. “Would you care for a cup?” She rose and fetched one of the clean ones hanging behind the table.
Clara hesitated for a moment. For the past three weeks, she had been so busy with her duties at the lodge and the ones in the main house that she had hardly spoken with the other maids.
The gossip amongst them had lessened of late—or at least Clara was exposed to less of it.
She assumed she had the duke to thank for that.
But Clara’s time with Lady Cassandra had her feeling more hopeless and alone than she had since before coming to Rushlake. Perhaps it was time to make a more concerted effort at friendship with the other maids.
“I would, thank you.” Clara took a seat as Eliza poured from the teapot.
“Ye were just helpin’ Lady Cassandra, were ye not?” asked Sarah.
“I was.”
Sarah and Mary exchanged glances.
“And?” Sarah asked with a hint of impatience. “What was she like?”
Clara looked around at the three pairs of intent eyes staring at her.
“If she’s to be our future mistress,” Sarah said, “we must know everythin’.”
Clara forced a smile, then raised her shoulders. “She was…commanding but kind. Her belongings of the finest quality.” She struggled to find more to say, but the maids waited. “I believe she would make a fine mistress.”
“And a fine wife,” Mary said with a knowing glance at Sarah. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she? They say men prefer women with dark coloring.”
Sarah nodded her agreement, then looked at Clara. “It must be hard for ye.”
Clara’s stomach clenched. “What do you mean?” She took a sip of scalding tea.
“Oh, come,” Mary said, raising her teacup to her lips. “Ye don’t have to pretend with us, Clara.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Clara could feel her cheeks telling another story, however.
Sarah and Mary shared another look, this time one that said she must think us stupid.
“We know ye’re in love with him, Clara,” Sarah said.
“There’s nothin’ to be ashamed of,” Mary said matter-of-factly. “We were all half in love with him when he first arrived, weren’t we?”
Sarah laughed her agreement.
“Eliza here is new enough that she still is, aren’t ye?”
Eliza pinked with embarrassment, and Sarah patted her on the shoulder with sympathy.
“Be careful, that’s all,” Sarah said to Eliza. “Or ye’ll find yourself sent off to the lodge like Clara—and for what?”
Clara remained silent. What would they say if they knew the real reason she had been spending time there? Or that she had kissed the duke last night?
“Before Rushlake,” Mary said, “I was employed by a squire. His son came to stay for the summer, and my, but he was somethin’ to behold.
” Her expression turned nostalgic and admiring as she stared at nothing in particular, holding her teacup by her chin.
“He had eyes for the only other maid—and she for him, of course. I saw them kissin’ more than once.
She would whistle and hum all day long afterward.
I warned her, but she was certain he loved her.
I was jealous somethin’ fierce.” She took a sip of her tea.
“Until he tired of her after a few weeks. He began courtin’ a lady, and they married shortly after.
The poor maid was crushed to bits. Had to be dismissed. ” She set down her cup.
Sarah shook her head. “Men will flirt and amuse themselves with any woman who strikes their fancy. They make ye feel like ye’re the only woman in the world. But that’s all it ever is, isn’t it? Flirt liberally, marry wisely, they do.”
“Clara,” a stern voice said nearby.
All of them turned toward the doorway, where Mrs. Finch stood.
Clara set down her teacup and rose. “Yes, ma’am?”
“His Grace wishes for flowers to be taken to the lodge. You are to cut enough from the gardens for a small bouquet in each of the bedchambers. Apparently, the gardeners cannot be spared at the moment.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
Mrs. Finch disappeared again.
“Back to the lodge,” Mary said with a sympathetic grimace.
“I suppose so.” Clara hoped this was the duke’s way of giving her an excuse to take food to Silas—or, dare she hope, to meet her as they had been?
But as she sneaked bread, the words of the other maids would not leave her. Had she persuaded herself that what she felt between the duke and herself was more than it was?
She had never assumed he meant to offer her a future together.
Her reason was too robust for that, even if her foolish heart had concocted silly fantasies of such a thing.
But had she come to hope that what he felt for her was real and genuine?
Was there some part of her that believed if circumstances had been different that perhaps he would have married her?
Without a doubt, there was.
That was what haunted her most about what Mary had said. How was Clara any different from that poor, jilted maid?
Head full of such unhappy thoughts, Clara hid the bread in the handcart, then fetched shears from the gardening shed.
The gardens of Rushlake were one area she had yet to explore.
There was little reason—and certainly little enough time—for a housemaid to do so, and they were not visible from the house.
As she emerged from the manicured path of tall hedges that opened up to the gardens, her eyes widened, and she slowed. The explosion of color before her was unlike anything she had ever seen, as though a rainbow had tired of the sky and settled to earth.
Bees buzzed busily about the area, while a few butterflies flitted from bloom to bloom.
The tall yew hedges she had come through blocked any view of Rushlake itself, and the thick wood on the opposite side of the gardens concealed the view in that direction.
It gave one the impression of being entirely and utterly alone in a vibrant world of flowers.
Clara smiled, grateful at least for a breathtaking view to brighten her day, then she set to work.
She cut blue and purple larkspur, pink and white hollyhocks, red peonies, and yellow lilies, setting them in the wicker basket on the dirt path that wound through the flowers.
It left her wishing she were a gardener rather than a housemaid.
Perhaps then she would see less of the duke and Lady Cassandra.