CHAPTER 8
“Disgraceful! The state of this house! And I hear you've hired some common girl…"
Clara woke to the sound of arguing.
This wasn't unusual in itself…Gabriel and Edmund had taken to having spectacular rows at least twice a week, usually about Gabriel's refusal to engage with the outside world.
But this argument had a different quality to it, was a female voice, shrill and demanding, cutting through Gabriel's lower rumble like a knife through butter.
Clara dressed quickly, curiosity overcoming propriety, and made her way downstairs. The voices were coming from the entrance hall, and as she drew closer, she could make out words.
"Aunt Agatha." Gabriel's voice was flat, dangerous. "What an unexpected displeasure."
Clara peered around the corner. The entrance hall contained Gabriel, Edmund, and a woman who could only be described as aggressively aristocratic.
She was tall, thin and dressed in purple silk that had probably cost more than Clara had ever seen in her life.
Her expression suggested she'd smelled something unpleasant and suspected everyone else of being the source.
"Don't take that tone with me, boy," Lady Agatha snapped. "I'm your father's sister. I have every right to check on the estate."
"You have no rights here at all."
"I have a duty to the family name, which you seem determined to destroy."
"How efficient of me."
"This isn't amusing, Gabriel. The rumors in London…"
"Are none of your concern."
"A duke hiding in his crumbling estate with only a mysterious woman for company? That's everyone's concern!"
Edmund coughed. "I'm also here frequently."
Lady Agatha dismissed him with a wave. "You don't count."
"I'm constantly telling him that," Gabriel said.
"This isn't a joke!" Lady Agatha's voice rose to a pitch that probably disturbed bats. "You have responsibilities! You need to wed, produce an heir, take your seat in Parliament…"
"No."
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"It's a simple word. Two letters. Indicates negation or refusal."
"You can't just say no to your duties!"
"I just did."
"Your father …”
“He would be deceased. My father would be gone from this life, for he is, most assuredly, no longer among the living.”
"How dare you…"
"How dare I what? State facts? Refuse to live the life he planned for me? Disappoint yet another person who believes they have the right to dictate my choices?"
Clara decided this was escalating beyond entertainment into something genuinely unpleasant. She stepped into view.
"Your Grace," she said calmly. "Shall I prepare tea for your guests?"
All three heads swiveled toward her. Edmund looked relieved. Gabriel looked grateful. Lady Agatha looked like she'd swallowed a lemon.
"You," Lady Agatha said, advancing on Clara like a purple silk battleship. "You're the one. The fortune hunter who's seduced my nephew."
"I'm the housekeeper," Clara said mildly.
"Housekeepers don't look like you."
"I wasn't aware there was a specific appearance requirement."
"Don't be smart with me, girl."
"I wouldn't dream of it. Would you like tea?"
"What I'd like is for you to leave this house immediately."
"That's not your decision," Gabriel said, stepping between them.
"Gabriel…"
"Miss Whitfield is my employee. She performs her duties admirably. I shall discuss this no further.”
"Duties," Lady Agatha said, loading the word with enough innuendo to sink a ship. "I'm sure she does."
"Careful," Gabriel's voice had gone very quiet. "You're insulting a lady in my home."
"A lady? She's a servant!"
"She's a person deserving of respect."
"She's a nobody who's taking advantage of your grief and isolation!"
"The only person taking advantage here is you, showing up uninvited to harangue me about duties you have no authority to enforce."
"I'm trying to save you from yourself!"
"I don't need saving."
"Don't you?" Lady Agatha gestured at him, at the house, at everything. "Look at yourself, Gabriel. Look at what you've become."
Something in Gabriel's face shuttered. Clara saw it happen, saw him retreat behind his walls, and acted without thinking.
"He's become someone who survived a war," she said, stepping forward. "Someone who came home scarred but alive, who's dealing with loss and trauma as best he can. Someone who deserves compassion, not criticism."
Lady Agatha turned her basilisk glare on Clara. "And what would you know about it?"
"I know that Gabriel…His Grace is doing the best he can with circumstances that would break most people. I know that this house might be dusty, but it's still standing. I know that sometimes survival looks like hiding, and that's perfectly acceptable."
"Acceptable?" Lady Agatha laughed, sharp and bitter. "You think it's acceptable for the Duke of Ashbourne to hide away like a wounded animal?"
"I think it's human."
"Dukes aren't supposed to be human. They're supposed to be better."
"How exhausting for them."
Edmund made a sound that might have been a laugh disguised as a cough.
Lady Agatha drew herself up to her full height. "Gabriel, I'm giving you one month."
"To do what?"
"To pull yourself together. Hire proper staff. Open the house. Start attending social functions. Act like the duke you are."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll petition to have you declared incompetent."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You wouldn't," Edmund said.
"I would and I will. The estate is too important to be left in the hands of someone who's clearly…" She paused, looking at Gabriel's scar. "Unwell."
Clara felt Gabriel go rigid beside her. Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently. A violation of their rules, but necessary.
"Get out," Gabriel said quietly.
"I beg your pardon?"
“Leave my house!”
"Gabriel…"
"Now."
Lady Agatha looked between them, her gaze lingering on their joined hands. "One month," she said. "Use it wisely."
She swept out, her exit somewhat ruined by the fact that she had to struggle with the heavy door Edmund hadn't opened for her.
The moment she was gone, Gabriel pulled away from Clara, stalking toward the library.
"Gabriel…" Edmund started.
"Not now."
"We need to discuss…"
"I said not now!"
He slammed the library door behind him. Edmund and Clara stood in the entrance hall, staring at the closed door.
"Well," Edmund said finally. “That was a most startling occurrence.”
“Does she have the power to carry out her threats? Can she have him declared incompetent?"
"Possibly. She has connections, money, and influence. And Gabriel has been... obviously struggling."
"He's not incompetent."
"No, but he's not exactly flourishing either."
Clara straightened her shoulders. “ We have a mere four weeks to render him presentable.”
Edmund turned to stare at her. "We?"
"You're his friend. I'm his..." She paused, not sure what to call herself.
"Yes, you certainly are his something," Edmund agreed. "The question is what, exactly?"
"Employee."
"Employees don't hold their employer's hands during family confrontations."
"It was a humanitarian gesture."
"It was intimate."
"Edmund…"
"I'm not criticizing. I'm observing. And what I observe is that you care about him."
"He's infuriating."
"That's not a denial."
"He's impossible."
"Still not a denial."
"He's…"
"The boy you used to meet in the garden?"
Clara froze. "How did you…"
"He talked about you. At Eton. Before he stopped talking about anything personal at all." Edmund's expression was serious now. "You're Clara from the roses."
"That was a long time ago."
"Not so long that you've both forgotten."
"We were children."
"You were friends. Real friends. The kind that's rare and precious and…"
"And over. It's over."
"Is it?"
Clara looked at the closed library door. "It has to be."
"Why?"
"Because I'm leaving in the spring. Because he's a duke and I'm nobody. Because we can barely be in the same room without arguing or…" She stopped.
"Edmund, please."
“I am merely stating, if you care about him…and you clearly do, then help him. Not as an employee. As someone who knew him before."
"He's not that person anymore."
"No, but he could be. Or at least something closer to it."
Clara considered. "What would you need me to do?"
"Make the house presentable. Make him presentable. Convince him to hire staff and attend at least one social function.”
Clara looked at the library door again. Behind it, Gabriel was probably drinking brandy and plotting ways to make everyone leave him alone. Or possibly just sitting in the dark, allowing Lady Agatha's words to eat at him like acid.
“Very well then, I shall do my best.”
“We both shall,” Edmund corrected. “The social arrangements shall be my concern. Your duty shall be to keep him in proper order.”
Edmund left shortly after, promising to return with plans and possibly Margaret's strategic advice. Clara stood in the entrance hall for a long moment, gathering courage, then knocked on the library door.
"Go away."
"No."
"That's insubordination."
"Add it to my list of crimes."
"The list is getting rather long."
"Then one more won't matter."
Silence. Then: "Fine. Enter at your own risk."
She found him exactly as expected…in his chair, brandy in hand, staring at nothing in particular.
"It's ten in the morning," she observed.
"Time is a social construct."
"Your aunt is a social construct. An unpleasant one."
"She's not wrong, though."
"She's entirely wrong."
"I am hiding in a crumbling estate with only a mysterious woman for company."
"And Edmund."
"Edmund doesn't count."
"So everyone keeps saying. I fear he will cultivate a most disagreeable temper.”
Gabriel took another sip of brandy. "She can do it, you know. Have me declared incompetent. She has the connections, the will, and I've certainly given her enough ammunition."
"Then we take away the ammunition."
He looked at her sharply. "We?"
“I shall not allow that odious woman have the upper hand.”
She moved closer, perching on the arm of the sofa nearest his chair. "Gabriel, we can do this."