CHAPTER 13
Clara stood in the servants' quarters, staring at her reflection in the small, spotted mirror while Mary attempted to arrange her hair into something presentable.
The assembly was in three hours, and Clara would be attending, not as a guest, of course, but rather, to be present as a member of His Grace's suite, appointed to attend to his comforts and see that his remarkable severity of countenance did not cause undue alarm among the guests.
"You're fortunate to be going at all, miss," Mary said, pinning another curl into place. "Most housekeepers wouldn't be permitted at such an event, but His Grace insisted you accompany the party."
"His Grace requires someone to manage his considerable ill temper when forced into society, and I drew the shortest straw," Clara replied, though they both knew that wasn't remotely true. Gabriel had practically ordered her attendance, though he'd been frustratingly vague about why.
"Perhaps he simply wants you to witness his triumphant return to society after three years of self-imposed exile," Mary suggested, though her tone indicated she believed nothing of the sort.
"His triumphant return where he'll be escorting Miss Ashworth and proving to everyone that he's capable of normal social interaction despite his reputation as a scarred recluse."
"Love tends to improve one's demeanor and appetite for life or so I've heard," Mary said innocently, adding another pin.
Clara's eyes met Mary's in the mirror. "I don't know what you're implying…"
"I'm not implying anything, miss. I'm merely observing that His Grace has been eating more regularly since you started personally delivering his meals and standing over him until he finishes them."
"That's called proper household management."
"If you say so, miss. Though most household managers don't personally supervise their employer's consumption of every meal while engaged in what appears to be extremely heated discussions about estate management."
"His Grace has very strong opinions about estate management that require extensive debate."
"I'm sure that's exactly what all that passionate arguing is about."
Clara turned to face Mary directly. "You're being remarkably bold for someone who's been employed here less than two weeks."
"I'm being remarkably observant, which is different from bold, though I understand the confusion. Please know that you have our sincere hopes and warmest good wishes.”
“Our?”
"The entire staff, Mrs. Potter, Lord Hartley…”
"There's nothing to wish for. I'm leaving in less than three weeks."
"A lot can happen in three weeks, miss. Hearts can change, circumstances can shift, miracles can occur."
"This isn't a fairy tale, Mary. This is real life, where housekeepers don't wed dukes and scars don't magically disappear and happy endings are reserved for people who can afford them."
Mary's expression softened. "You're right, of course.
But if I may be so bold as to say, I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching, and I've seen the way you look at him when you think he's not aware, and if that's not a fairy tale trying desperately to happen, then I don't know what is. "
"It's a tragedy waiting to unfold, which is entirely different from a fairy tale."
"Only if you let it be."
Before Clara could respond, Peter appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. "Miss Whitfield, His Grace requests your immediate presence in his chambers."
"Is something wrong?"
"I believe he's having difficulty with his evening clothes and has threatened to attend the assembly in his nightshirt if someone doesn't assist him immediately."
Clara sighed. "Of course he has. Thank you, Peter. Tell His Grace I'll be there momentarily."
After Peter left, Mary gave Clara a knowing look. "Shall I accompany you? For propriety's sake?"
"That won't be necessary. His Grace's tantrums require privacy to properly manage, and I doubt he's actually in any state of undress. He's probably just being difficult about his cravat."
"His cravat. Of course. That's definitely why he specifically requested you and not his valet."
"He doesn't have a valet."
"He could ask Peter or Edmund to help."
"Peter's too new, and Edmund would probably encourage him to wear something ridiculous just for entertainment value."
"So naturally, his housekeeper is the appropriate person to assist with his evening dress?"
"When his housekeeper is the only person who can manage his moods without running away screaming, yes."
Clara left before Mary could make any more observations, making her way through the house to Gabriel's chambers. She knocked, heard what might have been either "enter" or "go away," and chose to interpret it as the former.
She found Gabriel standing in front of his mirror, fully dressed except for his cravat, which hung loose around his neck.
He looked devastatingly handsome in his evening clothes, black coat, silver waistcoat, everything perfectly fitted to his tall frame.
The scar, rather than detracting from his appearance, gave him a dangerous edge that made Clara's mouth go dry.
"You bellowed for assistance, Your Grace?"
"I didn't bellow. I made a perfectly reasonable request for aid with this ridiculous piece of fabric that society insists I strangle myself with."
"You've been tying cravats since you were sixteen. You don't need my help with this."
"Perhaps I need your help with other things and the cravat is merely a convenient excuse."
"What other things?"
He turned to face her fully, and the heat in his eyes made her stomach flip. "I need you to tell me how to get through this evening without committing any heinous crimes."
"That's quite dramatic even for you. It's merely a country assembly, not a public execution."
"It might as well be an execution. I have to spend the entire evening pretending to court Miss Ashworth while you're there watching, and I can't touch you, can't dance with you, can't even acknowledge you as anything more than a servant, and the thought of it is already driving me to madness."
Clara stepped closer, reaching up to take the ends of his cravat. "Then we won't go. You'll send your regrets, claim illness, and spend the evening brooding in your library as usual."
"Aunt Agatha will use it as evidence of my continued antisocial behavior and inability to function in society."
"Let her. You've made improvements to the estate, hired staff, and maintained basic functionality for over a week. That should be sufficient."
"It's not about what's sufficient. It's about what's necessary to keep her from taking legal action." His hands came up to cover hers where they worked on his cravat. "I can't lose this estate, Clara. Not because I care about it, but because if I lose it, I lose any ability to protect you."
"You don't need to protect me. I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself."
"Against Aunt Agatha's social connections? Against the weight of societal disapproval? Against the rumors that will follow you wherever you go?"
"I've survived worse things than rumors."
"Have you? Because from what I understand, rumors are what drove you from your position in Bath, and rumors are what will prevent you from finding decent employment when you leave here."
Clara's hands stilled. "When I leave, not if?"
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to be realistic about our situation, despite every instinct telling me to lock you in this room and refuse to let you go."
"That would signify abduction.”
"It would be preservation of sanity, mine specifically."
She finished with his cravat, but neither of them moved apart. "You have to dance with her tonight," Clara said quietly. "Multiple times, probably. You have to smile and be charming and make it appear that you're genuinely interested in courtship."
"I'm aware of what's required. I'm also aware that I'd rather eat broken glass."
"Miss Ashworth is perfectly nice."
"Miss Ashworth is a child who deserves better than being used as a prop in my aunt's matrimonial theatrics."
"Then be kind to her. She's as much a victim in this as anyone."
"I am fully aware.” He pulled Clara closer, resting his forehead against hers. "But how am I supposed to hold another woman when all I want is you?"
"The same way I'm supposed to watch you hold another woman with grace, dignity, and an enormous amount of barely suppressed rage that we'll channel into something more productive later."
"Such as?"
"Such as you'd better not ask questions you don't want answered, Your Grace, because my self-control is hanging by a thread as it is."
His hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him. "What if I want it answered? What if I want to know exactly what you're imagining when you watch me dance with another woman?"
"Gabriel, we can't…"
"Can't what? We're already sharing a bed, already confessing love, already breaking every rule we established. What's one more line crossed?"
"It's the most important line. The one that changes everything permanently."
"Everything's already changed."
"Not irrevocably."
"You think this is revocable? You think I could go back to not loving you, not wanting you, not needing you like I need air?"
Clara pulled away, needing distance before she gave in to the desire coursing through her. "You have to. In less than three weeks, you'll have to do exactly that."
"No, I'll have to pretend to do that. There's a significant difference."
"The effect is the same."
"The effect is that I'll be dead inside while walking around pretending to be alive, but if that's what you prefer…"
"What I prefer is irrelevant. What matters is what's necessary for both of us to survive this with dignity."
Gabriel moved to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. “At times, I find myself thinking that the very effort of endurance is a matter of no great consequence.”
“Pray, do not utter such a sentiment.”