Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Emily mentioned you wanted to have a word,” Gerald said.
A few days had passed since the musicale.
Clara was currently in the greenhouse, leaning over a table.
Locks of hair framed her face. She glanced up to see Gerald standing in the doorway.
He was sans his jacket, just a shirt wrapped around his body, a cravat around his neck.
It was easier to discern the shape of his taut muscles.
Clara forced her gaze towards the table, where her drawings lay next to plants.
“Did she? I’m afraid she sent you here without cause. I don’t have anything to say,” Clara replied.
“That must be a first for you.” Gerald grinned.
Clara glanced up and gave him a waspish look, although it was only temporary. She appreciated his quick thinking, and she was also starting to believe that Emily had her own little scheme going on as well. Clara placed a wildflower beside one of her drawings, smiling at the fine detail.
“I’ve always been taught to speak my mind. Nothing good ever came of being quiet. I know some people do not like being challenged, but I believe that says more about them than it does about me.”
“And what does it say about them?”
“That they are afraid.”
“Of being wrong?”
“Yes, and of being proven wrong by a woman. Some people do seem to believe we’re here exclusively to look pretty and bear an appropriate heir.
” Clara lifted her gaze, as if to challenge him.
There was an implied question, and she was keen to see if Gerald noticed.
He approached the table and picked up one of the drawings, turning it towards himself.
“I think anyone who feels threatened by a woman is a fool.”
“Because there is nothing to fear?” Clara asked, feeling the first prickles of anger rising inside her, ready to strike at him with her words. He grinned.
“No, because one can learn a lot. I have always been impressed with the tenacity of women. After all, this place wouldn’t exist if Rose had not been determined.
She tried to get help from many men who turned her down, thinking that it was not a profitable venture.
They only saw profit in a monetary sense, not in the good that it could do.
Thankfully, she was not one who accepted ‘no’ easily. ”
“I can see why she and Grandmother liked each other,” Clara said, smiling.
Gerald chuckled. It was a warm laugh, and Clara found that she liked it as much as she enjoyed the music of the pianoforte.
“Indeed, I’m curious to know what it was like when St. Margaret’s was first opened. Your great-grandmother is formidable enough at her age; I can only imagine what she was like when she was younger,” he said, his gaze lingering on Clara, which made her neck prickle with warmth.
“I wouldn’t go around describing her like that; she doesn’t like to be reminded that many years have passed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I must say that Sophie’s drawings have really come along,” he said, holding one up and examining it. Clara stifled a laugh and was half-tempted to let him keep believing that Sophie had produced the illustration.
“While that is true, Sophie did not draw these. I did.”
Gerald’s head turned sharply, and a look of amazement sparkled on his face. He looked back at the drawing, and then his gaze returned to Clara.
“You drew this?”
“I did.”
“It’s remarkable. It’s so lifelike. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was on paper, I might have believed it was real.”
“Thank you.” Clara smiled in earnest, and dimples appeared on her cheeks. It was always thrilling to receive praise for her drawings, which happened far less frequently than she would have liked.
“Why have you not signed it?” he asked, showing her the drawing and pointing at the bottom of the page.
“I do not tend to display my art. I take private commissions occasionally, mostly from Grandmother’s friends. But I don’t like to sign them, as people assume that my family connections opened doors for me.”
“Family connections?” he asked, confused for a moment. Then understanding dawned upon his face. “Ah, your cousin.”
“My mother’s cousin, yes, although I have always addressed her as Aunt Charlotte. Her books proved quite popular; have you read them?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve heard good things, however. I’m not sure why that should prevent you from signing your work.”
“If I were to put these drawings out into the world, I’d want people to believe that I earned any accolades through my own merit, not because of Aunt Charlotte’s connections.”
“I’m not sure I agree. Talent deserves to be recognized, and if people choose to be cynical, they should be ignored. I’m surprised you would let other people’s opinions stifle your ambition.”
Clara gave a small smile, this time choosing not to rise to the bait.
“That is not the only reason. My time has been filled by my duties here. There is plenty of time in the future to share my drawings, if I so wish.”
Gerald moved around the table, inspecting the drawings carefully, comparing them with the physical flowers that rested beside them.
“I recall the names of your other relatives now. Lydia, and Edmund.”
“That is correct, whom I address as aunt and uncle.”
“Edmund… didn’t Agatha mention that you-”
Clara cringed, having wished that he wouldn’t have made that connection. Her cheeks flushed red, and she looked down.
“She misspoke,” Clara said quickly, reaching for a flower.
Gerald reached for it at the same time, and their fingers touched briefly.
The index finger on his left hand touched the ring finger on her right.
The tip of it slid down the length of her finger, causing an eruption of tingles that leaped from her palm to her wrist. It crackled along her arm and then shot right to her heart in an instant, making her blink quickly.
The fluttering sensation in the middle of her chest was striking, and she lost a breath.
The flower remained on the table, while Gerald remained beside her. When had he gotten so close? The greenhouse was warmer than usual. Damp heat rose from her pores, sitting on her skin beneath her clothes. Clara was aware of the air passing between her lips.
“I see. I’m sure you must be proud of your family. They have accomplished much.”
“As has yours.”
“Indeed, although I do not have such a wide range of kin to call upon. It is just Eleanor and I.”
“The two of you must be close.”
“We are. I have taken care of her as best I could, although there are times when I feel as though I am failing her.”
“She is a lovely young woman. You should be proud.”
“Thank you. She was nothing but complimentary about you.”
“If things were different, we might have been friends.”
“Yes… Yes, if things had been different.”
Gerald’s tone changed as he said this. His head dropped a little, and he pulled his hand away.
They stared at the flowers instead of each other.
Clara chastised herself for saying the wrong thing and shattering the mood, turning it into something tense.
It didn’t seem to do them any good to bring about reminders of their pretense.
For a moment, while they were talking, it felt as though they were getting to know each other.
However, Clara knew that she and Eleanor would never be friends. Once this was over, Eleanor might well hate her for the deceit. She might hate Gerald as well.
Before Clara could say anything else, Teddy came into the greenhouse and saw Gerald and Clara standing close together. A wide grin came over his face.
“I was right! You are getting married! I need to tell Emily.” He raced away immediately, while Clara was calling after him, raising her hand forlornly.
Gerald chuckled. Clara moved to the other side of the table, putting valuable distance between herself and Gerald.
He seemed amused. Clearly this wasn’t taking as much of a toll on him as it was on her.
The act of blurring fantasy with reality, and it was difficult to anchor her feelings in the latter when she had to convince other people of the former.
The sooner this was over, the better, she thought.
“Aren’t the minds of children wonderful things?” Gerald said.
“That’s certainly one word for it,” Clara replied.
Gerald perused the drawings again.
“I wonder if you would do something for me. Could you draw the flowers at Clemont Hall? Commissioned of course, and I would very much insist that you put your name to your drawings.”
Clara leaned forward a little, peering at him. “Is this just a token gesture to make up for all that you are asking of me?”
Gerald had a blank look on his face.
“Not at all. It’s something I have been meaning to do for a while, but I haven’t found a suitable artist, until now. I’m sure you will be able to capture the flowers quite beautifully.”
“Then I accept,” Clara said, appreciating that he valued her work.
It would be nice to put her skills to good use as well.
She’d had fewer commissions recently, and missed the work.
Gerald bid her farewell as he continued his inspection of St. Margaret’s.
When Clara returned to the house, she noticed that Emily was pouting.
Clara chuckled to herself, thinking of a time long ago when she’d had a girlish infatuation.
She’d grown out of it quickly, understanding that a fantasy of marrying her much older cousin was a foolish notion, one that befit a na?ve girl. She was a na?ve girl no longer.
There were certain notes that echoed through life, and it made Clara think about what Emily and the other children would be like in the future. She was determined to give them the best life possible.