Chapter 11
ELEVEN
WILLIAM
William opened the door and let Clara pass through to where Silas stood, inspecting one of the rifles that hung on the wall. He could hardly believe he was truly looking at his brother, different as Silas now appeared.
Neither did he find it easy to believe that Silas had chosen to come—and stay—with him, rather than Anthony or Frederick. The relationship between William and Silas had always been the most strained amongst the Yorke brothers.
But William knew why Silas had come to him: William was his hope for salvation.
Silas turned at their entrance, an anxious look entering his eyes, as though he was nervous to hear the result of William and Clara’s discussion.
It was a foreign expression for a man who had always been carefree and even thoughtless.
It spoke just as strongly as his disheveled appearance of the changes the past two years had wrought upon him.
“Silas,” William said, “allow me to introduce you to Clara Quinn. We took her on about a fortnight ago as an upper housemaid, but she has kindly agreed to the task of looking after you.”
Silas let out a small breath of relief, and his mouth stretched into a smile. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Clara.” He gave a little bow.
“And I yours, Mr. Yorke,” she said politely, curtsying in return.
“I am sorry you have been roped into this,” Silas said, “but, I assure you, my gratitude to you knows no bounds.” He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss upon the back of it.
Clara’s cheeks flushed, and a hint of annoyance flashed through William.
Silas had always been the most charming of the brothers.
Flirtatious, even. Frederick, with his charisma and ability to talk persuasively, came next.
Anthony’s tendency to brood coupled with his quick wit had always made him a subject of interest amongst the fairer sex.
And then there was William. More starched up than a gentleman’s Sabbath cravat was how Silas had once described him.
“The hunting lodge seems to be the most logical answer to the question of where to keep you,” William said. “Though, Clara, I fear that means you will be obliged to make more than one visit there each day to ensure Silas has food, drink, and a chance to stretch his legs in the fresh air.”
“May as well fit me with leading strings,” Silas said with a half smile.
“It is certainly not out of the question if you give us reason to think it necessary,” William retorted. He turned his attention back to Clara. “The lodge is a fifteen-minute walk from the main house.”
“It is no trouble, Your Grace,” she said. “I enjoy walking.”
He smiled slightly. “I remember you saying that. But unfortunately, it will be a fair amount of trouble. We require an excuse to offer Mrs. Finch for your absences, and though we have such an excuse in the way of the multitude of guests we will be welcoming—”
“Guests?” Silas exclaimed, his eyes brightening.
“Guests from whom you will keep your distance. Obviously.” He stared meaningfully at Silas.
“Right. Of course.”
“If you had come last night,” William said, “I would have been able to stop Edmund from sending the invitations, but as they were sent earlier today, it is out of our hands now. Assuming we receive positive responses from most of the people invited, which Edmund assures me we shall, we will need the lodge to accommodate some of them. Clara, you will make your visits under the guise of preparing the lodge for visitors.”
She nodded.
“The difficulty will arise once those visitors arrive. Keeping Silas’s presence there a secret will require a great deal of strategy and care.”
“Your Grace,” Clara said, “I have just been thinking what the result might be when the other servants discover I have been chosen for this task. It may precipitate more gossip.”
“Gossip?” Silas frowned. “Why?”
William glanced at Clara, who met his gaze for a moment before averting hers.
Now was not the time to lay her history—or theirs—bare.
He had no desire to embarrass her in front of Silas by recounting the events at the market square.
Neither was he anxious for Silas’s inevitable questions, for he would not accept William buying a woman at auction without a number of them.
“We can discuss that later. I think, Clara, that we can take measures to dampen any undue curiosity. It is late, though, and our first priority must be getting Silas to the lodge.”
“Along with some food,” Silas added. “I am famished.”
“You look famished,” William replied with a grimace. “Will you quietly retrieve bed linens and some food from the kitchens, Clara? Enough for the morning too if you can manage it. Meet us outside the servant door in a few minutes, and we will make our way to the lodge together.”
Clara left the brothers alone and did as instructed. There was silence until the door had closed and her soft footsteps had retreated.
William felt Silas’s gaze on him and avoided it as long as he was able. But eventually, there was nothing for it but to look at him. “What?”
Silas smiled slightly, but it had a knowing tilt. “Nothing. She seems very capable.” There was a pause. “And beautiful.”
William let out a sound of annoyance and strode to the table, shifting the candlestick slightly. And very needlessly.
“Do you deny it?” Silas asked.
“Of course she is capable.”
“And beautiful.”
“And beautiful,” William conceded reluctantly.
Silas’s smile grew. “Who would have thought? My stiff-as-a-poker, duke of a brother cavorting with one of the maids.”
“Enough,” William said. “There has been no…cavorting.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The corners of Silas’s mouth turned down. “Then you won’t mind if I—”
“I most certainly will mind.” The words came out more harshly than was merited, and William ignored the pointed way Silas looked at him. He took in a measured breath. “This is not a game, Silas. Your life is in her hands.”
Silas grew more serious. “I understand. And I am indebted to both of you.”
“Save your gratitude until we have proven we can keep you safe.”
“I have no doubts at all on that score, just as I have no doubts you will manage to clear my name.”
“Silas,” William said with a deep frown, “you must manage your expectations. I may have the title of a duke, but I have none of the influence with which you associate it.”
“Not yet. But you will. That is inevitable.”
If only that were true. “And you will bide your time until then?”
“I will bide my time.” Silas motioned for them to proceed to the rendezvous point, and William hesitated for a moment, then opened the door carefully and looked down the corridor to verify they were alone.
But his mind was on his brother’s words. I will bide my time. Silas had never been particularly patient. Staying cooped up in a hunting lodge went against his nature. He had always taken his liberty and ability to choose for himself seriously. It had driven William mad in the past.
But he was different now—that much was clear.
William would have to hope the changes in his brother included a greater ability to stay in the background and twiddle his thumbs for an undetermined amount of time.
Heaven only knew when William would have the influence necessary to sway public opinion and the opinions of his fellow peers in Silas’s favor—and against Lord Drayton.
Laden with bed linens and a basket of food William couldn’t imagine how she was balancing, Clara appeared outside the servant door just after them.
Silas took the basket from her arm—a gesture that appeared less chivalrous once he reached amongst the food within and began eating a loaf of bread like a savage.
Clara smiled furtively at William, who relieved her of half of the linens in her arms. The path that led to the hunting lodge was dark and carrying a lantern too dangerous, but the path was clear and well-maintained, leading William to be grateful for the second time that he employed an army of gardeners.
Between hearty bites of bread, Silas regaled them with his journey to England on a small fishing boat three nights ago.
His safe and secret passage had been granted in exchange for helping the crew, who had been short one member.
He had done such a fine job that the captain had offered him a position.
Silas had declined, and the captain had given him a few coins from pure gratitude, which had been enough to pay for the mail coach to the village nearest Rushlake.
They finally reached the hunting lodge, where they were obliged to climb through a window, as William had forgotten to bring the key. Clara, on the other hand, had had the forethought to bring supplies for lighting a candle—something William allowed on the condition that the shutters remain closed.
He also insisted on helping Clara make up Silas’s bed…until it became apparent that he was hindering rather than helping, something she was too kind to tell him. This was a task she could perform in her sleep, and he watched with a bit of wonder at her skill.
Making up a bed was not meant to be in a duke’s repertoire, of course. It was too far below him. But part of William felt it was something he should be capable of, whether or not he was called upon to do it. In many ways, the higher the pedestal people placed him upon, the more inept he felt.
Clara stepped back from the made bed and put her hands on her hips as she looked around the room. “That is done, but the room is hardly satisfactory. I should have brought something to dust with.”
“You must be joking,” Silas said, running a hand along the linens. “This is far and beyond any bed I have slept on in recent memory. I shall sleep like a baby.”
“With less crying, I hope.” William strode toward his brother and pulled him into another embrace. “It is good to have you home.”
“Liar,” Silas said, though his voice broke on the word, his grip on William tightening. “You are wishing me at Jericho.”
“Yes,” William said, his own eyes moist as he pulled back. “But once you have bathed, that may well change.”