Chapter Four
Della had retired early. Each day spent with her parents was more agonizing than the last, and they’d nearly turned her into the recluse they thought her to be.
She’d done some reading, covertly held a lesson with Gwendoline in her chambers, and then drifted off to bed while most of the house was still up and about.
Then, she was suddenly awoken an indeterminable amount of time later by someone parting the heavy curtains around her bed.
Della was unsure of how to react. She was shocked still for a moment, until she recognized the wild hair springing free from the pins on her head.
Della was almost certain there was almost no privacy between a lady and her maid, but Clara had surely never crossed this particular boundary before.
“Della,” Clara almost hissed. “I fear I’ve done something horrible.”
Without her permission, Clara climbed up onto the bed and let the curtains fall closed.
There was absolutely no light around them now, and they were ensconced in a dark quiet.
It was possible Della should feel more concern, but what Clara considered to be a horrible action on her part was usually something laughable, like going out dancing in the rain or letting her feet rest on the furniture.
“What is going on?” Della finally asked. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and tried to tame her unruly hair. She could feel little strands standing up at all ends on the crown of her head. Clara couldn’t see her, but that mattered little.
“I fear I’ve done something horrible,” Clara repeated. Della heard her move, tucking her legs underneath her body even though she still wore her proper dress.
“You’ve mentioned that, and yet I am still having trouble understanding.”
Clara huffed. Della tried to sit up, but her hips were not agreeable to the action, so she slumped back onto her multitude of pillows.
“I was downstairs a moment ago, on my way to bid Harry a good night.” As Clara spoke, Della’s mind wandered.
She thought of all the horrible things that could happen to Clara and Harry with her parents here.
Her stomach turned violently. “He was still awake because your father was still in his library, and he refuses to go to bed until the viscount does, the bloody stubborn man.”
Clara took a deep breath, and Della thought her own lungs hadn’t breathed in years.
“I had planned to walk past, but it wasn’t just your father. Your mother was with him, and they were speaking about you.”
Della gasped, indignation rising in her heart. Not at her parents—she could hardly rouse feelings for them at all—but for Clara. For what Clara may have done in the name of defending her honor.
“Oh, Clara, please tell me you didn’t confront my parents over some perceived slight. You should not have risked yourself, your entire livelihood, over something so inconsequential as their opinion of me. There are few things I care for less.”
“I did nothing of the sort, I assure you.” Clara reached out into the dark, and her fingers found Della’s forearm. “I know I can be quite reckless, but I would never do anything so foolish. You are my dearest friend, but I’m afraid I could never stand up to the viscount and viscountess.”
Della finally breathed a sigh of relief. That was the worst thing she could possibly imagine, Clara standing up to Della’s parents at her own expense. Such was the problem, though. Clara couldn’t confront them, and neither could anyone else.
“Well, then.” Della relaxed some, certain this whole endeavor was just a fit of Clara’s dramatics. “What did you do that was so horrible?”
“I listened.” Clara stood up abruptly, like she could no longer tolerate her own stillness.
She threw open the curtains that shrouded them, and some light flickered in from the dimming fire.
“I stayed, and I listened. I cannot credit why, Della, but there was something that made me hang on their every word.”
Clara had begun to pace, and Della was more confused than concerned.
Her words weren’t matching her actions. She walked swift laps about Della’s chambers, but Della was still not understanding what awful misdeed she’d done.
Overhearing was far from a crime, and this act of mild espionage was committed by all sorts of household servants all over England.
Some considered the gossip a benefit of their position.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to tell you this, Della.
Although perhaps you know already, and I am making a fuss for nothing.
I do not think so, however. I’m almost certain you would have told me had you known such a thing.
” Clara’s voice was uncharacteristically serious, and her face was downtrodden.
She wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Della began to panic in earnest. She moved to the edge of the bed, facing Clara.
She’d hoped to interrupt one of her laps back and forth across the room.
Horror scenes flashed through Della’s mind.
She thought of illness and death and grave danger.
“What is it, Clara?” Della whispered.
“They were discussing your inheritance. From your mother. Your true mother, not the viscountess.” Clara stopped walking. She met Della’s eyes.
“You must’ve misheard. I have no inheritance.
” Of that, she was sure. That the current viscountess was actually her stepmother was less of a secret and more of a rarely discussed truth.
Esther was the only mother Della had ever known, her own having passed away in Della’s first year.
That left Della with no memory of her, and certainly no material possessions to inherit.
That was true of her father, too. Everything that belonged to the viscount would go to her brother, who would be the new viscount upon their father’s death, and she’d be dependent on his charity to live comfortably.
Della paid little thought to that period of time an undetermined length into the future, in an effort to protect her heart.
“No, I’m certain that is what I heard.” Clara sat down again next to Della on the bed. “What do you know of your grandmother?”
“Very little,” Della admitted. Her parents were not especially fond of discussing their upbringings and their extended families.
“I know nothing of her, truly. Father was her only child, and he only speaks of his own father, the first Viscount Morley. He received the viscountcy from His Majesty for his work in Parliament.”
“I believe they were discussing your mother’s mother,” Clara said.
“Oh,” Della muttered. “I know even less about her. You know we never speak about my mother. It makes Esther uncomfortable.” Even referring to her by her given name felt odd to Della.
She was not the person who had given birth to her, but she’d always been her mother.
Speaking about her in such a way felt like disrespect even she wasn’t owed.
It had never saddened Della before how little she knew about the feminine side of her own lineage. She could trace her father’s line back several generations of wealthy businessmen and landowners, but she couldn’t say the same for her grandmothers on either side.
“She was a baroness,” Clara said. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and Della had never seen her so alert. “In her own right, they said.”
“In her own right?” Della gasped. “I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”
Land and money and a title passed down to a woman instead of a man. The idea felt ludicrous to Della, and she was ashamed of her own reaction.
“I had never heard of a woman’s inheritance either, unless it came from a generous father,” Clara whispered. A generous father was a luxury provided to neither of them, but no one spoke of it.
“So, my grandmother was a baroness. What has that got to do with me?” Della could hardly believe the idea, it all sounded so far-fetched.
“The barony is yours, Miss Harris.” Clara confessed. Della winced at the formality, at the distance it put between her and her friend, even though they remained seated right next to each other.
“That cannot be.” Della was mystified.
“It must be,” Clara insisted. “They were worried you’d discover your property. Your father said something about the letters patent, and the estate being placed in a trust until your marriage or your twenty-fifth year.”
“Why, that’s now.” Della’s hands shook.
Clara simply nodded.
A multitude of questions filled Della’s mind. She wondered how a woman could own her own land. A baroness in her own right. Della didn’t know where the barony was, or if it could really be hers, or why her parents would ever have hidden this from her.
It was nauseating and overwhelming, and this unexpected intrusion into her comfortable life tore at the very fabric of her being. The air started to feel too thin and her breathing too ragged.
“Clara,” Della whispered, reaching around to grab her hands. “I need you to not speak of this. To anyone. I must . . . I must think, and I must find some answers.”
Clara nodded again. Della knew it was as good as a promise. She had her discretion and her support, and up until this very moment, she hadn’t realized how deeply she’d held her loyalty.
“Thank you, Clara.” She squeezed her hands. “I’m quite certain I’ve no idea what’s going on, but I think you’ve just changed my life.”
Clara squeezed back. It was so strange to see her so quiet.
She would almost appear reserved if her hair weren’t a veritable mess.
Wordlessly, Della climbed back into bed.
She tried to get comfortable amongst her abundance of pillows, but her heart felt so restless she thought she may never settle down into sleep again.
She heard the door close as Clara left, and her mind raced.
Della thought of trust, and of loyalty. She could never simply ask her parents about what Clara had heard. It would put Clara at risk, and that was one thing she’d never do. Even if she were to ask, they clearly couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth.
She hated to admit it, but Della needed help. She needed someone who might be on her side. Who might favor her over her parents. Someone their power wouldn’t intimidate. There was only one person in her life who fit that description.
Thinking of him and only him, Della fell asleep.