Chapter 16 #2
Relief washed through her, sharp and immediate. She looked at Clara, who now slept more peacefully. Her breathing was even, and as Sarah reached out and placed her hand on the girl’s forehead, she noticed that her skin was cooler.
“Thank God,” Sarah whispered.
The duke nodded. “She will sleep now.”
Sarah straightened, pulling back from him carefully. He did not react, nor did he acknowledge the closeness they had shared.
She stood, running her palms down the front of her skirt. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You do not need to thank me,” he replied. “She is important to all of us.”
Sarah looked at Clara again, then at him. The relief she felt was genuine, but there was something in her thoughts that she could not explain. His presence had comforted her more than she wished to admit, and she could not shake the memory of leaning against him.
“I will stay with her,” she said.
“I will send for Mrs. Hensley,” he replied. “She can bring broth when Clara wakes.”
Sarah nodded. “Good night, Your Grace.”
“Good night, Mrs. Shaw.”
By morning, Clara’s fever had eased enough for her to sit upright against the pillows, her cheeks still warm but no longer flushed. Sarah helped her sip a little broth, smoothing her hair back with gentle fingers. Clara leaned into her touch; tired but calm.
Mrs. Hensley arrived with a small folded note and explained that it was from Henry. He hoped Clara would feel better soon, and he wished Mrs. Shaw to know that he planned to spend the day working on his lessons and practicing his recitations so that she would not have to worry about him.
The message was earnest and carefully worded, exactly the sort of thing Henry would compose when he wished to be helpful.
Mrs. Shaw asked Mrs. Hensley to carry back her reply, telling Henry that she and Clara both appreciated his thoughtfulness and that Clara would be glad to hear he was working so diligently.
Once Clara settled back into sleep, Sarah moved to the small writing desk near the window.
The morning light fell across the paper, and she drew in a slow breath before uncapping her ink.
She had not written a long letter to Eloise since she had visited at Roxburghe, and the events of the night weighed heavily enough on her mind that she needed to write to her friend.
She began with the facts. She talked about Clara’s fever, how quickly it had risen, and how frightened she had been. She wrote about the cool cloths, the restless breathing, and the way Clara had clung to her hand. She described the long hours of watching, waiting, and hoping the fever would break.
Then she paused, her pen hovering above the page.
Finally, she carefully wrote about the duke’s arrival.
She explained that he had insisted she rest, that he had taken her place beside Clara without hesitation, that he had tended to her daughter with a gentleness she had never imagined.
She did not describe every detail, but she wrote enough for Eloise to understand how deeply the moment had affected her.
She quietly admitted that waking with her head against his shoulder had truly unsettled her.
She moved on quickly, describing the routine she and the children had fallen into at Roxburghe.
She wrote about the schoolroom beside the library, the morning lessons, Henry’s endless stories, Clara’s sketches, and the way the children’s laughter filled the house.
She wrote about the walks in the gardens, the orchard, the pond, and the quiet afternoons spent reading or practicing sums.
Her pen slowed when she reached the subject of Mrs. Hensley.
She wrote that the older woman had become a steady source of comfort, bringing tea and cookies to the schoolroom each morning, offering gentle guidance, and keeping order within the household.
Sarah admitted she had grown increasingly grateful for Mrs. Hensley’s presence, for the reassurance she offered, and for the small sense of belonging she brought to the estate. It was a feeling Sarah had not expected to find again.
She continued, explaining how thankful she was that both Mrs. Hensley and the duke allowed Clara to remain nearby during Henry’s lessons.
Clara sat quietly with her sketches or small crafts, never interrupting, always content simply to be close. Sarah wrote that she cherished those hours where Clara was safe, occupied, and part of the household rather than tucked away out of sight.
She wrote that the duke remained distant during lessons, appearing only occasionally to check on Henry’s progress or to speak briefly with Mrs. Hensley.
Yet Clara and Henry spoke of him afterward, recounting small details of his manner or repeating things he had said.
Their comfort with him was unmistakable.
Sarah paused again, her pen resting lightly against the paper.
She did not confess everything. She did not write about the moment in the garden when their hands had lingered. She did not write about the quiet conversation during the rain, or the way her heart began to pound each time she found herself alone with him.
But she wrote enough.
She wrote that her feelings were becoming far more complicated than she intended. She wrote that she was trying to remain sensible, trying to keep her thoughts clear, and trying to remember her position and the expectations that came with it. She also wrote that she feared she was failing at that.
Before finishing the letter, she asked Eloise whether she and Clara might visit her new estate one morning.
She explained that a change of surroundings might help her gather her thoughts, and that Clara would enjoy seeing Eloise again.
She wrote that she hoped Eloise would reply swiftly, as she felt the need for her friend’s counsel more strongly than she had in months.
She read over the letter once, ensuring her words were not too upsetting. Then she folded it carefully, sealed it, and stepped into the corridor. A passing servant paused when she called his name.
“Would you deliver this to the post?” she asked.
“Of course, Mrs. Shaw.”
She handed him the letter, watching him walk down the hall with it in hand.
When he disappeared around the corner, she felt a faint sense of relief.
She was relieved that her thoughts were finally written, relieved that Eloise would soon read them, and relieved that she had not kept everything locked inside.
She returned to Clara’s room, settling into the chair beside the bed. Clara slept peacefully and Sarah rested her hand lightly on the blanket.
She hoped Eloise would write back soon. She needed her friend’s clarity.
And she needed to understand what her own heart was beginning to reveal.