Etiquette With The Devil (25 page)

She looked to the empty whiskey bottle sitting on the desk, her heart sinking. “What are you suggesting?”

“If you feel the need to be their mother, I’ll have the papers drawn up so they’re placed under your care. You can adopt the brats if you wish.”

She did not flinch at his ugly words, but a stabbing pain started at the back of her throat. He was truly leaving. There was no persuading the devil. How foolish of her to think otherwise.

“You would cast them off to a stranger?”

“Not a stranger, a friend.”

Clara reached over the desk and shoved the stack of papers flying to the floor. “You will break their hearts,” she said, crowding closer. She kept her eyes fixed him.

You will break mine.

“I’ve a train to catch, and then a boat, and possibly several more, until I’m as far away from Burton Hall as bloody
fucking
possible.”

She pulled back. “You’re acting like a frightened child.”

“
Leave
.”

She had never held on to any lofty expectations of meaning anything significant to a man such as Bly. She certainly had little time to think about the events of last evening. And here he was, ordering her out of his life as if she was truly nothing more than a governess—as if the friendship that recently developed between them, even the fleeting glimmer of love, meant nothing. Clara would never forgive herself.

He stood before her, cold and distant, so determined to leave, but she did not believe him. He acted as if by leaving, that his trip to England never had happened, as if he had never experienced the death of his brother, as if he had never kissed—

He was lying to himself, but she refused to believe the same.

When she did not move, Bly continued, “Leave, Dawson. I won’t argue with a stubborn chit who doesn’t know her place. Be grateful that my aunt has agreed to let you stay.”

The words were not his own. They felt foreign to her ears, abrasive. Clara reached to strike Bly’s face at the insult, but he was quicker this time, grabbing her small wrist, unyielding in his restraint. She pulled back, trying to free herself, but he held strong.

“I may be mule-minded, even haughty at times,” she snapped, “but I will not stand by and watch you destroy yourself. Whether you want to listen or not, you are better than this…this cold man who does not feel.

“There is a man within you that has feeling and passion for life. You do not have to face everything as if you are conquering a nation. You—” she paused, dropping her voice from hysteria to something bordering on steel. “You are making a serious mistake and I hope you realize it soon because it will be the very mistake that sees you buried. You will not survive this battle much longer.”

His eyes remained locked on hers, lifeless and cold, his hand abiding as she wrestled to pull free. She waited for a response, and when she did not receive one, Clara pulled once more, this time his fingers uncurling as disgust washed over his face. She turned on her heel and strode out to the door, slamming it behind her.

The bloody idiot!

She pressed her back against the wall and jumped as something crashed to the office floor. She ran when a frustrating howl rang out, followed by the smattering of smashing glass and objects reverberated through the hallways. She tumbled into the empty morning room and collapsed against the wall, sinking to the floor in a fit of tears.

What a fool she had been to believe in something as fickle as love.

*

The fine chain of her necklace was missing as Clara’s hand moved over her neck that evening. Only bare skin. The possibility of it being lost was something she could not handle, not tonight. If it was truly gone, then so was the only piece of she had of her mother. She sighed and sank to her knees to search the floor of her bedroom.

There was a scuffle at her door, but she chose to ignore it. She pressed her face sideways against the filthy floors and searched for the glitter of gold, her eyes scanning underneath the small bed. She stopped as she saw boots in the doorway.

“I was searching for my necklace.” Clara sat up, hastily wiping away tears as she placed her hands onto the bed.

“The children will not go to sleep,” the nurse said, wringing her apron in her hands. “Nothing is settling them. I was sent to fetch you to help.”

Clara pushed to her feet and grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair by the fireplace. “I will see what I can do,” she said, hurrying down the stairs to a nursery of sobbing children.

“Miss Dawson,” sneered Lady Margaret as Clara approached, “see that they stop this noise at once. I will not tolerate it any longer. Since the nurse is not capable of silencing their tantrums, I trust that you can and will do so immediately.”

“They only wish to be comforted. Their uncle left rather suddenly today, and this after losing their parents and moving to a foreign country, all within such a short time. They cannot be as strong as you.” Clara remained composed, even under the withering glare of the arctic woman.

“The nurse has been dismissed. Do you wish for the same? My nephew has left. You have no hero now.”

Ah, but he was never one to begin with.

“I will see to the children. Good evening,” Clara said, bowing her head to the new queen. She pushed past Lady Margaret and into the noisy room with a deep breath and a prayer for patience.

James was throwing whatever he could get his hands onto in a fit of anger, Minnie stood in the corner of the room lost in a fit of hiccupping sobs, as Grace bounced in her crib shrieking and red-faced.

“Come here, James,” Clara ordered. Her voice was firm, but she thought it best not to show that she was just as upset. She wished to cry along with them.

He ignored her and threw a tin soldier against the wall.

“I was not asking, James. Come here.”

He turned to the drapes and started to pull with all the might of his small body, yelling and kicking when they did not budge. Clara walked calmly to his side, even as he continued to flail and grunt. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him. He squirmed and fussed until finally he threw his arms around her, and cried. She dropped a kiss onto his cheek and brushed back his matted hair.

“I know,” she said.

She stood and gathered Grace from her crib, then knelt before Minnie and James, looking them both in in the eye, her heart breaking to see them so frightened and alone. How could he abandon them?

“I know you are upset, but it is time for bed. In the morning we will right the nursery.”

Clara circled her hand over Grace’s back until the girl switched from shrieking to soft whimpering.

“It is one thing to cry because you are upset, it is another to be destructive,” she continued. “We are all sad your uncle has left, but we must remember to behave.”

“You miss him too?” Minnie threw her arms around Clara as well.

She could lie, but they had guessed the truth. “Of course, sweet.”

“Everyone leaves us,” Minnie cried anew. “Are you leaving us too, Miss Clara?”

Clara sunk to the floor lost amidst a sea of arms and hot tears.

“We don’t want you to leave us,” James whispered in her ear.

Her lap was not big enough for two children and a squirming toddler, but she reached a hand to Minnie and James and kissed away Grace’s tears. “I am afraid you are stuck with me, my loves,” she tried to say with a smile. “Of course I cannot leave you—not when we have so many adventures waiting for us here at Burton Hall.”

With three pairs of arms clinging around her, Clara vowed to fight for the Ravensdale children and see that they never knew the loneliness she had battled with her entire life. They had no family any longer, and she understood how horribly frightening that was because she was frightened herself. She would be their family. She would do whatever necessary to see them loved and safe.

She ushered them to bed, tucked them in soundly, and wiped away their tears.

“Who will tell us a story now? Uncle left—”

Clara cut James’s question with a determined answer. “We shall start our own story.”

With Grace swaddled and asleep in her arms, she smiled and leaned toward James and Minnie and began, “One day, far away from rainy England, a boy happened upon a tiger, deep in the jungles of India…”

L
ucy was dying.

In the weeks following Lady Margaret’s arrival, the woman all but forced the staff to neglect the poor beast. The animal deserved to be looked after properly, not forgotten about and ignored. The conservatory was warm enough and there was sufficient room in the iron cage, but Clara understood that an animal such as Lucy needed more. It was easy to see that Lucy would wither away in the gloom of English rain.

Clara felt much the same.

She asked the steward if the tiger could be moved quickly to another home, hoping he would be discreet and not tell Lady Margaret of her interference into the situation. He kept his word, but he could not find a home for Lucy. So, Clara took it upon herself to send one last plea.

It was a surprise then when she received word that an offer of assistance would be no trouble and to await further instruction. In a few short weeks, word about Lucy’s new home was delivered in person by none other than the Duke of Ashbornham himself.

Barnes arrived with a caravan to convey Lucy to her new home at the London Zoo. The children fussed a bit, but he handled them as he always did, and soon they stopped their protests. He promised that once he saw Lucy settled, he would return to take them all to visit.

He was true to his word and accompanied them on a trip to London.

Clara spent most of the day looking over her shoulder, fearing the police were waiting to arrest her, but nothing happened other than the children having a happy day in the city.

Barnes insisted on escorting them back to Burton Hall, playing to Lady Margaret’s extravagant ego with great effect. He even convinced her that he should stay with Clara and the children after such an exhausting day in the city. Lady Margaret conceded and retired to a separate train car, granting them all a moment’s peace from her chilly demeanor.

Minnie and Grace were nestled against Clara sound asleep, as James leaned against Barnes, trying hard to be anything other than a tired little boy. He was snoring softly against Isaac’s shoulder.

“You are woolgathering, Clara,” Barnes observed softly. He was looking at her from across the cabin, a shadow of concern pulling at his features.

“I am tired, Your Grace. That is all. It was a long day.”

He shook his head. “Again with the proper title. We are friends, Clara. You can address me as one.” He rolled his neck against the high back of the seat. “I hope you had fun at least.”

“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. “I must thank you for your kindness. I think you have become a hero to us all at Burton Hall.”

“I thought I was only the lowly footman.”

They both chuckled and Clara found herself smiling for the first time in weeks.

“You were a terrible footman.”

“You simply caught me off guard. I was not expecting a sopping wet governess to appear and demand entry into the eeriest looking house in Yorkshire.”

“I should have returned on the next train when no one arrived to collect me instead of dragging my trunk for hours in the rain. Imagine how different things would be.”

He looked down at his gloved hands. “Fate has a wicked sense of humor.”

“Fate brought us all to Burton Hall? What a romantic notion.”

“I believe that things happen in life for a reason. They must, otherwise why have I lived the life I have?” He looked up at her once more, that teasing light that often filled his eyes drained and replaced with solemnity. “I have made my share of choices, but only from the ones presented to me. You must go either left or right in life. Once you chose, you will be asked to decide again, over and over until the day you die.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she settled.

“I am right, Clara. You shouldn’t argue with a duke,” he teased. “You chose to come to Burton Hall when you could have returned home. Heaven knows what would have become of us all if that had been your decision. You have changed their lives for the better. Without you, Burton Hall would certainly crumble to the ground.”

Clara never thought her arrival at Burton Hall was the grand intervention he claimed. “Are you flirting with me, Barnes?”

“When am I not? You are impossible not to flirt with.”

She looked out the window for a moment, the early winter’s darkness depriving her of seeing the passing English countryside.

“Tsk, tsk. I am just the lowly governess, Your Grace.”

“If you believe you are only the governess then you are quite foolish. You are as good as family to them all.”

“Yes, well,” she started, unable to continue.

Silence took over.

“He will come back.”

“No,” she said, searching Isaacs’s face for malice. “Please, do not say so merely for the children’s sake. I avoid bringing him up in their company. It is not fair to them.”

“I was saying so for yours.”