Lady in Blue (22 page)

The duchess grinned. “My summons took precedence, and rightly so, but no doubt he is on his way as we speak. I expect he will keep his distance as long as possible. In the meantime, we can become better acquainted.”

“Surely that is impossible,” Clare murmured helplessly. “You must know what I am.”

“I do not. Nor does Caradoc, and neither do you. So while we all stumble about in the dark, let us at least hold hands. Come for luncheon tomorrow. I shall invite Isabella, for Robert told me that you and she have become great friends. The three of us will have a pleasant coze together.”

Clare rose and crossed to the window, clutching her skirt with both hands. Indeed the Laceys were mad, all of them. Robert and Isabella treated her as an equal, although she was so far beneath them she scarcely breathed the same air. Now this forbidding and oddly charming woman offered her own friendship. To a whore.

It made no sense. She didn’t understand. She stared into the small garden, eyes burning.

The duchess came up behind her. “You must learn to trust, Miss Easton. I would not lie to you.”

“Of course not.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But what am I to do?”

“Whatever I say. Caradoc would tell you I am relentless. And since he is headed out of town, you are free to spend the day with me tomorrow.”

Ever since Bryn told her he might be away for several days, Clare had tried to formulate a plan for a trip of her own. Until now it seemed impossible, but suddenly a door had opened—if she dared trust this remarkable woman.

She whirled around. “Your Grace, might I ask a favor?” Her cheeks felt hotter than a stove. “I wish to leave London for a day, without anyone knowing. But if I go, Mrs. Beales will tell the earl. She’s the housekeeper.”

“I know.” Ernestine cocked her head. “Still, if Beales assumed you were with me . . . yes, that would work. Caradoc won’t like it, but at least he will not suspect you were off on your own business. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what that is?”

Clare lowered her gaze. “It is personal. And I shall be back by late afternoon, if I catch a mail coach early in the morning.”

“Indeed you will not travel on a common mail coach, Miss Easton. My carriage will be at your disposal.” She lifted a hand. “Don’t think to argue, for you cannot possibly win. We shall create the illusion that you have spent the day in my company.” She chuckled. “And if Caradoc quizzes you, tell him I gave you firm instructions not to discuss the matter with anyone. Considering our last encounter, I doubt he’ll apply to me for further information.”

Clare could not help but smile. “Does everyone dance to your tune, Your Grace?”

“Yes, indeed. Look how quickly you have fallen into step. We shall deal together famously, and I expect you to make our lie into a truth by spending a day with me in the near future. Perhaps we’ll sort through my new acquisitions together. You would enjoy that?”

Clare nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by what had happened in the last few minutes. She had dared to ask yet another stranger, one with any number of reasons to disdain her, for help. Why was everyone so kind—Flo and Isabella, Robert and Elizabeth, and now the duchess? She could never repay them.

It was almost like Heaven smiled on her, even as she damned herself. Impulsively, she held out her hand and felt it seized warmly. “Thank you,” she said. “I cannot tell you how important this is to me.”

“You need not. I see it in your eyes. But if ever you want someone to confide in”—the duchess winked—“you know where I live.” Releasing her hand, she went to the bellpull. “Now I shall explain to Beales that you are to be my guest tomorrow. Then I’ll make sure Caradoc has left town, and send word what time my carriage will pick you up. You are going to . . . ?”

After a beat, Clare replied, “Berkhamsted.”

“See, that wasn’t so difficult. A tiny confidence, and our secret. We Laceys adore secrets. And we keep them.”

A few minutes later, when the duchess was gone, Clare devoured two slices of apricot tart and what remained of the Eccles cakes, her appetite magically restored. Then she sped upstairs to consider her wardrobe.

Her appearance would be important, if the tale she had manufactured about her new job in London was to hold up under Joseph’s intense scrutiny. Jeremy, rather like Bryn, believed what he wanted to, but Joseph was not easily fooled.

She set out a gray walking dress of Circassian cloth for Amy to press, along with a darker pelisse trimmed with gray crape. Plain but elegant: just the sort of thing a companion to a wealthy elderly lady would wear.

She was considering bonnets when the knocker sounded, and her heart sank. Bryn?

But it was only a note from him, delivered with a lavish bouquet of flowers. He was traveling to Hampshire but had got a late start and would not return until Thursday evening. After his signature, he wrote,
I shall miss you.

Delighted as she was that everything had fallen into place for her own journey, she realized she would miss him too. She sat on the edge of a chair, fingering the soft flower petals, wondering at that for a long time.

Things had been easier when she didn’t like him. Her guilt was easier to bear when she had to suffer his company instead of looking forward to it. And if ever she allowed herself to care for him . . .

But she would not. Bryn was like a sweet cake. Only a fool refused to enjoy a rare treat, and only a greater fool was unable to set small pleasures aside when necessary. Soon enough she would forget the taste of him. It wasn’t as though she had any choice.

Meantime, she had tomorrow. She hugged herself with glee.

Tomorrow she would see the only two people in the world she loved. The two young men she valued above all else.

Even her soul.

The headmaster of the Langbourne
School for Young Gentlemen welcomed Clare graciously, in spite of her arrival without advance notice on a non-visiting day. Mr. Turbridge was a slender man, in his sixties she would guess, with a firm chin and kind eyes.

“Fine youngsters, Joseph and Jeremy,” he observed, ushering her into a large sunny parlor. “You can be proud of them both.”

“I have always been so,” she replied with a smile.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ll be wanting a report on their progress. While you visit, I shall speak to their instructors and prepare a summary. Be assured they have both done well. From all accounts, Joseph is quite the finest scholar at Langbourne, although Jeremy’s schoolwork is somewhat less, er—”

“You needn’t explain.” Her brows lifted. “I only hope he’s not been up to his usual deviltry.”

Flushing slightly, Mr. Turbridge shook his head. “Boyish pranks, but harmless. I’ve rarely met a child with so much energy. He’s quite the favorite of the other boys, if rather trying on the patience of his teachers. They are fond of him, though. Jeremy is remarkably sweet-natured.”

“I am most relieved you understand that. He can be a scamp.”

“Indeed. But he is especially kind to the smaller children. Takes them under his wing and protects them from the bullies. As I said, Miss Clare, you have reason to be proud of your brothers. They have only been here a few months, and already I foresee bright futures for them both.”

Nothing could have pleased her more. Clare gave him her brightest smile, which caused him to flush even more hotly.

“I believe they are taking exercise,” he said, moving toward the door. “I’ll see they are cleaned up and have some refreshments brought in.” He paused and turned around. “Miss Clare, we have no way to contact you, in case one of the boys becomes ill. You would wish to be informed?”

“Dear me, yes.” Clare had not considered that possibility, but of course she must give the school some way to reach her. She bit her lip. Clouds was out of the question. “You may send a message to me in care of a friend.” She gave the duchess’s address at Grosvenor Square.

Clearly impressed, Mr. Turbridge bowed. “I shall see you again before you depart. Enjoy your visit.”

When he was gone, she went to a window and gazed out over the sweeping lawns. In the distance, boys ran about chasing balls and playing tag. Their laughter and shouts floated back to her, and she pressed her cheek against the glass to hear more clearly. How long since she’d listened to children having a good time? Laughter had been strictly forbidden in the house after her father died.

She was not surprised that Mr. Turbridge welcomed her in such a friendly manner. The one other time she’d been here, to deliver the twins, she could offer only token payment with the promise of more to follow. Since then, she had been able to send funds to cover several years of tuition and board—thanks to Bryn. Now Joseph and Jeremy had a safe haven.

Joseph was brilliant, almost a prodigy. He might earn a scholarship to Oxford or Cambridge, and she rather expected he’d become a cleric like her father. A shiver ran up her spine. Not if her profession became known, to him or to the people who could see to his advancement. Above all, her secret must be maintained. Or was that even possible, with Bryn determined to take her out in public? Still, there was no reason for anyone to associate Clare Easton with Joseph and Jeremy Clare.

They were not her brothers by blood, although her father had given them his name. Clare was ten years old when a young woman with wild eyes came to the small village where Terence Clare served as vicar. Widowed soon after his daughter was born, he found solace for the loss of his beloved wife in drink.

Ardis—she would never reveal her surname—was hungry and desperate the day she appeared at the church, begging the vicar to help her. She had been abandoned by the man who had promised to marry her, and her parents had cast her off.

With the impulsive kindness Clare remembered in her father, he immediately took the woman into his home. And married her, to prevent the child she carried from being marked a bastard. By then, drinking had sapped his health, and even his sermons were seasoned with wine as he delivered them in a frail, halting voice. He died five months after the wedding, before the twins were born.

Clare, still mourning her father, was left alone with the strange, embittered woman. They moved from the vicarage to a small cottage, where the widow and the young girl were supported at the mercy of the new vicar and the kindness of the parishioners. When the infants were delivered, their mother could scarcely bear to look at them. A wet nurse fed them, and Clare did everything else. She poured out all her love on the two boys and chose their names when Ardis expressed no interest in the matter. Joseph and Jeremy were more like her own children than her brothers, although she was herself a child when they were born.

Clare hugged her waist. Her father had married Ardis, a virtual madwoman, to give the boys a name. Now she whored herself to give them a future. But she could not regret that. She had even managed to stop hating her stepmother.

Ardis was living proof that a woman could lose everything for love, including her mind. She had been a beautiful woman, with heavy blond hair and light blue eyes. The vicar had blue eyes too, and people thought it odd when the twins’ eyes turned to tawny brown a year after their birth.

Ardis pretended they didn’t exist until they were active toddlers and impossible to ignore. Then the harsh discipline she visited on her stepdaughter fell on them too. It was all Clare could do to protect them.

As the years passed, Ardis withdrew more and more into her own world, becoming little more than a shadowy presence, rocking in a creaky chair with her arms clutched to her sides, reciting psalms in a dull monotone. Her death was a relief to everyone.

By then, the copper mine that supported the community was failing. With the parish no longer able to provide for them, Clare took the twins to London and sought a position as a seamstress. Even working sixteen hours a day, she could only afford two bleak rooms in a crowded, derelict neighborhood. There was little money left to feed the boys, who grew thin eating bread and the occasional meat pie.

On her day off she tutored them, and Joseph saw that Jeremy kept up with his lessons while she was working. It was dangerous for them to go outside, although Jeremy could not bear to be cooped up. She worried about them constantly.

After a year of bleak subsistence, she began to consider applying to Edna Halperth for assistance. Clare had kept everything that belonged to the mother she never knew, including her correspondence. Edna had been her mother’s closest friend in childhood, although when she went to London she changed her name to Florette LaFleur and candidly admitted that she had taken up a profitable but dishonorable profession.

Strictly raised, Clare was unable to bring herself to contact Florette until a pair of drunken thugs accosted her in the street. Jeremy and Joseph rushed to help and were soundly beaten before a shopkeeper entered the fray. Joseph’s arm was broken, and Jeremy had two cracked ribs.

The next morning she walked four miles to Florette’s Hothouse and begged for help.

Florette immediately offered to provide anything the daughter of her childhood friend required. She made it sound as if she were in debt to Clare’s mother, pleased to return the favor at last.

Clare knew better and was too proud to accept charity. She had given her plan a great deal of thought and managed to present it with scarcely a quaver in her voice. For ten thousand pounds, she would sell herself—if Florette could find a buyer.

At first, Florette protested vehemently, but then her eyes narrowed. After a long silence, she placidly agreed to Clare’s proposal. She knew just the man who might be interested.

And a few days later, garbed in the blue dress and veiled hat Florette provided, Clare had waited by the door at the Hothouse for the arrival of the Earl of Caradoc . . .

“Easter!”

She swung around to see Joseph and Jeremy at the parlor door. Her arms opened as they tore across the room for a warm hug.

After a long minute, she reluctantly let them go and stepped back to have a good look. Their sandy hair was freshly washed and sleeked back over high foreheads and golden eyes. Their blue coats were almost too tight. With good food and exercise, the twins had filled out. They were twelve years old, on the verge of manhood, but it seemed like yesterday that she’d changed their nappies.

A servant entered, carrying a tray laden with glasses of lemonade and an assortment of sandwiches, biscuits, and pastries. Predictably, Jeremy hurried to grab a strawberry tartlet.

Granted time to compose herself, Clare sat on the sofa and sipped some lemonade while the boys, with surprisingly impeccable manners, settled across from her.

“I’ve missed you,” she said softly.

“About time you showed up,” Jeremy said with a full mouth.

Joseph regarded her with serious eyes as he drank his lemonade, while Jeremy chatted happily about learning to play cricket and ride. The school boasted a stable, and apparently he spent all his free time helping the ostlers.

“He’s gone horse-mad,” Joseph said when Jeremy’s monologue wound down in favor of a roast beef sandwich. “Tell us how you are doing, Easter. We’ve heard nothing from you.”

She set down her glass. “I know. And I apologize.” How she hated to lie to them. Forcing a smile, she explained that she had found a good position as companion to an elderly person who was, unfortunately, somewhat eccentric. For that reason she was well paid, but certain restrictions had been imposed upon her. She could have no visitors and might not be free to visit Langbourne again for a long time. But she was content. More than that.
Happy,
with a pleasant employer, lots of books to read, and comfortable surroundings.

Joseph regarded her dubiously. “Sounds havey-cavey to me. May we at least write to you?”

“Of course,” she said, after a moment. “I’ve already given Mr. Turbridge the address. We recently moved, and things have been somewhat unsettled. But from now on I shall write to you too, every day.”

“Some of the chaps have horses of their own,” Jeremy said in a hopeful voice.

Joseph punched him on the shoulder. “Ask for the moon while you’re at it, gudgeon. Hasn’t Easter done enough for us? And she ain’t even our real sister.”

Eyes burning, Clare looked away. She had told them the truth about their parentage, after much interior debate, when they were old enough to understand. It seemed right that they should know, and besides, she always hated lies. Every time she told one, her heart ached.

It had become a familiar feeling.

She wanted to give Jeremy a horse. The moon, if he required it. Perhaps she could sell the necklace Bryn had given her . . .

“I’m sorry, Easter.” Jeremy reached across the table and touched her arm. “I was selfish to ask. Far as I’m concerned, you are the best sister a fellow could have.”

She patted his hand. “And you are a wonderful little brother.”

“Easter?” Joseph looked ashamed. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Clare smiled at him. “You were trying to say that I owe you nothing, but that isn’t so. I love you, Joseph. Nothing is more important to me than my two boys. And it makes me happy to see you in such a fine school, so in a way I’m being selfish too.”

“We’ll pay you back, soon as we can,” Jeremy promised. “I’ll study hard so I can get a good position. You’ll see. Then you won’t have to take care of an eccentric old aristocrat.”

She suppressed a grin, imagining Bryn’s reaction to that unflattering description. So often he reminded her of Jeremy—impetuous and self-absorbed but quick to repent his mistakes. Lovable rascals, the both of them. “I quite like my eccentric aristocrat,” she said. “There’s a wonderful library at the house, and I’ve been to the theater and the opera.”

For the next hour she painted a colorful if inaccurate picture of her life in London, trying to assure them she had made no sacrifices on their behalf. Jeremy was delighted at her adventures and quizzed her incessantly about earls and dukes she must have met. He knew his father was an aristocrat, if Ardis had told the truth, and Clare suspected he was hoping she’d run into the man, recognize him immediately, and tell him about his two sons. Always a dreamer, Jeremy expected the impossible.

Joseph sat quietly, his brow furrowed as if suspicious of her story. He had an uncanny way of seeing past bright smiles and clever lies, perhaps because she’d had little else to offer him in the past few years. But he said nothing, if only to make things easier for her.

Dear God, how she loved them.

Too soon it was time to say goodbye. Jeremy tried to hide his sniffles behind a brave front, while Joseph squeezed her hand and unabashedly kissed her on both cheeks.

She hung out the window of the carriage to wave at them. Mr. Turbridge stood between the boys, his arms draped over their shoulders protectively, and when they were out of sight she leaned back against the squabs with a sigh.

They were in good hands. She had done the right thing.

That conviction solidified as the coach trundled toward London, her heart growing lighter with every turn of the wheels.

Ever since she had made her decision and applied to Florette for help, she had been preoccupied with what she was giving up—her reputation and her innocence in this world and her salvation in the next. Almost forgot was the goal, the reason for everything. Seeing the boys again restored her certainty that she had taken the right road.

The only one open to her, she reflected, but so much smoother than she ever imagined. Bryn was wonderfully kind, when he needn’t be. And so generous, without reward. If she left him after their first night together, the contract would be fulfilled and she could walk away, knowing the twins were safe. He had given her that right.