“An attraction.”
Gemma made a sound that was a cross between a laugh of denial and a choke. She started to get up. “I don’t know what you are talking about—”
Mrs. Warbler’s hand came down on the one Gemma used to push herself up from the table, holding her in place. “You do know.”
Gemma retook her seat. “You are questioning my word? Should I be offended?”
“You may be offended but hear me well. Clarissa Taylor has few options for her life. She has no one except us. We are her family and we’ve treated her well. We’ve seen that she was educated, that she is clothed, that she has a roof over her head. From the moment she was discovered on the church step, we have taken care of her. She will make an excellent doctor’s wife. And she looks forward to it. You don’t want to rob her of her future, do you?”
At that moment, almost as if she’d been summoned, there was a light knock on the door a second before it opened and Clarissa came in. Her cheeks were flushed as if she had been in a great hurry. Her gaze looked around the room and then went straight to Gemma.
“I heard what happened. I couldn’t believe that someone would be so monstrously mean-spirited as to try and undo your hard work. Who did this?” She looked young, fresh, defenseless. Gemma knew how hard Clarissa’s life would be if she didn’t marry. She knew too well because those had been her father’s fears for her.
Mrs. Warbler gave Gemma’s hand a squeeze that was both a warning and an order. She looked to Clarissa. “This is a mess, but have you heard what Gemma did?”
“They say you pelted Mr. Thurlowe with eggs, and well you should. I’m shocked that he would be a party to this—”
Gemma cut her off. “He wasn’t. It was the idea of others.” Gemma now knew better than to accuse the duke.
“I’m so sorry. I came to help clean.” Clarissa looked around the room again, shaking her head. “Have you started? Should I fetch water? And to think today I was going to help you hang the shelves Mr. Haskins built for you.”
She was all that was kind. Mr. Thurlowe would be an excellent husband. He’d not leave her without money or an understanding of his whereabouts and his actions. And although he and Clarissa would not be a love match, Ned would honor his vows. He would always provide for his wife, even upon his death. They might even, in time, learn to love each other. Perhaps Clarissa already had strong feelings for him. The conflict Gemma had sensed in her friend might have been her own imaginings—because the matrons were right. There had been an attraction from the beginning.
But none of the turmoil inside Gemma betrayed itself in her voice as she said, “Mrs. Warbler and I were discussing the best way to proceed. Yes, please fill the bucket with water.” Gemma rose to her feet. To her surprise, the earth was solid beneath her, and yet, she felt as if she was falling through a hole and there was nothing to grab ahold of to help her. “You will find it in the kitchen, which is an even worse mess. I don’t know where Athena has gone off to. She may be a good mouser but the chickens gave her a terrible fright.”
Thankfully, Mrs. Warbler jumped right in. “I have a bucket,” Mrs. Warbler announced. “And soap. Jane and I will help. Once again, we will have this place shining.”
“Thank you,” Gemma said, the words hollow inside her.
Mrs. Warbler didn’t seem to notice. Neither did Clarissa.
And Gemma knew better than to pine. After all, she and Ned had never had a chance. She didn’t even have a right to consider it.
Still, as she and Clarissa began gathering cleaning supplies, Gemma had to say, “You are fortunate that you are marrying Mr. Thurlowe.”
Clarissa set water in the iron pot over the fire to heat before carelessly answering, “I am. He’s a good man.”
She smiled at Gemma, her expression without guile. It also didn’t quite meet her eyes—and God help her, Gemma had to press the issue. In all the time that she’d known Clarissa, her friend had rarely talked about her intended, except in approving platitudes. “He’s handsome, too.”
“Yes, he is.” Clarissa straightened, gave a little shrug of her shoulders, and with one of her sunny smiles that could say everything and say nothing, said, “He’ll do.”
Yes, he would.
Lucy, the Dowager Duchess of Winderton, didn’t knock on the door of the Dower House where her son had been staying for the past several weeks. He may own the house, but she was still the authority at Smythson.
A footman crossing the front sitting room stopped midstride at the sight of her in the hall. His shirt was untucked, his wig askew, and he was in the process of buttoning his breeches. If she hadn’t had those clues, Lucy would have still known what he was up to by the guilt on his face.
The man turned abruptly as if to walk away and pretend he didn’t see her.
That was not about to happen.
The time had come to end this nonsense.
“Don’t you dare move,” she said in her most imperial voice. “Hodgeson, isn’t it?”
At that moment a giggling maid came around the corner, the man’s neck cloth in her hand. “You forgot this, lovey—” she started and then closed her mouth and shut up at the sight of her mistress.
Lucy eyed the girl. Her uniform was ill fitting, which didn’t make sense. All of the Smythson uniforms were tailored to the wearer. “I know all the servants in my employ. I do not know you. What is your name, girl?” She used her tone that could chill water.
The maid had the good sense to curtsey. It was awkward and poorly done, but she did it. Hodgeson stood frozen as if he feared for his immortal soul.
“Cora Belks, Your Grace.” Another inept curtsey. Really. Her most trusted servant, Randall, who had been the Smythson butler from before she’d first arrived as a bride, had recently retired out of service. Lucy had not been terribly satisfied with his replacement, Andrews. The man had come highly recommended except Lucy had noticed he was lazy. Did he believe that just because she was widowed and her son too young for common sense that she would turn a blind eye to foolishness on her staff?
She looked to Hodgeson. “Where is Mr. Andrews?”
“He is at the main house, Your Grace.”
“Fetch him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And where is my son?” she asked before the footman could make his bowing escape.
“His Grace is in his chambers, Your Grace.”
She noticed Cora trying to stealthily back out of the room. “Stop right there, missy. And stay there until I return.” The girl dutifully froze.
Lucy started up the stairs. She spied another servant lingering in the back of the hall. Word was spreading that she was in the house. Good.
She didn’t bother to knock on her son’s door. Lucy wanted the element of surprise. She received it. The heavy drapes were all pulled shut. However, in the shadowy darkness of the bedroom she couldn’t mistake his naked buttocks as he was spread out on the bed with an equally nude young woman under his arm. A host of empty bottles surrounded the bed.
For a long moment, punctuated only by her son’s light snores, Lucy glared at the scene. She expected the couple to come awake from her presence alone, and then realized her son was too far gone.