“And?” This came from Jane.
“I slammed his fingers in the door. I’m actually strong. Or he’s very weak. Anyway, I may have broken some. I used all my strength.”
There was a second of quiet as the women digested her words and then a glad cheer went up.
“You shut that scoundrel’s hand in the door? And he was stark naked?” Mrs. Warbler said, incredulous. “What a shame it wasn’t his willie.” She burst out in laughter, as did Jane and Mrs. Summerall.
“You don’t understand,” Clarissa said. “He was hurt. He shrieked in a way I’ve never heard a man cry out before. He woke the other servants. And Mrs. Emsdale, whom I had just managed to escape after she’d nodded off in her bed. He started dancing around and holding his fingers. It was a frightful scene.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Mrs. Warbler assured her, barely able to control her laughter.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Summerall said, her hand over her mouth, her eyes happy slits of mirth. “As my husband says, the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“I think he received what was coming to him,” Jane chimed in.
“And then I was sacked,” Clarissa finished, not seeing any humor in the situation at all.
“How could she fire you over her grandson’s rotten behavior?” Mrs. Summerall demanded. “You didn’t hurt him intentionally.”
“She should have,” Mrs. Warbler murmured.
“I was just trying to escape,” Clarissa explained. “However, Mrs. Emsdale didn’t believe me when I told her he had attacked me.” She’d said several rude things about Clarissa’s person, as if her grandson would have never stooped so low as to pay attention to her. “She told me whatever happened, I had brought it on myself. Except, I never encouraged him. Never.”
“And we believe you,” Mrs. Warbler answered.
Such a simple statement and yet it went straight to Clarissa’s heart. They believed her. “Mrs. Emsdale doesn’t. Her grandson claimed I tried to seduce him, that it was his manly weakness that had led him to me.”
“His weakness?” Mrs. Warbler suggested. “Oh, please tell me he was dancing around in the hall completely naked.”
“Not even socks,” Clarissa said, and the women broke out again into laughter.
She failed to see the humor. “You are the only ones who have listened to me. Mrs. Emsdale made me sound like some Delilah and all the servants nodded their heads.”
“Because she pays their wages,” Jane said.
“She turned me out without references, right there in the middle of the night.” Clarissa had never been so frightened in her life as when she’d found herself wandering London in the dark. “And speaking of wages, she didn’t pay me. She said I was too grave a disappointment. I should have at least received the quarter wages she’d promised—”
“Miserly woman,” Mrs. Warbler muttered.
“But what bothers me the most is what people in the village will think,” Clarissa finished. “I failed. I wanted to prove I could take care of myself like Kate and Gemma could.” Kate was Kate Balfour, a well-known actress before she married Mr. Balfour. Ned’s wife, Gemma, had been a sought-after healer and had made a success of The Garland. Both women had triumphed at their endeavors before they’d married. They had made it look easy.
“I can’t take care of myself,” Clarissa said. “I wasn’t going to return to Maidenshop until I proved I could. Yet, I couldn’t not come home either. I had nowhere else to go.”
Mrs. Summerall placed an empathetic hand over Clarissa’s. “I’m glad you returned to us. I also think you were very brave to fight off your attacker.”
“I wasn’t very afraid of Warner,” Clarissa confessed. “He looked rather silly and I did feel bad that I had hurt him.”
“I don’t,” Mrs. Warbler said. “Believe me, child, he had every intention of forcing himself on you.”
“Just as he probably had to a maid who had been dismissed right before I joined the household. The whispers were that she had loose morals and had been in the ‘family way.’ I feel terrible that I believed what they told me about her. Now I know differently. I shouldn’t believe rumors.”
“Not all rumors, but don’t worry,” Mrs. Warbler said. “We will find something for you. We matrons will put our heads together. We’ll figure it out. Until then, you will stay with Jane and me.”
“I don’t wish to be a burden,” Clarissa said. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Certainly I can be of service.”
“Not to worry,” Mrs. Warbler pressed. “All will be good. Now, finish your sherry—”
Abruptly, their huddle of womanhood was interrupted by the slam of the front door. “Hello!” a gruff male voice called a second before heavy footsteps sounded on the wood floor. And then, a hatless Earl of Marsden appeared in the doorway.
It was almost as if he had materialized out of nowhere. One moment they were alone in the room and in the next, there was a shout and then this huge, bold man intruded into their cozy group.
Clarissa did not like or admire the earl. The feeling was mutual.
She’d known him all her life and a more self-centered, lazy, rude fellow she’d never met. Well—until she’d met Mr. Warner Emsdale . . . but the earl had had years to improve her assessment of him, and had failed.
He was tall with broad shoulders and long, long legs. The sort of man who took up all the air in a room. She acknowledged that he was handsome, although she found his jaw too stubborn. Right now, he appeared as if he’d had a bad night. He’d not shaved and his untamed hair was hopelessly windblown. When he was younger, she remembered him as being the white blond of a Viking. Now his hair was the color of winter grain.
The earl had first annoyed her when she was six. She had accidentally fallen into a puddle. The white cotton of her favorite dress had quickly soaked up the muddy water, ruining it forever. She’d been panicked because how was she going to explain that to Mrs. Taylor—and then she’d heard him laughing. Clarissa could perfectly recall the amusement on his face.
Nor did it stop there. Over the years, he had continued to snipe at her. No matter what she was doing, there he was.
Even on the worst night of her life, when she’d realized that the man she had been promised to for years was in love with another, when her only security for the future had crumbled around her, Marsden had been completely unsympathetic. He’d actually taken her to task as if he was the headmaster of the School of Life and lectured her as if she was a dunderhead while ignoring the fact that he’d been well into his cups. Which was not surprising. The only thing the man did well was drink.
On top of those complaints lurked something else. Something she couldn’t name. It wasn’t exactly fear . . . more of an awareness. Marsden was a dark shadow in her life, always lurking when she wasn’t at her best.
So, of course, he would show up now.
She braced herself, knowing that once he learned what happened in London, he would have some cutting comment to make.
Except, he wasn’t interested in her. Instead, he stood awkwardly in front of the table holding a bundle of blankets as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I knocked. I let myself in when no one answered.” He was dressed for riding and even sans hat appeared the very model of a country horseman. Buff leather breeches hugged strong thighs, his boots dusty from his ride. He wore a jacket of the finest bottle green worsted. Clarissa could be jealous of the quality of that material.