Page 31 of A Duke Never Tells
CHAPTER THIRTY
CLARA BOSLEY
“I think we should tell Earnhurst the truth.” Meg sat in the morning room, her hands clasped on her lap, and only the white beneath her fingernails gave away how tense and worried she was.
Given the topic, Clara could see why her niece would be worried. “Are you mad?” she whispered, hurrying over to close the door and then taking her seat again. “Is this why you were so quiet last evening?”
“I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday,” Meg admitted. “Before that, even, but since yesterday I’ve been developing a plan. This was all my idea, anyway, so I shall tell him precisely that. I will add that you only joined me to keep me out of trouble, and then I’ll talk about how happy you’ve been, and how I would be both pleased and relieved to break the engagement with him so that the two of you could be together.”
For a single, mad moment, Clara wanted to go along with it. After all, the Bosley family were completely respectable gentry. She could conceivably wed a duke.
But a duke to whom she’d lied? One who had been the object of an elaborate ruse for better than a week? One who’d confided in her and both welcomed and trusted her opinion—all under false pretenses? Perhaps if she’d pretended to be the companion and then won him over it might suffice, but she’d pretended to be above her station. A duke couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive that. His fellow aristocrats certainly wouldn’t.
“Meg, if you don’t wish to marry Earnhurst, then yes, we must break the agreement. But if you think you could learn to be happy in his company, if you can imagine yourself in this life, then do not throw him over for me. Because while he might forgive Lady Margaret Pinwell or Lady Sophronia Frumple, he will never forgive Miss Clara Bosley. I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again once he learns the truth, much less wish to marry me.”
“But you like him.”
Clara nodded. She more than liked him when she allowed herself to think about it—which she did not want to do while Meg sat there looking at her with hope in her eyes. “I like him a great deal.” She cleared her throat. “I’m also well aware that most people view me as an eccentric, or worse, a fool, and how few allies I have among the peerage. I do not believe in fairy tales, my dear.”
“You don’t always have to be so practical, you know.”
Snorting, Clara wiped at one eye before a tear could run down her cheek. “This week is the least practical I have ever been. And while I wouldn’t trade it for anything, neither do I think anything good will come of it.”
“I still think we should tell him what’s happened. It didn’t begin as anything meant to hurt anyone, after all. If I hadn’t twisted my ankle everything would be different.”
“This is your adventure, Meg. Whatever you decide must be for your sake,” Clara insisted, which was easier than admitting to herself that she lacked the courage to look into Earnhurst’s eyes when he heard the truth about her—about everything. She’d used to boast that nothing scared her, that having men insult her while she carried a sign, having them throw oranges and cabbages at her and her fellows didn’t trouble her, because she knew she was in the right. But just the idea of him looking at her in anger and disgust… It shook her to her bones.
Her niece blew out her breath. “Very well. If this is my adventure, I want to tell him the truth. Tonight, as he’s invited me to join the two of you for dinner.”
“That means you’ll be telling James, as well, because he’ll be there in the dining room, ringing his idiotic gong. It’s one thing to confess to someone whose feelings you don’t particularly care about, my dear. I believe it’s quite another to tell someone of whom you’re fond. And I know you’re terribly fond of that incompetent butler.”
She smiled to take the sting out of her words, but Meg flinched anyway. “It must be done,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Better to do it all at once instead of letting the pain and uncertainty and silly daydreams linger.” She shrugged. “And now that I can walk, we can at least leave when they throw us out onto the drive.”
“Perhaps we should have Wilson ready the coach and the team this evening. And we should pack our bags. I would hate to have to linger here because we were unprepared for the response to your—our—confession.”
“Yes, let’s do that.” Abruptly Meg lowered her head into her hands. “I just don’t want him to hate me.”
Who the “him” was needed no explanation; Meg wasn’t troubled by the idea of the duke’s anger. And while Clara didn’t quite understand what her niece saw in the butler—other than a man of very handsome countenance—he did have a charming way about him. As long as no one asked him to bring the tea, that was. But she did understand all about having an attraction to someone utterly unsuitable, and that was all that was required for her to have a great deal of sympathy for Meg.
“In the meantime, I believe I shall go find the duke and flirt with him a bit,” she said, standing. “I’m to be revealed as a villain at dinner, but it’s not yet luncheon, and I would like another kiss or two.” Oh, she wanted more than that, but neither did she want to leave with any more regrets than she already had.
Meg flushed. “Auntie! You wicked thing. But that does sound very tempting. I wonder where James might be.”
Even with all the other renovations going on, Earnhurst had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the library. Clara liked to think it was because that was where she’d stationed herself, and indeed where she felt like she was doing something useful. The idea that a man would seek her out had baffled her at first, but now it gave her warm and tingly feelings in the naughtiest of places.
Since she was late beginning her work this morning, she wasn’t surprised to see him already there, sitting at a worktable with two carpenters opposite him. “It’s beginning to look like we have enough valuable books in the collection to warrant a fourth glassed-in cabinet. If we shift the rows this way by two feet or so, do you think we can manage our book cabinets along this wall?” he asked, pointing at the drawing.
“I reckon so,” Tom, the senior carpenter, drawled. “I’d recommend setting four regular bookcases on the opposite wall for balance.”
Earnhurst nodded. “I like that. The artwork will have to go somewhere else, but we have a plentitude of rooms for that. Let’s finish the measurements, shall we?”
One of the cabinet makers looked up, then abruptly stood and bowed in Clara’s direction. “My lady.”
The other carpenter and the duke both stood as well, the worker bowing, and Earnhurst inclining his head, his warm smile making her heart pound. “Sophie. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said, deciding she would never become accustomed to men bowing at her. It was quite an improvement over the orange throwing, but just as uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I’m late. Mabel’s so happy to be able to walk down the hallway that I couldn’t resist walking with her.”
The duke motioned her over to the table. “What do you think?”
“I know I like what I heard. Four glass-fronted bookcases containing the prizes of the collection. And balanced by the open bookcases on the other side of the room? Very pleasing.”
The cabinet makers both blushed. “Thank you, my lady. It’s very flattering to hear you say so.”
“Nonsense. Craftsmanship and good taste should always be recognized.”
“Let’s let them get to it, then, shall we?” The duke offered his arm, and she wrapped her fingers around his sleeve. “I’d suggest a stroll through the garden, but James has declared it out-of-bounds until tomorrow.”
“He seems very proud of what he’s doing out there.”
“Yes, he does. I… I hope his motivations are based on pride in good works, rather than pleasing your companion.”
Clara glanced sideways at him. “They have made their attraction rather obvious, haven’t they?” she said, mindful now more than ever that her words were likely to be remembered later, every syllable held up for scrutiny. “Young people do seem attracted by the shiniest thing, though that doesn’t mean they misunderstand what is truly of value.”
“I couldn’t have said it better, myself.” The duke took a breath. “The follies are being demolished this morning. Shall we go view the destruction?”
“Oh, I do love a good demolishing.”
He laughed. “Have I mentioned that I find you to be a very singular woman, Sophie?”
“I will admit to having done my best to ignore the instruction and advice thrown at my head by my mother in favor of the much more practical instruction from my father. I daresay I can take a duck from the sky to the table without hesitation and clean my own gun afterward.”
“By God, I should like to see that.” Earnhurst glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured, facing her again. “Pray do not dismember me.”
“I will not,” she whispered, her heart hammering. “I will very likely kiss you back, however.”
“Good,” he said, and kissed her.