Clara, Rosa, and Louise made their way slowly towards the forest behind the estate. The weak light of the sun had broken through the morning fog to shine dimly across the grass, casting glistening reflections off the remaining dewdrops. Clara looked down at her skirts, noticing how the last inches of fabric at the bottom were becoming heavy and dark with collected moisture as they passed through the field. Rosa, in a state of childish bliss, had already tumbled to the grass numerous times, leaving green streaks on her dress that Clara knew she would have to scrub out later if she were to avoid the ire of the laundry maid. She would not have censured her playful romp for the world, though.
Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the scents of the season. There was the pungent smokiness released by nearby chimneys, and the sweet essence of leaves decaying in the crisp autumn breeze. It reminded her of her childhood. It reminded her of home.
She must have looked upset, because Louise glanced curiously over at her.
“Are you unwell?” asked the nursemaid. The tone implied the question was borne from obligation rather than concern, which was fortunate. Clara knew the least sign of empathy would cause her demeanor to crumble, an inconvenience she could not afford when pretending to be someone she was not.
She kept her eyes trained carefully on Rosa’s quick movements. “No, thank you,” she replied. “Just a speck of dust in my eye, is all.”
Louise seemed satisfied with her answer and continued forward while the little girl leaped and giggled ahead of them, stopping frequently to pluck late-flowering weeds from the ground and scrutinize insects.
“Look!” Rosa exclaimed abruptly. “It’s a worm!” She turned and thrust out her hand at her guardians, a fat pink worm writhing in displeasure from between her tiny fingers. Louise shrank back with a noise of disgust, while Clara stepped forward to kneel down beside the curious girl.
“Why, yes it is,” she replied, admiring Rosa’s captive. “And a nice big one, at that. Let’s be sure to put it back where we found it, though, so it keeps the ground healthy. Worms have a very important job, you know.”
Rosa stared at her, astonished. “They do?” She leaned over with an aura of respect and placed the wriggling creature back in between the long tufts of grass, where it immediately burrowed back down into the safety of the soil. Rosa clapped in delight and threw her arms around Clara. “He’s going back to work!”
Clara squeezed the girl tightly. “Yes, he is. Well done!” She stood and took her hand, then hurried to catch up with Louise, who had left them behind.
The group had departed the estate twenty minutes earlier with the goal of reaching the majestic old growth forest to the east. Rosa, a firm believer in fairies, was buzzing with anticipation. She had even tucked morsels from that morning’s crumpet safely away in the pockets of her dress, in the hopes they might tempt the magical beings to appear.
Clara and Rosa caught up with Louise at the edge of the forest. The nursemaid was reluctant to enter, although to Clara, the pathway leading in looked well-worn and inviting, lined with hazel and birch trees dressed in their brilliant October finery. She pictured the earl and his siblings as young children, exploring this forest by the very same route, then shook her head, annoyed. No matter how she tried to avoid the man, he always seemed to be hovering on the edge of her thoughts.
“Can we go in, Helen?” Rosa was gazing up at her with shining eyes, one hand gripping hers fiercely while the other had already dived into her pocket, readying the crumpet crumbs. Clara laughed and gave the little hand a pat in return.
“Yes, of course. We came all this way, didn’t we?” She looked over at Louise, who was lifting up her skirts to examine something she’d found stuck to her walking boot. The look of revulsion on her face did not bode well for her footwear.
“Are you coming, or have you had your fill?” Clara asked, trying not to smile. Rosa was not nearly as conscientious, and laughed wildly as Louise scraped her boot along the grass to clean it off.
“I’ll be there in a . . . ugh . . . of all the rotten luck . . .” With a final drag through a pile of leaves, the woman returned her skirts to their normal position and huffed over to join them as they entered the forest, their presence marked by the sudden dash of a hare across the path, so quick it could barely be seen.
“Fairies . . .” whispered the little girl reverently. Clara grinned and glanced over at Louise, who looked dreadfully bored. They continued into the thicket of trees, birds swooping and calling around them.
She was suddenly reminded of all the times that she and Lucy had ventured into the wilderness surrounding her family’s Silvercreek estate. She could almost feel the swing of the wicker picnic basket in her grasp, full of tasty snacks from the kitchen. Could hear Lucy’s laughter as they waded through the long grass, leaning over to smell the wildflowers . . .
“It certainly could be fairies,” she said softly, willing the memory away. She missed her sister dreadfully still. But Helen the housemaid could not afford to get caught up in Clara Mayfield’s recollections. “Let’s see if we can find where they are hiding!”
They made their way further into the forest, the mid-morning daylight dimming as the trees grew thicker and thicker. A sudden gust of wind upset the treetops, and leaves floated and spun as they fell from the canopy above their heads. It was the perfect crisp day for a magical hunting party.
Clara’s daily chores meant her shoulders had become overly tense, and certainly more muscular than her days as an heiress. But she could feel them loosen now as she tipped her head up gratefully to bask in the narrow streaks of sunlight penetrating through the branches. The chance for a refreshing walk outside had been too good to pass up. How she’d needed this.
Up ahead, there was a rustling in the brush. Clara put a hand on Rosa’s arm and crouched down, finger to her lips. Rosa’s green eyes, darker than her uncle’s but lovely just the same, went wide and still. Her mouth froze in an excited pucker. Louise rolled her eyes and stood behind them, waiting. The rustling continued, moved a bit to the right, continued some more, then stopped. Everyone waited, staring at the bushes, until a red squirrel leaped out at them, squeaking, tail whirling furiously in the air. They shrieked in surprise, then laughed as the squirrel hopped onto a rock and sat back on his haunches to gaze at them, its paws curled inquisitively beneath his fuzzy white chest. He possessed impressive ear tufts that stuck high above his head, giving him a profoundly dramatic appearance.
“Hello! Would you like a treat?” Rosa carefully tossed a chunk of the sweet bread in the squirrel’s direction, and he wasted no time in jumping down to retrieve it. Picking it up in his tiny paws, he sniffed it and turned it first one way and then the other, before deciding it was suitable for consumption. The squirrel munched quickly and finished within seconds, then turned to Rosa again, staring at her with gleaming black eyes. She didn’t hesitate, and tossed a fistful of crumbs at her new woodland friend.
“Rosa,” said Clara. “Wouldn’t you like to save some food for the fairies?”
The girl turned to look at her, her blonde hair lifting in the wind. “But he looks so hungry!” She tossed another handful of crumbs at him, and he made short work of them, scooting his mouth along the forest floor to collect every last bit, before standing again to gaze at her expectantly.
“Helen! Rosa! Over here!” Louise’s voice echoed from some distance away, and the startled squirrel ran off.
Clara turned and guided Rosa through fallen leaves, until they were separated from the nursemaid by a low, ancient stone wall.
“How curious,” said Clara, as she lifted Rosa to the other side. Louise was pointing to something on the ground.
“I’ve found the gateway to the fairy kingdom!” she exclaimed.
Surprised, a smile broke out across Clara’s face. She hadn’t thought Louise had been interested in their game.
Rosa gasped and approached the nursemaid, who was standing near a short stone cylinder that rose from the ground, sealed by an old wooden cover. Clara recognized it immediately. It was a well, boarded up and no longer in use. She glared in Louise’s direction, and reached forward to pull Rosa firmly back against her skirts.
“No, Rosa, it’s not.” Then to the nursemaid, “Why would you tell her such a thing? She could get hurt playing near an old well.”
Louise scoffed. “It’s not as if she is unattended. She’ll be fine.”
“It’s an irresponsible thing to say to a child,” snapped Clara.
She lifted Rosa back over the wall, then hopped over herself and gripped Rosa’s hand tightly as they journeyed back the way they came. Louise could follow, or not, for all she cared.
“You’re not to play near the well, Rosa. It’s dangerous,” she said, as they walked briskly towards the light of the open field. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Helen. But I ran out of food for the fairies,” she said plaintively.
“The fairies can take care of themselves. It’s you I worry about.”
The sky had turned dark, but they made it back to the manor before the rain began. Rosa’s dress was littered with twigs and dirt from their adventure, as was her hair. Clara looked down at her dress to find her own appearance just as unkempt. She ushered Rosa through the service entrance, up the narrow steps and into the hallway by the nursery. Satisfied at managing to avoid detection in their messy state, she let herself and Rosa into the room and turned to shut the door swiftly behind them.
“Uncah!” shouted Rosa in delight.
Clara nearly jumped. Surely, she had misheard. She faced the door for a long moment, then turned slowly.
There was the earl, glancing her way as he crouched down to wrap his arms around his filthy niece.
She’d done her best to avoid him these past few days, hoping to weaken the magnetic pull of her desire, the constant compulsion to catch a glimpse of him, be near him in some way. As she saw him now, Clara felt her entire body flush and she backed against the door. His hair fell in a disarray over his forehead, and the muscular definition of his arms as he hugged his niece caused her breath to hitch.
His eyes held hers and a notch formed between his brows as he scooped up Rosa in his arms and stood.
“Are you unwell?” he asked, stepping closer to her.
She realized it was the second time that day someone had asked her that question. Perhaps she wasn’t well, and perhaps she was terrible at pretending she was.
“Yes, my lord. Forgive me—we rushed back and I’ve yet to catch my breath,” she fibbed. It would be too ridiculous to admit that she simply needed more time to recover from the unexpected shock of seeing him.
But then he surprised her again. Instead of backing away and giving her space, or accepting her explanation and putting her out of his mind, he came nearer and offered his hand, saying nothing.
She stared mutely at the long stretch of his graceful fingers. As if in a dream, she saw her hand slide into his. In all her London seasons, her dances shared with men both young and old, she had never found herself so affected, and by the merest touch of hands. The feel of his skin was incendiary, and he curled his fingers more tightly around hers. Clara lifted her eyes to find his already looking down at her with the sober, contemplative expression she’d come to expect him to wear in her company.
Clara was unable to prevent her eyes from traversing the rest of his face—over the sweep of his dark lashes, down the strong line of his jaw, landing on the tempting curve of his mouth. Were he to lean in right now, she knew there would be no resisting . . .
She heard him catch his breath. It was almost as if he’d read her thoughts.
An impish chortle brought her back to the present. Momentarily lost in fantasy, she’d forgotten about Rosa. The child was staring at her, just inches away, from a comfortably perched position in the crook of Ashworth’s other arm.
A nervous laugh escaped Clara’s lips. Rosa was grinning from ear to ear, looking back and forth from her to the earl, with her eyes coming to rest on the former.
“You’re funny!” she proclaimed loudly.
The earl ignored Rosa’s declaration, and proceeded to lead Clara to a chair by the window. She sat and retrieved her hand as quickly as she could, then politely folded both in her lap to conceal the trembling. Had she imagined his reluctance as her hand had slipped from his? It was difficult to tell when her entire body was humming.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, her voice shaking audibly. “I appreciate your assistance.”
Rosa leaned in towards Ashworth’s ear. “She was fine just a minute ago, Uncah,” she whispered loudly.
Clara wanted to melt into the floor. Rosa was just a child, but the honest words still stung. Her face was hot with embarrassment and probably bright red, but the earl proved himself to be a gentleman by changing the subject.
“I’m actually quite pleased at the timing of your return from the forest,” he said, then craned his neck to peer behind her. “Although I can’t help but notice your numbers have thinned. Did we lose somebody to the fairies?” he inquired, his voice laced with mock worry.
“Louise should return shortly to resume her duties,” Clara replied. “She was trailing behind us as we left.”
“She found a fairy gateway!” exclaimed Rosa, clapping her hand over her mouth when she saw the frown on Clara’s face. Lord Ashworth, perplexed, looked first at his niece, then back at Clara for an explanation, his eyebrows raised. She sighed.
“My lord, what she found was an old well, boarded up, just to the east of a stone wall.”
The earl paused, his face blank, then recollection struck him. He leaned down to set Rosa on the floor, and straightened to shake his head with a quiet laugh.
“I’m surprised it hasn’t crumbled into the ground by now,” he muttered. “My brother and I spent many a day tempting fate near that old well.” There was a pause, a moment lost in thought. Surely a remembrance of the brother he’d had, now lost.
He dragged his eyes up to meet hers, and cleared his throat.
“I came to advise you of my immediate travel plans,” he said, changing the subject. “It should not affect you directly, but I will be departing for a short business trip to Hastings this afternoon. I will be gone for roughly a week. Lord Evanston will be accompanying me as well.”
Rosa wrapped her arms around his leg and howled in disappointment.
“No! Don’t leave me!”
Detaching himself from Rosa’s grasp as best he could, he knelt beside her and pulled her close until their foreheads were touching.
“I will return in a few days, my darling,” he said softly. “Until then you will have both Helen and Louise to keep you safe and sound.” His amber-green eyes found Clara’s. “I know you will be well taken care of.”
Clara’s chest grew warm as she watched him soothe Rosa’s fears with his soft words and gentle embrace. There was something undeniably attractive about a strong and powerful man making the effort to comfort a small child.
He kissed the girl gently on the forehead before standing once more. “We leave for the village within the hour. There is some business to attend to there before we can continue south.”
Clara rose from her chair. “I had not heard of this trip from Mrs. Malone. Is she aware of your departure? Should the staff prepare to send you off?”
Ashworth shook his head vehemently. “I require no ceremony when I leave my own estate, and Lord Evanston deserves none,” he stated, with a hint of a smile. “As for Mrs. Malone, I informed her of my plans earlier this morning, while you were out.”
The door suddenly flew open to reveal Louise, dirty cap in hand and skirts covered in leaves. Her ill-tempered scowl dissolved into deference the moment she saw the earl, and she performed a clumsy curtsy.
“Begging your pardon, my lord—”
“It appears you are late,” the earl interrupted crisply. “I’d like you to get Rosa set to rights straightaway.”
Another hurried curtsy. “Yes, my lord.”
Louise guided Rosa out of the nursery and, hopefully, into a fresh change of dress. And in that moment, Clara came to the startling realization that she and Lord Ashworth were now in the room, facing each other, alone. Her earlier lightheadedness returned as he subjected her to a leisurely visual perusal, a small smile playing about his lips. She couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the rumpled state of her morning gown, and as if to humiliate her further, a leaf fluttered down to the carpet from the tangles of hair that had come loose from her cap.
“Excuse me, my lord,” she mumbled, clasping one hand to her head and ducking down to retrieve the errant piece of foliage. Her fingers had only just grazed the leaf when his fingers skimmed hers in his own attempt to help. A jolt of physical awareness shook her, and she glanced up in surprise to find the earl’s devastatingly handsome face very close to her own, with him having lowered into a crouch beside her. There was no sign of the amusement that had been on his face before. Now he gazed at her eyes, her hair, her mouth . . . his expression inscrutable, but absolutely intrigued.
The roar of her heartbeat was deafening.
She shot back up to her feet. Ashworth’s response to the unexpected closeness was more subtle, with him slowly curling his fingers around the greenery before rising to a stand himself. Casually, he extended it out to her.
“Perhaps you need a change of dress, as well.”
The words themselves were entirely innocent. But the way his eyes lingered on her body suggested something else entirely.
She tried to remind herself that this kind of attention, however flattering, would only set her apart from the other servants. She was not Clara Mayfield any longer, and this was not a drawing room in London. It was absolutely not permissible for her to engage with the earl on any sort of meaningful level. Even if he found her attractive, and even if he might be willing to distract himself from his troubles with her company.
Clara attempted to smile in his direction before reaching forward to pluck the leaf from his fingers. She was careful not to touch him or meet his eyes.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He simply nodded in her direction before striding past her and disappearing down the hallway. But not before Clara caught him stealing a lightning-quick glance back in her direction.
Clara had quickly tidied up herself and donned an apron in preparation for her afternoon duties. She rushed to enter the servants’ hall and, not being especially careful, smacked right into Matthew. He stepped back and laughed, a pair of the earl’s shoes in one hand and a polishing rag in the other.
“Ha! What was I telling you, Charles? The ladies just love me!” he called over his shoulder to the other footman.
Charles approached them, a pair of bright silver candlesticks in his hands. “How am I supposed to compete with that kind of power?” he asked, forlorn. “Women literally throw themselves at you.” Shaking his head in a show of theatrical sorrow, he then straightened up and looked at Clara hopefully. “Maybe if I stand here long enough, a woman might collide with me?”
Clara laughed, and was about to make a sarcastic retort, when Amelia shouldered roughly past her.
“The only part of a woman about to collide with you is my fist, Charles,” she said grumpily. Then she rounded on Matthew, who backed up against the wall, with hands—and the earl’s shoes—raised in surrender.
“And you!” she began.
But before she could get any further, he smiled at her, his dark blue eyes twinkling. “Have I mentioned how lovely you are when you want to tear my head off?” he asked.
Instantly, Amelia’s posture deflated. She actually smiled for a fraction of a second, before her eyebrows lowered again. She whirled around on Clara.
“What are you looking at? Why don’t you quit causing trouble?” she muttered as she shoved past her the way she came, pausing briefly to straighten a painting on the wall before making her exit.
Matthew lowered his hands and gazed after Amelia with something akin to fear. “It’s too bad she’s such a beast sometimes.” He ambled slowly down the hallway, shaking his head.
He may have found Amelia intimidating, but that certainly hadn’t kept Matthew from watching the swing of her hips as she’d left. Clara was curious if Amelia had any idea how Matthew felt about her, then realized she’d grown tired of wondering after Abigail’s sister with such frequency. Particularly since Amelia couldn’t seem to care less. Furrowing her brow in annoyance, she edged closer to the picture frame, and using two fingertips, pushed it out of its recently corrected alignment. Surveying the crooked painting with a satisfied smile, she bent down to pick up her bucket and brush and went up the stairs.
Her day progressed slowly, as it usually did without Rosa to distract her. She realized that any time spent with the little girl was a luxury typically not afforded to servants, and she felt grateful for the occasional break in her routine. This afternoon was spent busily scrubbing the foyer, sweeping the carpets, and dusting the furniture and light fixtures.
When she was finished, she could already feel a pronounced stiffness in her lower back, and knew pain would follow in the morning, as it had every morning since her arrival. She stood and arched backwards, kneading the muscles with her fingers to loosen them. The daylight had weakened, and Mrs. Malone would be expecting the rooms to be lighted soon, so she gathered her tools to bring them downstairs.
Soon she was preparing for the impending dusk, balancing precariously on the edge of a step stool, lengthening her body to light the wall sconces. The task was made difficult by her modest height, as even a step stool could not always provide the distance required to comfortably perform her chores. Even though the Earl of Ashworth and Lord Evanston were not in attendance tonight, Mrs. Malone insisted on lighting the public spaces, should an unexpected visitor come to call.
She had just lit the last candle, and was stepping down to survey the room, when she heard the sound of panicked footfalls growing louder as they came nearer to the drawing room. At last, the door flew open and Louise stood before her in frazzled disarray, her breathing loud and labored.
“She’s gone missing!” she cried in distress.
“Who?” asked Clara. Her eyes widened. “Rosa?”
“Yes. I’ve checked the house. It’s all I’ve been doing for an hour!”
Clara’s blood turned to ice water in her veins. “An hour? And you’re just now asking for help finding her? After an hour?!”
Louise’s eyes shifted guiltily. “Well I’d hoped to find her on my own, before involving others . . .”
“I see,” said Clara coldly. The inept nursemaid had wished to avoid attracting attention, and had likely only succeeded in making the situation much worse. “And how did you lose her in the first place?” she asked.
Louise actually stamped her foot, the sound echoing loudly through the room around them. Clara was sure she had not seen that particular show of temper displayed by a grown woman since . . . well, ever.
“Will you help me find her or not?” she demanded. “I don’t need to be questioned, I just need help!”
Clara, too, was more eager to find Rosa than determine the particulars of the situation. Questions could come later. “Yes, certainly I’ll help. You take the top two floors of the house. I’ll take the ground floor and belowstairs.” She paused. “Unless you have reason to believe she went outside?”
“No, no, I’m sure she’s found some spot beneath a table and is having great fun laughing at my expense,” Louise muttered as she stalked out the door. Clara didn’t know how she could be so sure that the girl hadn’t escaped the house. Rosa was so young, after all, and prone to exploring and finding adventure. She decided to patrol along the exits first before conducting the rest of her indoor search.
Beginning at the far end of the house and working towards the other, she thoroughly scanned the French doors in the ballroom and the music room. All appeared to be untouched. She entered the breakfast room and examined the doors there. They, too, were shut tightly, but as she turned to go check the library, her eyes happened to glance through the glass panes to the patio outside.
The last vestige of daylight shone, feebly illuminating a spot on the pathway. Clara approached the door, released the latch at the top, and twisted the knob to exit the house and venture into the twilight outside. Scanning the stone patio, she walked towards the spot and her eyes stopped on something dark and red. Blood? She knelt down and traced a fingertip through the sticky residue. No, not blood.
Jam.
She stood and her eyes traveled along the patio, finding bits of tart and jam along the way. Quickly, she followed the messy trail past the garden and in the direction of the field beyond the estate, where she paused.
The girl must have left by the service door. Clara faced the forest in growing horror, as the first huge raindrops splashed the ground nearby.