AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Clara only looked up at her.
Interpreting it as enough of an invitation, the housekeeper settled next to her. “I have been in service here for almost fifty years now, my lady,” Mrs. Watts said, her voice threaded with age.
Clara looked sideways at her, suspecting that some sort of wisdom was to be dispensed, welcome or not.
All week long, her melancholy was too great to appreciate her and Molly’s attempts to distract or cheer her. Even now, she felt but the barest stirring of thanks.
“I can’t still my tongue for another moment watching you despond, Lady Clara.”
Clara had nothing to say to this.
“I was your mother’s maid for many years. Did you know that?”
Clara shook her head. Mrs. Watts had been housekeeper as long as she could remember.
“I knew your mother well.”
“She was fond of you,” Clara said softly.
“And I of her, my lady. I don’t know if she had a chance to tell you; I fear I may be breaking a confidence, but one I must. Your mother lost babes of her own.”
Clara turned to Mrs. Watts, animated for the first time in days. “She did?”
“Before Master David. I beg your pardon, Lord Anterleigh. And after him, before you. And two more times after you.”
Clara’s mouth parted. She hadn’t any idea. She closed her eyes for a moment of sorrow for her mother’s pain. Four times—four timesher mother went throughthis?
“I didn’t know. She never said. Perhaps she thought to tell me later, before I married.”
“Each and every time, she grieved. Your father, too. Theirs was not a love match from the beginning, but it became the grandest one these eyes ever saw. It wasn’t so much that your parents never had a row; more that they always came back together afterwards.” She smiled. “In the early days, she thought she’d have averylarge family. We all did.”
“I always wondered why there were only two of us,” she admitted.
“Not for lack of trying, that be for sure,” Mrs. Watts said with a light cackle. She sobered. “The gazebo by the stream—your mother’s.”
Clara frowned, easily calling to mind the mysterious octagonal structure. She’d always understood that it to be a private place, one only her parents visited. Clara had never been tempted even to play near it, for it held sadness.
“Yes?” prompted Clara.
“The hydrangeas there—each planted in honor of a babe. That was your parents’ way of honoring the child.”
Clara gasped, covering her mouth.
“If you choose to do the same, I’ll direct the gardener to have a new planting ready.”
Overwhelmed by sadness, Clara couldn’t answer for a long time. “I’ll let you know.” Staring out at the roses, she shook her head. “Oh, Mama and Papa! I didn’t know.”
Mrs. Watts nodded. “Remember that you and your brother kept them busy enough. There was enough love to fill that hall.” She indicated behind them.
Clara’s eyes closed to prevent the tears from escaping. “Oh, Mrs. Watts, I’m afraid I’m different from my mother.” Crying in earnest despite the attempt not to, she explained, “What if that child was my only chance at motherhood?”
Eyes softening with understanding, Mrs. Watts took the liberty of pulling her lady’s head down to her own stooped, bony shoulder. “No wonder, then, that you’ve taken to such low spirits. You’ll have your own household one day, with your own husband and your own children.”
“If only it were so simple,” Clara mumbled into her shoulder.
“Since you already know what it takes to place the bun in the oven, you know itisrather simple, my lady.”
Clara found herself laughing for the first time since her loss, though sheepishly. She raised her head.
