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Finally, the hour arrived to dress. Her modiste had finished a handful of simple gowns in jewel tones that didn’t require an experienced maid to dress and undress her. Clara even ordered several sheer, evocative night rails, if the garments could be called such.
They were worth their ridiculous cost, even though they scarcely stayed on during the visits.
“The ruby or the sapphire, my lady?”
Clara frowned at the gowns laid out on her bed. “Do you recall which I wore last time?”
“The blue.”
“The red, then, Molly. And my hose with the red rosebuds.”
After she was dressed, Clara felt as though her cheeks matched her gown. Molly worked without her usual humming, her mouth pursed.
The jars and bottles on her dressing table were lined up like soldiers under a brutal commander, flawless and by descending size—the surest sign of her maid’s nerves. Unable to bear the tension any longer, Clara gently claimed the hairbrush from her.
“What’s on your mind, Molly?”
Her brown eyes darted side to side, then dropped.
“You may speak freely,” she encouraged her gently.
Her eyes slowly rose, then fixed on the brush. “We turned a blind eye about Violet House, we did, as Harry’s aunt spent time there,” said Molly, referring to the kitchen boy. “This affair with Mr. Robertson is different, begging your pardon, my lady.”
We turned a blind eye…
Surprise and worry stole the air from Clara’s lungs.
They knew about Violet House?
Her fate with her brother could depended on whether her household shared either of these secrets with his servants. Apparently, while her staff had seen fit to ignore her shocking charitable endeavors, her new behavior didn’t sit well with them. They could betray her.
“Itisdifferent, isn’t it?” Clara tried to say calmly, but failed. Her voice wobbled. “Violet House is for others. Mr. Robertson—that’s for me.”
Silence stretched while Molly rocked back and forth minutely, calming herself. Clara took in a deep breath, reminding herself how uncomfortable it must have been for her maid to speak.
“I thank you and the others for your concern,” said Clara softly. “My visits to Mr. Robertson are but for a time. The household will return to routine before we know it.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, her body revolted, her stomach cold with dread.
Molly’s eyes darted up to her face before skittering away. “Oh?”
“Yes. I shan’t continue for too long—of course not. In fact, shortly after…we return to routine, I shall direct my brother to consider suitors. If it’s the reputation of this household which concerns you, you may rest assured.”
Molly stared down at the carpet.
“To be well-placed with my brother and suitors alike, the earl’s household cannot know of my activities.”
Silence.
Clara swallowed, running the figures through her mind of her upcoming allowance from David, and her commitments to Violet House. If needed, she could ask him to supplement her income—as terrible as that felt, given the cause. “Perhaps you and the other staff should enjoy a…post-Christmas bonus.”
Molly looked up, confused.
“So that you may feel more comfortable with the silence about my activities.”
She shook her head rapidly. “No, my lady. It’s not that, not at all.”
“Whatisit?”
