Mrs. Calder appeared beside her.
“Miss Langley?”
Clara turned.
“Keep everyone inside.”
“What about the duke?”
Clara looked toward the river.
“I don't know.”
A cart approached at speed.
Julian stood beside the driver.
He jumped down before the horse stopped.
“Clara!”
She hurried toward him.
“The lower bank has collapsed,” he said. “We must open the old relief channel.”
“Through my meadow?”
“Yes.”
“Will it save the cottages?”
“I believe so.”
She looked at his face.
He was exhausted, rain running down his cheeks.
“And the orchard?”
“It may be ruined.”
“My mother's orchard?”
Julian hesitated.
“Yes.”
For a heartbeat, Clara thought of the apple trees her mother had planted.
She remembered walking between them as a child, gathering fallen fruit in September sunlight.
She remembered her mother's laughter.
The orchard was a living memory.
Then she looked toward the schoolhouse.
Inside, Mrs. Beale's daughters were huddled beneath blankets.
She thought of the other families.
Their homes.
Their lives.
She turned back to Julian.
“Open it.”
He searched her face.
“Clara—”
“You have my permission.”
“The damage may be considerable.”
“Trees can be replanted.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“Children cannot.”
Julian caught her hand.
For one brief moment, he pressed it between his own.
Then he turned toward the driver.
“Back to the sluice.”
Clara followed.
Julian looked over his shoulder.
“You must remain here.”
“No.”
“It is dangerous.”
“So is allowing you to manage the entire river without assistance.”
“Clara—”
“I know the meadow. You do not.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Very well. Stay close.”
Together, they climbed into the cart.
The old sluice stood behind a thicket of willow trees.
It had once regulated the flow between the river and a broad drainage channel crossing the meadow.
Now its iron fittings were rusted, and thick wooden boards had been nailed across the opening.
Mr. Grady stood beside it with six laborers.
The men were already working to remove the boards.
Julian jumped down.
“How long?”
“Too long, Your Grace.”
The old man pointed.
“The lower bolts are seized.”
Julian stripped off his coat.
Clara seized his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You are the duke.”
He looked at her.