The Duke’s Guests Laughed as the Maid Fell Into the Lake — She Said, “I’ll Remember Every Face”
Chapter 8
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"The Doyle girl is alive, my lord," he whispered. "And she is in this house."Lord Edmund Vane did not sleep that night. He sat by the fire until the logs turned to gray ash, thinking.In the morning, he went down to breakfast with his warm, fatherly smile in place, as if nothing in the world was wrong. He praised the eggs. He laughed at the Duke's jokes. He kissed his daughter on the cheek. But after breakfast, he took Cordelia by the arm and walked her out into the rose garden, far from listening ears."That maid," he said quietly. "The one from the lake."Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Oh, Papa, not you, too! Thomas has already scolded me like a child. I don't want to hear about the wretched girl ever again.""Then you'd better make sure you never have to." Lord Vane stopped walking and looked at her. His eyes were not warm now. "I want her out of this house quickly, and in a way that means nobody will ever believe a word she says."Cordelia looked at her father in surprise. "Why do you care about a housemaid?""Because your future husband cares about her," Lord Vane said. "Have you not noticed the way he looks at her? A man in his position, a girl like that... people will talk, my dear. And if they talk enough, your wedding may not happen at all."He did not tell her the real reason. Cordelia knew nothing about the night in the stables 15 years ago. Nobody did. Nobody except Silas. And one little girl who had been hiding in the hay.Cordelia's pretty face went hard. "Leave it to me, Papa.""Good girl," said Lord Vane, and patted her hand.On Tuesday, Mrs. Pratt sent Clara to clean the old Duke's study. Nobody had used the room in 15 years. The Dowager Duchess had ordered it closed on the day of her husband's funeral, and it had stayed that way ever since. Once a year, a maid was sent in to dust. This year, Mrs. Pratt had chosen Clara because it was the dirtiest, dustiest job in the house.Clara did not mind. Her heart was beating fast as she unlocked the heavy door. The room was dark and cold. White sheets covered the chairs like ghosts. Dust lay thick on the bookshelves, but the big wooden desk by the window was uncovered, and when Clara pulled open the curtains and the sunlight fell across it, she stopped breathing for a moment.She remembered this desk. She had been seven years old. Her father had sent her up to the house with a message for the Duke about a sick horse. The old Duke had been sitting right here. He was a big, cheerful man with a loud laugh. When he saw the little girl standing shyly in the doorway, he had smiled and waved her over:"You're John's girl, aren't you? Come here, I'll show you a secret."