Page 61 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

“I was fine,” Clara corrected. “Putting on a night rail last night just didn’t seem worth the trouble.” Especially when Michael would have stripped it right off her.

The woman seemed uncertain of that explanation, yet muttered, “Well, your dressing robe was nearby, I suppose, in case you needed to cover yourself.”

“Exactly.” Although covering herself hadn’t been at all important last night.

Mrs. Bailey poured hot water from a kettle into the wash basin and added a few drops of lavender oil, just as Clara preferred. But this morning, watching her nurse flutter around the room to prepare her for the day made her feel self-conscious.Helpless.And she wasn’t at all that.

“I’ll wash myself this morning, if you don’t mind.”

Clara’s quiet words stopped Mrs. Bailey in mid-pour. “Pardon?”

“I said I’d like to wash myself. You can help me dress after.” She grasped the sides of the breakfast tray and lifted it off her lap to set it on the edge of the bed. “And please take this away. I’d like to breakfast with the family this morning. Would you please go downstairs and tell Eads to expect me in the breakfast room?”

Mrs. Bailey gaped as if Clara had sprung a second head. “But—but, my lady, you are—”

“More than capable of passing a wet flannel over myself and then being carried downstairs by the footman,” she muttered. Mrs. Bailey’s behavior grated. “Please.” She lifted the tray. “Take this away and hand me my cane, then give me ten minutes alone, will you? And I’d like to wear the blue dress today, the one that matches my eyes.”

“Of course, miss.” Despite being flustered at the disruption of their normal routine, Mrs. Bailey scurried across the room to place the cane against the bed and retrieve the tray. “I’ll just—” She frowned, bewildered, at Clara’s hand on the tray handle. “You’re wearing your ring, the one you usually wear as a necklace.”

Clara snatched back her hand. Good heavens, she’d completely forgotten about the ring!

“It’s nothing. It’s…” She buried her hand beneath the covers as her mind spun to come up with an explanation. “His Grace gave me the most beautiful pendant last night as a Christmas gift.” She lifted the pendant from her chest and held it out for the woman to see as proof she wasn’t lying…too much. “So it didn’t seem right to keep wearing the ring around my neck, too. I didn’t want His Grace to think I didn’t like his gift, so I took the ring off its chain.”

Mrs. Bailey gave a motherly chuckle as she set the tray on top the chest of drawers. “You’ve mixed up your hands.”

“Pardon?”

“You should have put it onto your right hand. A ring on the left means you’re taken, or at least it did in Norfolk where I grew up.”

“My mistake,” Clara murmured yet kept her hand firmly hidden beneath the covers. She couldn’t bring herself to remove the ring, not even to place it on her other hand for Mrs. Bailey’s sake.

Her nurse slowly straightened the room, lingering as long as possible, Clara knew, in case she changed her mind about washing herself. With nothing left to do, Mrs. Bailey cast one last questioning look over her shoulder and slipped out into the hall. She left the breakfast tray behind, obviously because she thought Clara would change her mind, give up this nonsense of readying herself, and decide that she wasn’t strong enough to eat breakfast with the others.

“Well, I’ll show you how wrong you are about that,” she muttered. She flung back the covers and reached for her cane to leverage herself out of bed and onto her feet.

Slowly and carefully, she moved across the room to the little wash basin on its stand, with soap and flannel at the ready. Every step was grueling work, but each one also brought an exhilarating joy at doing this herself that kept her going. So did the fact that she simply couldn’t let herself fall for fear of sprawling in humiliation across the rug and having to be picked up, naked.

She reached the basin, only to realize with sagging disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to balance on one foot and wring out the flannel with one hand. But she wasn’t going to give up. Using the hooked handle of her cane, she snagged the little stool in front of the dressing table beside her and pulled it over to her.

She sat with a triumphant smile.

Never before had the morning felt so wonderful! The warm water ran through her fingers as she wrung out the cloth, then washed herself. She laughed. Perhaps running soapy water across her arms and legs wasn’t as much of a milestone as riding a horse or appearing in public at last night’s services, but she was doing thisherself. No one had cajoled her into doing it, no one had used guilt against her. No, this was her own doing.

And it felt simply marvelous!

“I’m going to do this myself every morning from now on,” she promised as she watched the water run down her arms in rivulets.

She was making a watery mess on the floor, and a twinge of guilt pricked her that her burst of freedom this morning meant more work for the maids. But tomorrow she would be better prepared and not make a mess at all. And the day after that…and the one after that…

She laughed. “After that, I’ll give myself a bath!”

When she finished, she wiped up what stray puddles on the floor she could with her towel and the end of her cane and decided that her mess wasn’t all that bad. After all, Anthony had most likely created bigger puddles on those nights when he’d come home from the clubs foxed to the gills and sunk his entire head into the cold water of his basin to stop his head from pounding.

Pride swelled inside her when she climbed to her feet and very carefully slipped on her robe, then maneuvered the little stool back in front of the dressing table. She sat there and smiled at herself in the mirror. Her mind reeled to think of so many little things like this that she’d been depending upon others to do for her, when she could have been doing them herself—shouldhave been doing herself. She would never be able to climb up or down stairs or walk further than to cross a small room, but there was no reason for her to think herself anywhere near helpless.

Not anymore.

With a laugh, she rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. She might not be helpless, but there was no possible way she’d be able to dress herself with stays and a dress that fastened in the back, even with two perfectly healthy legs. A smart lady always knew when to send for reinforcements.