Page 7 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

The anguish and desolation he saw in her blue eyes ripped through him, so did her soft whisper, “Morley wasn’t the only one who lost his life that day.”

He sat back, stunned, and he knew—dear God, heknew… She blamed him. “Clara…”

“Disaster averted,” Anthony announced as he strode into the room and slapped his hands together as if he’d just done manual labor. “I’ve saved England…or at least our luggage. Seems the grooms didn’t know—”

He halted as Michael climbed to his feet and moved away from Clara. Michael fussed with the plates on the tea tray, pretending to be interested in selecting one of the biscuits, but he knew Anthony could feel the tension that hung over the room.

“Didn’t know which bags to bring inside and which to leave with the carriage,” Anthony finished, passing his gaze between Michael and Clara and wisely not asking what had happened in his absence. “But your housekeeper met me at the front door and said our rooms are ready, so I had the footmen bring in the whole lot. I hope that’s not an inconvenience for the household.”

“Not at all,” Michael answered. Outside the window, the snow had begun to form high drifts across the lawn. “In fact, I think you’ll most likely—”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Clara interrupted, “I’d like to be shown to my room now.”

Anthony passed another silent glance between the two of them, but this time, a much more knowing look tightened his features.

“Of course.” Michael forced a hospitable smile. “Mrs. Hansen is most likely waiting in the stair hall to show you upstairs. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.” She locked her eyes with his. “But I won’t need anything.”

Then she reached for the cane Mrs. Bailey had left beside her. With great effort, she pulled herself to her feet and held out her hand toward Anthony.

He sent Michael a solemn glance before going to her side, taking her arm, and helping her to slowly and stiffly walk from the room. She held her head high with all the dignity she could muster, each step pulsing fresh guilt into Michael’s chest.

Yet once she and Anthony had reached the entrance hall and thought they were out of view, Anthony swept her into his arms to carry her the rest of the way upstairs. Clara buried her face vulnerably against her brother’s shoulder.

Michael turned to stare out the window, unable to blame the sudden stinging in his eyes on the bright snow.

CHAPTER THREE

“This is your room, my lady.” Mrs. Hansen, the housekeeper, smiled brightly as she opened the door of the guestroom and stepped back to allow Anthony to pass, still carrying Clara in his arms. The room was bright, decorated in welcoming shades of pale yellows and lots of floral fabrics. “Yours is across the hall, your lordship.”

Behind them, as always, scurried Mrs. Bailey, who breathlessly caught up to them after being dismissed earlier by Michael.

“Thank you,” Anthony said for both of them as he carried Clara to a wing-backed chair in the corner near the window and carefully set her down. “They’re very nice rooms.”

Clara fought back a grimace. What her brother meant was that the room wasn’t stuffed with pieces of furniture she would have to maneuver around with her stiff leg and that the bed was the right height for her to crawl into.

She’d already suffered through a week of grand beds that were outrageously high off the floor—surely meant to dazzle guests but which had only made bedtime extremely difficult for her. One or two had even been so high as to require stepping stools for guests to climb into them. But she had her pride and had stubbornly refused to call on Anthony or Mrs. Bailey for help, even though it had meant flopping onto the beds on her stomach, then crawling onto the mattress to swing her leg up after.

Anthony straightened to his full height. “Mrs. Bailey, would you please see that the luggage is properly sorted?”

“Yes, my lord.” With a bobbed curtsey, she hurried into the hall and out of sight.

Mrs. Bailey loved to make herself useful, and Clara was certain the woman had been in her glory for the entire trip because Clara had required all kinds of additional help she normally didn’t need at home. It was why she’d been hired after all.

But all the additional fussing grated.

Anthony turned his charms onto the housekeeper. “And Mrs. Hansen, would you please arrange for a hot bath to be brought up? I’m certain Lady Clara would enjoy one after today’s travel.”

“Of course.” The woman seemed genuinely pleasant and completely unflustered by Clara’s inability to walk more than a few steps on her own. “Several bottles of bath oils were left behind after His Grace’s aunt visited last autumn. I’ll make certain those are sent up as well, my lady, in case you want to scent your bathwater.”

“Thank you.” Clara was touched by the woman’s thoughtfulness. Mostly, though, she simply appreciated the way the woman didn’t stare at her leg or look upon her with pity, the way all the other housekeepers had done during their trip.

The woman nodded and turned to leave.

Clara called out, “I’d also like dinner brought to my room on a tray, please.”

She ignored Anthony’s puzzled expression at her breach of manners. Not joining their host in the dining room tonight would be rude of her, but she couldn’t bear to spend any more time in Michael’s company. Seeing him again this afternoon had been difficult enough. Having to make any more polite conversation would simply undo her.