Page 3 of The Duke’s Impossible Match

“Well, she wouldn’t. She knows how you can behave,” Agatha said in an offhand manner. Clara gripped the arms of her chair tightly, and the core of her body grew tense. She leaned forward, a lock of chestnut hair falling across her face.

“How can I behave?” she said in a biting tone. Agatha cleared her throat and picked up her cup of tea, taking a sip. She bore the same look of disgust as earlier.

“Oh my goodness! Why are they serving me cold tea?” she asked. Clara spread her fingers across her forehead. The day had barely begun, and already she was feeling the blood pounding in her skull.

“Grandmother, please try to remember. Were you visited by anyone yesterday?” she asked, for she did not believe Joanne and Ruth would have created something like this out of thin air. Agatha leaned back and tapped a finger against her chin.

“Do you know Clara? I really don’t recall. I suppose that is one of the difficult things about getting old. There are so many days behind us it sometimes becomes hard to tell one from the other.”

Clara sighed, and tried to hide it. “I shall go and speak to Joanne myself.”

“Yes, and take this to them. Tell them I don’t want any cold tea,” Agatha said, handing Clara the cup and saucer. Clara stared at the beige liquid and didn’t protest. She simply turned out of the room and decided to approach the problem from another angle.

However, before she reached the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. While there were usually people on hand to open the door, St. Margaret’s was not a grand estate, and Clara was unwilling to wait for someone to rush away from another task to do something that was easily accomplished by her.

Clara opened the door to find a well-dressed man standing there, and a chaise at the gates of the house. The man wore a tailored suit and had long, fluffy mutton chops running along his cheeks. He had round spectacles and a pleasant smile.

“May I help you?” Clara asked.

“Yes, I am Mr. Hubert Jameson, the solicitor entrusted with this property. I spoke to Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Stonewood, yesterday. She advised me to come back today in the hope of speaking with Miss Sterling.”

“I am she; what does this regard?”

“Perhaps it would be best if I come inside,” he asked.

Clara stepped away and led him into a quiet room, although she peeked into the front room and saw that the children were playing with their toys. Although they weren’t cleaning as she had asked them, she was at least grateful they were keeping themselves occupied.

Clara spotted Joanne at the end of the hallway, but the maid rushed off before Clara could say anything. She placed the cold cup of tea down onto a small table and smoothed down her dress as they settled.

“I’m sure the maid will be here soon with some refreshment.”

“That won’t be necessary. I shan’t be here for long. I am here to talk about the lease.”

“The lease?”

“Yes, it has expired. Fifty years can go by in the blink of an eye,” Hubert said. Clara stared at him blankly. The words didn’t quite register for her, or at least the enormity of them remained elusive.

“I see. Well then, let us renew it if it needs renewing.”

“I’m afraid it is not that simple, Miss Sterling. You cannot renew the lease. Only the owner of the property can do that.”

“But I run the orphanage.”

“Indeed, but that is not quite the same thing as owning it. The Duke of Clemont must apply to renew the lease, and since it has already expired, he only has one month in which to do so.”

Clara blinked. Darkness encroached upon her vision and nausea began swimming in her stomach.

“And what happens if the lease does not get renewed?” she asked, her voice becoming smaller, the dread consequences nipping at her thoughts like hungry wolves.

“Then St. Margaret’s must close.”

The words fell like a hammer upon her heart. The children… what would happen to the children?

“Why have I not heard anything of this? Why are you only coming to me now?”

“I do apologize that you seemed shocked. I have sent you letters.”

Clara tugged at a lock of hair and looked to the side. “My grandmother handles the letters. She must have misplaced them,” Clara said. Agatha had been asking to take on more responsibility at the orphanage, so Clara had given her a simple task that she didn’t think would be affected by Agatha’s ailing memory.