A Duke in the Night(87)

“No.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “No hints? A convent, then. Holloway’s concubines and their offspring?”

Rose looked over at her, a strange expression on her face. “No. You don’t really think—”

“Well, of course not, Rose. But I’m out of ideas.”

“This place is…” Rose looked as if she was searching for the right words.

“This place is what?”

“Is Anne’s birthday present.”

Clara blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“This place—it’s called Brookside, and the Duke of Holloway plans to give it to Anne for her nineteenth birthday in a fortnight. The buildings, the land, and the responsibility of managing it.”

“And what is it, exactly?” Clara asked quietly, a strange sensation starting to rise through her chest.

“It’s a home. For families whose fathers or husbands are in debtors’ prison. It’s a safe place for women and children to live until their…circumstances change.”

The world suddenly seemed to have become muffled, as if it had faded around her sister and her words. Clara’s throat thickened, and the backs of her eyes burned.

“The duke built it five years ago,” Rose said quietly and deliberately. “The children have chores, and they are expected to work in the garden and the chicken coops and the goat sheds, but they learn reading and arithmetic here too. The women who live here are responsible for the upkeep. Those who do not work in the house work out back.”

“Out back?” Clara managed.

Rose gestured to the large building at the rear. “They weave. Holloway imports raw product from India, and it’s processed and woven here into book muslins, checked, striped, and sprigged muslins. He can, of course, sell those faster than he can have them made, and at a very competitive price and for a very tidy profit. He’s also invested in and purchased some new loom technology that he believes will change the way cloth is produced, and the women and girls here are quick learners. He told me that foresight will only benefit his bottom line in ten years’ time.” Rose said it wryly, and Clara could almost hear the words coming from August himself. They would be defensive, as though he had to justify his actions.

“Oh.” Clara was searching for words that would express what she was feeling right now. Admiration was too weak. Approval too inadequate.

“It’s not a charity,” Rose continued. “No one lives here for free. They work, and they work hard, and if anyone refuses to do their fair share, they are asked to leave. Everyone has a purpose here. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Love. Love was what she felt. What she’d always feel. Love for a perfectly imperfect man who had never apologized for who he was, ruthless ambition and all. Love for a man who had done something truly special. Who had taken it upon himself to make a tiny corner of the world a better place. She had told him once that she wanted to change the world just a little bit at a time. August Faulkner had already done that.

“How do you know all of this?” Clara asked numbly.

“He brought me out here yesterday. Asked if I would consider teaching art lessons here once a week. For the children, and maybe for any of the women who wanted to try.” Rose was watching her. “He asked if I thought you might agree to teach here as well. Perhaps a few evenings a week. Arithmetic, reading, writing. He said you already know a student here.”

“What?”

“A boy named Jonas? And his mother? They moved here from Dover at his urging. He said the boy didn’t make a very good hotelier.”

Clara pressed a hand to her lips, realizing that it was shaking. “He never told me about this place.”

Rose cocked her head. “Would it have made a difference in how you felt about him?”

Clara shook her head, the truth inescapable. “No. I loved him already for who he was.”

Rose smiled slightly. “I know.”

“This just makes me want to cry.”

“I’m all out of aprons, so pace yourself.”

Clara laughed and hiccupped at the same time.

“This will make Anne so happy,” Rose said, as both women watched the children on the rope swing shriek with laughter.

“Yes.”

“What about you?” Rose asked.

“What about me?”

“I want to see you happy, Clara. You deserve it.”

Clara looked down at her hands. “I love him. I’ve probably loved him since the first day I ever saw him. Which sounds absurd, I know. But I don’t know where to go from here.”

Rose leaned against Clara, linking an arm through hers. “I doubt he does either. You’re both in uncharted territory, and I’m afraid I’m the last person who can offer you any guidance.”

“You seem to be doing well so far,” Clara sniffed.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s never promised me anything.”

Rose gave her a long look. “And what have you promised him?”

Clara looked sightlessly out at the sheets swaying on the line. “Nothing.” And there it was. Neither one of them had dared to take a leap of faith. Neither one had dared risk everything. Instead they had both retreated to what they knew. Loyalty to their families. Determination to handle whatever needed to be done. Alone.