Page 5 of The Seaside Homecoming
Claire sat back down at the desk, gingerly slid the drawer open just enough, and pulled forth another sheet of paper. Glancing over her shoulder to assure herself her aunt still slept, Claire dipped her pen in the ink and began another letter.
Dear...
Dear who?
She longed to writeDear Mamma. Oh, how she missed her. Thoughts of her kind, gentle mother brought with them a potpourri of memories—encouraging talks and affectionate embraces—along with dry, brittle husks of regret.
As far as Claire knew, the only one of her family who had ever written to her in Scotland was Emily. Then again, Emily had been gone from home when it had all happened and probably didn’t know what Claire had done. How foolish and stupid she had been.
Even if Claire wrote to Emily with the hope of a future reconciliation, she knew Emily was not the one she needed to persuade. Mamma was. And Mamma had never gone against Papa’s wishes in her life.
Claire thought again of the stern reply to Emily’s letter Aunt Mercer had dictated, telling her not to write again. If Emily had ignored the edict and written again anyway, Claire did not know it. The butler or sometimes the footman swept up the post and delivered it to the mistress of the house without delay.
But yesterday Campbell had said there wereothers.
Claire again peered at the small stack of letters on the right, behind extra ink bottles and quills. If theywereletters from her family, it might be worth the risk. She tentatively slipped her hand inside and, not quite able to grasp them, used her other hand to slide open the drawer an inch farther.
Whiiine.
“Hm?” Aunt Mercer snorted awake. “What are you—?”
“All finished. Ready for you to sign.” Claire surreptitiously slipped the extra piece of paper back inside. No use in wasting it for one word. Aunt Mercer detested waste. As Claire rose, she nudged the drawer closed with her hip.
“Lock it and return the key.” Aunt Mercer held out her hand, and as always, Claire complied.
After that, Claire left the woman to resume her nap, taking the charity letter down to the hall for the butler or footman to post later. Hearing a small squeak of protest nearby, Claire stepped back and looked down the corridor.
There stood the footman, Fergus, standing close to Mary. The young housemaid backed away until the wall stopped her. He propped a hand on the wall over her shoulder, hemming her in on one side. He leaned down as though to kiss her, but Mary turned her face, ducked, and slipped from his grasp.
Neatly done, Claire thought.
“Come on, Mary,” he wheedled. “Ye don’t want me to tell the missus I saw that ginger-haired assistant kissin’ ye.”
Mary hastened away toward the servants’ stairs. The footman turned to follow, but Claire called, “That’s far enough, Fergus.”
Claire said it with all the authority she could muster. In truth, she had little authority in this house, but as lady’s companion and a relative of Agnes Mercer’s, she theoretically ranked a notch above this impertinent footman.
“Ah, Miss Summers.” His eyes glinted to find a new mouse in his tomcat sights. “Jealous, are we? Don’t be a shrew. If yer very sweet to me, I might give ye a look at this letter just come.”
Another letter?
He stepped closer, a sly smile tilting his lips. “I can see yer interested. So perhaps I’ll have two letters’ worth.”
When Claire remained silent he came closer yet, his smile widening. “Thinking about it, are ye?”
Claire inwardly bristled. She may have fallen for a lord, but she was not about to be seduced by a lecherous, spotty-faced footman.
She held her tongue and managed a small smile of her own. His eyes darkened and he stepped close. The man thus distracted, Claire swiped the letter from his grasp and spun away, much as Mary had.
He swore.
A quick glance told her it was only a note from Aunt Mercer’s lawyers. Devious pig.
She handed it back. “You were right; Iwasthinking about something. About whether I should have you dismissed now or wait until after my aunt wakes from her nap.”
The sly smile vanished. “Ye don’t have that kind of power.”
“It’s not my power or lack of it that would hand you the sack. A mere mention to my pious aunt of your lascivious behavior would do it.”
