Page 63 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
And then Lady Katherine was gone in a swish of red, and Claire was left hardening herself against the onslaught of disappointment and crushing weight of a potential circumstance she did not like.
I must know the truth, she thought.
“Lady Florence, I think I shall end our lessons here for the day. You may return to your beloved Shakespeare.”
***
Claire waited, waited, and waited. She waited throughout the afternoon, long into the evening, and as the sky had well-turned inky black, she still waited, but there was no sign of Ernest.
She paced and paced, so much so that she imagined she would wear out the floorboards.
Hours passed, Lady Florence retired for the night, and still, Ernest did not show.
Claire switched between watching from her window, keeping a candle lit so he would know she was waiting for him, and watching the door, hoping he would knock.
And when a knock did sound on her door, Claire jumped to open it, wrenching it open—only not to find Ernest but Winnie, who looked troubled.
“Claire, there is a visitor downstairs for you.”
Claire did not waste any time. Perhaps it was Ernest arranging a secret meeting! Perhaps they were fleeing to London early. She raced past Winnie, who called after her to slow down. Would Lady Florence be down there, waiting?
She had been right.
He did not have affection for Lady Samantha after all.
Ernest wanted her. He wanted—
It was not Ernest who waited for Claire in the basement but an unfamiliar face. She halted sharply, slowing her gait right down to a respectable pace as she beheld the stranger.
“Lady Claire Garner?”
The name dropped through her. Not another Ton member from her past coming to seek her out.
“Yes?” Her voice was shaky as she tried to place the woman’s face.
“You are as beautiful as the day I walked away,” the woman said, causing Claire’s stomach to drop. “You have grown into such a beautiful woman. You have thrived, as I knew youwould, even without me. I am Lady Magdalene Garner, Claire. I am your mother.”
Claire felt the room spinning around her. That was why the colour of her eyes was so familiar—they were her own on a stranger’s face. And her hair… it was the same wheat colour as Claire’s. She was so very much like her mother, and it hurt to know.
But anger came from that hurt as she stormed forward. “Leave. I would like you to leave this house immediately. One person has already seen you, and that is enough.”
“Claire, wait—”
“Oh, I waited long enough,” Claire snapped. “Your six-year-old waited at the window for you for years before giving up, finally. Do not even ask me to wait for you any longer.”
“I only mean please wait to hear me out before you send me away.”
“Why?” She cried. “Why should I hear anything you have to say? Why now when I have made a new life for myself?”
“And I am so proud of you for it.”
“Do not condescend to me.”
“Claire, I have come to reconcile with you!” Magdalene protested. “I was encouraged to seek you out by Lady Katherine of this beautiful home.”
Claire gaped at her. Of course, Lady Katherine was at the centre of yet another ploy to upend Claire’s plans. “I do not wish to reconcile. You are barely a mother to me after you abandoned me. I would like you to leave and never come back. Do not write to me, do not seek me out, and do not ask about me.”
Magdalene lifted her chin, her mouth quivering as if hurt. “I will return, Claire, and that is my promise. I have a right to know my own daughter.”
