A Place to Belong (West Meets East Book 2) Page 9

  “Sir, if I might,” Mrs. Musgrave began slowly. “Clara has done wonders for the boy. There is no doubt that he has flourished under her care.”

  “No,” Mr. Croydon snapped. “I won’t have it. I forbid you to go anywhere near the vicarage again. Do you hear me?” He opened his eyes and stared up at Clara. It was painfully obvious that he was still pitifully drunk and probably didn’t know what he was saying, but Clara’s heart felt as though it were caught in a vise all the same.

  “Please, sir,” she pleaded. “I believe that James needs me right now. Arthur needs me right now too.”

  “I forbid it,” Mr. Croydon bellowed. “Absolutely forbid it.”

  “Sir,” Mrs. Musgrave snapped. “You are a fool if you keep Clara from going where she belongs.”

  Clara was so surprised, both by Mrs. Musgrave’s suddenly firm tone and the fact that the woman was coming to her defense at all, that she took a step back, brow flying up.

  “Clara belongs at the vicarage,” Mrs. Musgrave went on. “She’s been miserable since she arrived here. Service is not for her. But the moment she began helping Rev. Fallon care for Violetta’s child, I saw her blossom. You cannot deny the girl the very thing that makes her happy, especially when it makes so many others happy as well. Everyone I’ve spoken to from town agrees that Clara is exactly what Violetta’s baby needs right now. I’m proud of her for stepping up when no one else would.”

  Clara’s jaw dropped. A warm, sweet ache spread through her chest. She never would have dreamed that Mrs. Musgrave would be proud of her. She was certain that Mrs. Musgrave didn’t even like her. The very fact that she hadn’t joined Mr. Croydon in demanding that she stay far away from good people after her past was revealed was incomprehensible.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Mr. Croydon pushed himself to stand, then leaned forward. He braced himself against the table until he grew steady enough to stand. “Nothing matters anymore.” He swallowed a sob. “They deserve better than us. You…you will not go down to the vicarage again. Do you hear me?”

  “But Clara wasn’t involved in the gossip earlier,” Mrs. Musgrave tried to defend her one last time. “She tried to stop it. She—”

  Clara held up a hand to stop her before she could continue. “It’s all right,” she whispered, heart breaking. “Mr. Croydon has every right to say who should or shouldn’t influence his son.”

  She didn’t realize how bold her words were until Mr. Croydon snapped his eyes up to meet hers. But instead of fury, grief, pain, and regret radiated from him. His expression of rage melted into misery, and he let out a sob. “My son.” The words were so choked as to be unrecognizable. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. As soon as he opened them, he pivoted and fled the room with an unstable gait.

  Clara blinked after him. “He hasn’t come to terms with it, has he?”

  “No,” Mrs. Musgrave said with a sigh. “I don’t believe he has.”

  “Will he ever?”

  Mrs. Musgrave shrugged. She rubbed her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. A moment later, she opened them and eyed Clara uneasily. “Is it true? What he said? About….”

  Clara nodded, lowering her head. The only thing she could think to say was, “Women like Violetta and me don’t choose that life, and we’re rarely given a chance to get out. My way out was a thousand times luckier than Violetta’s. But it looks like I’m going to lose that now.”

  “Not if I have anything to do about it.”

  Mrs. Musgrave’s determined statement caused Clara to blink and straighten. “Really?”

  The housekeeper huffed. “Do you think I’m going to add to the gossip poisoning this house? I would never,” she answered her own question. “And I did not say the things I did just now simply to coddle a grieving man.”

  “So, you think that I should continue to help Rev. Fallon take care of James?” Clara could hardly believe that her luck was still holding.

  “Not only do I think you should continue, I also believe that it is what you truly came here to do.” Mrs. Musgrave took a step toward her. “Call it God or call it Fate, your purpose in coming to Winterberry Park has nothing to do with polishing brass or sweeping floors, and everything to do with helping that child.”

  Tears stung at Clara’s eyes at the joy of being recognized for what her heart desired. “Thank you, Mrs. Musgrave.”

  The housekeeper hummed and tried to hide what she must have seen as an inappropriate level of fondness.

  A clatter sounded from the hallway, alerting both of them that the rest of the staff were recovering from the trauma of the evening. Mrs. Musgrave stepped closer to Clara, resting a hand on her arm.

  “If you ask me, it would be wise for you to rush straight back to the vicarage this very moment to warn Rev. Fallon of what has taken place here,” Mrs. Musgrave said. “None of us have much influence over Mr. Croydon, but Rev. Fallon does. You may need his help.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Musgrave.” Clara nodded. She gathered up her skirts—soiled as they were—and rushed out into the hallway and all the way on through the kitchen door. If their futures truly did hang in the balance, then Arthur would know what to do.

  CHAPTER 9

  C lara had never remained at the vicarage or in town past dark, and as she hurried through Winterberry Park’s garden, through the gate, and down the road into town, she was struck by how magical Wiltshire looked in the moonlight. It was a clear night with a full moon that made it look as though the hills and farms were kissed with silver. The fall leaves that swayed in the gentle breeze tickling the treetops glittered, and the road seemed like a ribbon of white light leading her on. It was such a sharp contrast to the chaos and darkness of the Park that Clara was half convinced she’d stepped into part of a fairytale.

  That feeling only intensified as she approached the church and the vicarage beyond it. The moonlight gave both buildings an otherworldly feeling, and the single lit window upstairs at the vicarage made her feel like Cinderella running home after the ball. She may have been wearing a worn and smudged maid’s uniform, but inside she felt as though a fairy godmother had transformed her into something better than she’d ever been before.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs as she knocked on the vicarage’s front door. “Arthur,” she called as she knocked. “It’s me. It’s Clara.”

  Footsteps coming down the stairs sounded from the other side of the door. When the door opened, Clara could barely catch her breath. Not only was Arthur in his shirtsleeves, his shirt buttons were undone, revealing a broad, strong chest. His feet were bare as well. Why the sight of his naked toes excited her so much she had no idea, but flutters of desire stirred up into a storm within her.

  “Clara?” Arthur blinked in surprise. He started to smile, but must have seen evidence of the evening’s turmoil in her face. “What’s wrong?”

  He took her hand and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her. That tiny bit of contact, combined with the reminder that so many things were wrong, caused her emotions to tangle into an impossible knot.

  “There was a scene at Winterberry Park tonight,” she blurted. There was no other way to start the difficult tale. “Mr. Croydon was drunk, very drunk, and on some sort of a rampage.”

  Arthur’s expression darkened, and his brow knit. “What kind of rampage. Are you all right? Is he all right?”

  Clara shook her head and stepped deeper into the room. “He’s so distressed, Arthur. He’s clearly grieving, but he’s also lashing out at anyone and everyone because of it. And he’s acting so strangely about James and about, well, the fact that James is his. Maybe that he exists at all.”

  Arthur rubbed his face and moved to sit on the arm of his sofa. “He’s not the first wealthy man to have a child on the wrong side of the blanket. In fact, I’m reasonably certain he has at least one half-sibling out there, thanks to his father’s long absences on business. Alex truly is a good man at heart, in spite of what you’ve seen so far in your time at Winterberry Park. In fa
ct, I think it’s his intrinsic goodness that is causing him so much grief in this situation.”

  Clara’s brow inched up. In all the time she’d been helping Arthur with James, they hadn’t truly talked about Mr. Croydon and how James came to be. Clara moved to sit on the sofa, and Arthur shifted to sit beside her.

  “I’ll admit, I haven’t seen the best side of Mr. Croydon, but he did agree to hire me, knowing my background. He rescued me from a terrible life.”

  Arthur reached for her hand, sending yet another confusing thrill of desire through her in what should have been a sober moment. “The problem is that Alex was in love with Violetta.”

  “Was he?” Clara settled her gaze on her fingers entwined with Arthur’s, afraid that if she looked in his eyes while he talked about love, she’d do something foolish, like kiss him.

  Arthur nodded, studying their hands as well. “And when I say was in love with her, I mean I’m not so certain that feeling lasted. Their relationship started out as infatuation, but I have every reason to believe that faded as they both grew older, wiser.”

  “Oh?” Clara peeked up at him, but Arthur seemed lost in his thoughts of the past.

  “Violetta was a chorus girl on the London stage. Alex, like every other ambitious young man with political aspirations, spent a lot of time in London. They must have met there at least ten or fifteen years ago. His infatuation with her was why he never married a suitable girl.”

  “Did he ever propose to Violetta?” Clara asked.

  “I don’t know.” Arthur shrugged. “But even if he had, his family never would have allowed the marriage. They may be wealthy, but they need to marry into the aristocracy to gain the standing in society that they’re looking for. Alex is approaching fifty now, and I know the pressure for him to drop Violetta and marry a suitable heiress had been increasing.”

  “But he couldn’t just throw Violetta over like that, even if he didn’t love her like he used to,” Clara finished the thought.

  “Exactly.”

  Arthur looked up and met Clara’s eyes at last. The heartbreak and tenderness in his gaze—especially considering that it was for a friend and not for himself—caused Clara’s heart to leap in her chest. It also sent heat spilling through lower parts of her. She had to force herself to look away again to combat the pulse of need that was growing inside of her.

  Arthur cleared his throat and went on. “That’s exactly the trouble. By the time Alex brought Violetta out here and installed her in Primrose Cottage, I think his passion for her had already begun to wane. But his sense of obligation didn’t. He couldn’t marry her, he couldn’t cut her off, and he couldn’t bring himself to search for a suitable bride while he still felt beholden to her.”

  “And he told you all of this?” Clara frowned.

  “Most of it,” Arthur nodded. “From time to time, when he needed a sympathetic ear. Some of it I’m inferring from having known him and his brother, Edmund, for most of their lives.”

  Clara blinked. “I didn’t know Mr. Croydon had a brother.”

  “A younger brother.” Arthur nodded. “He spends most of his time in London. Edmund hasn’t married yet either, which has taken some of the pressure off of Alex.”

  “Hmm.” Clara bit her lip, trying to put herself in the shoes of wealthy British people who saw marriage as another business transaction and love as a responsibility. She couldn’t do it. “So, if Mr. Croydon and Violetta were lovers for so many years, why did it take so long for James to come along?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” Arthur said, a faint pinkness showing in his cheeks, “but it’s entirely likely that there could have been other babies before James, but one way or another, by natural means or otherwise, Violetta prevented it.”

  Clara wanted to be surprised, but she’d lived the life she had for long enough to know that there were ways of taking care of mistakes, some she agreed with and some she didn’t. She thought of her own, lost baby girl, thought of the options that had been presented to her and the hard decision she’d had to make. “I understand,” she said.

  Arthur glanced sideways at her, a wry smile touching his lips. “I keep forgetting that I can speak to you plainly about these things without shocking you.”

  “It would take quite a lot to shock me in that way now,” she admitted, a lop-sided grin to match his. Of all silly things, their shared understanding on such an inappropriate topic made her heart beat all that much faster.

  “Then you won’t be shocked to hear that when Violetta declared she was going to have James, Alex was furious,” Arthur went on.

  Clara’s eyes went wide. “Why would a man be furious about a baby?”

  “Because James brought everything that Alex didn’t want to face to a head. He didn’t want Violetta anymore, but James meant he would never truly be able to put her behind him. I know it sounds cruel,” he rushed to add, “but there are far more men in this world who would have cast a woman like Violetta out the second the spark died instead of giving her a home, seeing to her every need, and not demanding she get rid of the baby the moment he knew it was coming.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Clara said, her shoulders sagging. “And I do see how Mr. Croydon is, well, it’s not that he’s not at fault, but he was backed into a corner.”

  “I think his grief now is partially because he did still care for Violetta, but also because it must be a relief to have the entire situation resolved.”

  Clara’s understanding deepened, and she squeezed Arthur’s hand, leaning closer to him. “It’s not grief that drove him to drink so much he caused chaos at the house this evening, it’s guilt. He must feel so, so guilty that his life can start over now because Violetta’s has ended.”

  “Precisely.” Arthur let out a breath and shifted to face her. “You are a remarkably perceptive woman, Clara Partridge.”

  Clara felt herself blush. She lowered her eyes, half in modesty and half in sadness as the rest of the evening’s trauma returned to her. “Mr. Croydon was raging at the servants earlier for speaking ill of Violetta,” she said. “He singled me out, called me a hypocrite for gossiping about her, considering what I was.”

  Anger rushed in to replace the sadness in Arthur’s eyes. “He had no right to say anything of the sort. You would never speak ill of Violetta.”

  “I know.” She shifted to face him, but he went on before she could.

  “He didn’t tell the rest of the staff about your past, did he?”

  Clara shook her head. “Only Mrs. Musgrave, but she isn’t going to say a word. But he did order me not to have anything to do with James anymore, or anything to do with you.” It broke her heart to say the words aloud.

  Arthur’s anger before was nothing to the outrage that lit his face at her revelation. “That’s disgraceful,” he said, grabbing her other hand and holding both of them tightly. “Alex has no idea how helpful you’ve been down here. He has no concept of how loving and caring and gentle you are.”

  Even as his words warmed Clara, they cracked her heart further. “Nevertheless, he’s forbidden me to come down here anymore, and since he holds my whole life in his hands as my employer, I’m afraid that I’ll have to do whatever he tells me.” Her voice, her shoulders, and her gaze all dropped as she spoke.

  “I won’t have it,” Arthur said, fiercer than ever. Clara looked up at him, brimming with hope. “You are the best thing that possibly could have happened to Jimmy,” he went on. “And you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

  Whatever distress was left in Clara rushed away, like shadows being chased away by the sunrise. “Do you really mean that?” she asked, barely able to do more than whisper.

  “I absolutely do.” He shifted closer to her, dropping one of her hands so that he could place his hand on her cheek. “I love you, Clara.” Pure joy burst through Clara, but Arthur wasn’t done. “I wasn’t going to come right out and declare it, not just yet. I was going to wait until things were more settled with James. But
now I see that James can’t be settled, I can’t be settled, until you and Alex and the whole rest of the world know exactly how I feel. I love you,” he repeated. “More than I ever thought that I could love anyone. And I want to marry you.”

  Clara’s jaw dropped. Tears of joy stung at her eyes. Never in all the dark, wretched days of her life, had she dreamed she’d hear such beautiful words from such a kind, handsome, good man. She’d never dared to dream of herself as a wife, but now she couldn’t imagine her life in any other place than by Arthur’s side. She belonged at the vicarage, she belonged with him.

  “I love you too, Arthur,” she said, her voice so filled with emotion it was barely more than a squeak. “I never thought I could feel love this pure for anyone. I didn’t think I deserved it.”

  “It is I who don’t deserve you, my darling,” he said, pulling her fully into his arms. She was no dainty flower, and the only way she could get as close to him on the sofa as she wanted was to lift her leg over his, sprawling half across his lap. “But I will work hard every day to be everything you need.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” she said, her emotion bubbling into laughter.

  “And a beautiful, tempting mouth it is too.” His tone shifted to something sensual and exciting, and before she could catch her breath, he pulled her into a kiss.

  It was not the sort of kiss she would have expected from a vicar. His lips parted hers, tasting far more deeply than their brief moment of passion several days before. He devoured, her, sliding his tongue against hers and nibbling at her lips. His intensity battered down her already weak defenses, leaving her feeling as though she were his to shape in any way he pleased.

  He must have sensed not only her willingness, but her enthusiasm. He reached for the hem of her skirt, drawing it up over her leg and running his hand along her thigh. He tugged at her garter, drew her stocking down to her knee, and smoothed his hand up along the flesh of her thigh. Clara gasped as his fingers stretched close to where she wanted to feel his touch the most.