“Which Daughter Is Yours?” the Duke Asked — Her Father Introduced Three Girls and Left Clara in the Shadows, Never Dreaming the Duke Would Uncover Why She’d Been Hidden for Fourteen Years… and Choose Her as His Duchess

PART 3 

Clara spent the next hour avoiding him. She found refuge near the open doors of a smaller drawing room where a fire burned low behind a brass grate. The Miller papers arrived folded inside a leather portfolio. She read them standing beside the mantel. The proposed rent increase was worse than she expected. Her father had also promised repairs that had never been completed.

“You hide remarkably well for someone standing beneath a chandelier.”

William’s voice came from behind her. Clara closed the portfolio. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“Then everyone else is unusually talented at overlooking you.”

She met his eyes. “You have noticed.”

“Your father made it difficult not to.” He nodded toward the papers. “The eleven people.”

“Yes.”

“Will they lose their home?”

“If this agreement is signed as written — probably.”

William extended his hand, then stopped. “May I?”

Clara hesitated before giving him the lease. He read quickly. “The western acreage flooded last year.”

Her surprise must have shown. “You know Bennett land?”

“I know drainage reports. Ravenshire borders two of the affected districts.” He handed the document back. “The increase makes little sense.”

“It makes perfect sense if one needs immediate income and does not intend to consider what happens afterward. If the field is properly drained instead — a single new culvert at the boundary ditch, not a full re-cutting — the Millers could recover the western acreage within a season, and the increase would not be needed at all. It would cost less than the repairs my father already promised and never made.”

William looked at her with something sharpening behind his eyes. “You have already costed it.”

“I cost most things. It is a habit that has never once been asked for.”

He studied her a moment longer than the remark required. Clara felt the study land somewhere she was not accustomed to being touched — not admired, not pitied, simply considered, the way a man considers an argument he suspects he cannot easily refute. She was not used to it. She found she did not know where to put her hands.

“Your father—” William began.

Clara said nothing. A log collapsed in the grate with a soft shower of sparks.

William lowered his voice. “Why does Mr. Hayes bring these decisions to you?”

“Because someone has to remember that numbers have people attached to them.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you tonight.”

He accepted that without pressing. The restraint unsettled her more than interrogation would have. It occurred to her, standing there with the fire at her back, that she could not recall the last time a man with real power in a room had asked her a question and then simply waited — without correcting her, without redirecting the conversation toward himself, without needing his own cleverness confirmed. It was, she thought, an oddly disarming kind of attention.

From the ballroom came the first notes of a country dance. “Lady Clara,” he said after a moment, “your father introduced three daughters to me because he wanted me to see them.”

Clara looked toward the doorway. “They are lovely.”

“That was not my point.” His gaze held hers. “He did not merely forget you. He constructed an explanation for your absence before I could question it.”

Her fingers tightened around the portfolio. William noticed. “You know why.”

“I know he dislikes questions.”

“And you?”

“I have learned they can be expensive.”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Bennett appeared at the drawing room door. His face changed when he saw them alone, though the open doors and passing servants made the situation perfectly proper. “Clara. The carriage is being brought around.” His gaze fell to the Miller portfolio. “Give me that.”

Clara held it against her skirt. “The lease should not be signed.”

“You are not the owner.”

William’s head turned slightly. Clara saw something cold enter his expression.

Bennett stepped closer. “You forget yourself.”

“No,” Clara said. “I think I am beginning to remember.”

Her father’s face went still. Then William spoke. “Lord Bennett — before you leave, I have one further question.” Bennett forced a smile. “Of course, Your Grace.” William looked at Clara, then at the papers in her hands. “If Lady Clara has no meaningful place in your household, why does your estate appear unable to function without her?”

“Because Clara enjoys making herself useful.” Lord Bennett’s voice was smooth. “It gives her occupation.”

Clara felt the insult before she allowed herself to understand it. William’s gaze moved from Bennett to the leather portfolio pressed against her skirt. “An occupation generally involves acknowledgement.”

“Your Grace, surely we needn’t discuss household arrangements.”

“We don’t.” William’s voice remained calm. “We are discussing an estate decision affecting eleven people.”

Bennett’s mouth hardened. “It is my estate.”

“Then make your decision.” Clara looked at her father. “Will you postpone the increase until the western drainage is repaired?”

“No.”

“Will you at least inspect the Miller farm?”

“I have already answered you.”

Clara opened the portfolio and removed the unsigned lease. “Then I cannot recommend that Mr. Hayes prepare it for execution.”

Bennett stared at her. “Recommend?” A burst of laughter drifted from the ballroom, strangely bright against the silence in the drawing room. “You have mistaken clerical assistance for authority.” He held out his hand. “The papers.”

Clara gave them to him. She had no legal power to refuse. That truth burned more sharply tonight than it had that morning.

Bennett tucked the lease beneath his arm and bowed to William. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

William’s eyes cooled. “Good evening.”