“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 4 

In the carriage, no one spoke until Ravenshire House disappeared behind them. Then Bennett struck the portfolio against his knee. “You humiliated me.”

Clara watched the dark London streets beyond the glass. “I disagreed with you in front of a duke. Would the Miller family be less homeless if I disagreed privately?”

Catherine shifted opposite her. “Clara, please.”

Their father’s head snapped toward her. “You will not speak to Ravenshire about estate matters again.”

Clara turned from the window. “Then don’t lie about me in front of him again.”

The carriage fell silent. Lydia’s eyes widened.

Bennett leaned forward. “You imagine his attention gives you importance?”

“No.” Clara’s voice stayed quiet. “That may be why it unsettles you.”

His face darkened, but the carriage stopped before Bennett House before he could answer.

The next morning brought the consequence Clara expected. Her father locked the estate room. Mr. Hayes was instructed to bring all correspondence directly to him. Clara discovered this when her key failed in the door. She stood in the corridor, turning the useless brass key between her fingers.

“My lady.” Mr. Hayes approached cautiously. He had served the family for thirty years and looked miserable. “I was told not to admit you.”

“I assumed as much.”

He lowered his voice. “There is another difficulty.” From inside his coat, he produced a folded sheet. “The accounts for last night’s reception.”

Clara opened it. Her father had promised payment to two suppliers using funds that would not arrive for six weeks. Worse, one creditor intended to call that afternoon.

“Does he know?”

“He signed the order.” Mr. Hayes grimaced. “And the guest list for tomorrow’s dinner. Lord Fenton and Sir Henry have both accepted.”

Clara almost laughed. The two men had threatened each other over a boundary dispute less than a month earlier. “Move Sir Henry to Thursday and tell him the Duke’s agricultural committee requested Lord Fenton’s presence tomorrow.”

“Did it?”

“It will once I write to the secretary.”

Mr. Hayes hesitated at the door. “My lady — his lordship told Mrs. Farrow this morning that he had personally resolved the Miller matter overnight. He said the same of the reception accounts before he even knew there was a difficulty with them.” He said it carefully, as though testing whether Clara already knew, and whether it would wound her to hear it spoken aloud. “It is not the first time. I have kept a private note, over the years, of what is truly settled and by whom. I thought — someday, my lady, it might matter that someone had.”

Clara looked at him for a long moment. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes. I think it may matter sooner than either of us expected.”

By four o’clock, the creditor had accepted a revised payment schedule after Clara found an overlooked receivable in the accounts. By five, Sir Henry had graciously agreed to dine Thursday.

A third difficulty arrived before supper. A tenant from the eastern farm sent word that his roof had failed in the afternoon rain, and that Lord Bennett’s steward had refused to authorize repairs without his lordship’s signature — which could not be obtained, since Bennett had left for his club an hour earlier and would not return before morning. Mr. Hayes brought the message to Clara’s door, though he was careful to knock softly and glance twice down the corridor before he did.

“The family will be sleeping under a wet roof tonight if no one signs,” he said. “I cannot authorize it myself, my lady. I have not the standing.”

Clara had no standing either — not on paper. But she wrote a note in her own hand instructing the estate carpenter to proceed at her personal expense, sealed it, and sent it by the stable boy before Mr. Hayes could finish objecting that it was irregular. “It is irregular,” she agreed, “and it is raining.”

By six, her father was home again and telling Catherine, over sherry, that he had personally prevented two embarrassing misunderstandings and seen to a tenant’s roof besides — generosity, he called it, the sort a landlord owed his people. Clara heard him from the hallway and kept walking. Mr. Hayes, passing with a tray, met her eyes only briefly. Neither of them said anything. There was, by now, very little left to say about it.

The following afternoon, a black carriage bearing the Ravenshire crest stopped outside Bennett House. William entered while Clara was arranging correspondence in the morning room. Bennett hurried in behind the butler, suddenly all hospitality.

“Your Grace — what an unexpected honor.”

“Is it?” William removed his gloves. “I sent word this morning.”

Bennett’s smile flickered. “Naturally. Catherine will be delighted.”

“I have not come to see Lady Catherine.” William looked past him to Clara. “Lady Clara.”

She rose. “Your Grace.”

“I received a peculiar note from my committee secretary.”

Clara’s fingers paused over the papers. “Did you?”

“Apparently, I urgently required Lord Fenton at dinner last night.” The faintest amusement entered his eyes.

Clara cleared her throat. “Was he useful?”

“Immensely. He complained about drainage for forty minutes and accidentally solved a problem in Northumberland.” William stepped closer. “I also heard a Bennett creditor postponed collection yesterday. And, oddly, that Lord Bennett resolved both matters himself before breakfast.”

Bennett went still. Clara said, “London carries news quickly.”

“Only when one asks the correct people. I asked three yesterday. Each told me a different name had solved the same problem.” His gaze rested on her. “Only one name appeared in all three accounts.”

Bennett moved between them. “Clara has always exaggerated her involvement in household affairs.”

William’s expression changed. Not anger — certainty. “Then perhaps we should test that.”

“Test what?”

William turned to Clara. “Tomorrow I am inspecting three tenant farms on the southern edge of Ravenshire land. One has a drainage problem remarkably similar to the Miller property.” He paused. “I would value your judgment.”

Bennett’s face emptied. “That is impossible.”

William looked at him. “Why?”

“Clara has no experience suitable for advising a duke.”

William’s gaze returned to the woman her father had tried so carefully to erase. “That,” he said quietly, “is precisely what I am beginning to doubt.”