had been so long since she’d heard the title. “That I can never be again,” she said, wishing it were otherwise.
Peering at the folded gowns beneath her, Clara could not resist reaching inside to touch the fabric of the deep maroon one on top. Velvet.
“Well, Lady Alfred just won’t do.”
She pulled her hand away, laughing at the notion.
“Susanna,” she said.
According to her father, it had been her mother’s idea to name her after St. Clare of Assisi. Every year on the twelfth of August, she and her father had shared a special meal to honor St. Clare’s feast day. St. Clare had actually died on the eleventh day of August, only that day had already been declared for Saint Susanna.
Sara watched her, waiting.
“Lady Susanna,” she said. She ignored Sara’s smile, which looked more sad than triumphant.
“’Twould be an honor to wear your gown and—”
“Not mine,” she said, closing the lid. “Emma’s. This is Geoffrey’s sister’s bedchamber, and she is almost exactly the same size as you.”
Clara couldn’t help but be bolstered by Sara’s building excitement.
“You’re sure she will not mind? And, of course, I will move now that she is returning.”
Sara linked arms with her and guided her back to the table.
“She will be delighted. And will never consent to see you moved. Though I’ll need to tell her, of course, if that is acceptable to you.”
So many people knowing her secret. But how could she say no?
“As long as you’re sure—”
“Sit,” Sara demanded, immediately taking over. “Break your fast, and pardon my departure. I’ve much to prepare.”
Sara began to mutter to herself on her way out the door. “Will speak to Cook, and just a few musicians. . .”
Sara closed the door behind her.
Gowns? Musicians? What had she just gotten herself into?
17
C
lara stood next to Sara’s lady’s maid, Faye, just around the corner from Kenshire’s great hall. Though the kind woman had been extremely helpful, it worried her that yet another person knew her secret. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d made the right decision.
“Will ye come down to greet Lady Emma, or are we to stand here instead?” Faye asked.
“Stand here,” she ventured, though the look on the maid’s face told her that was not the correct answer.
“Lady Susanna,” she said in the same motherly tone she’d used all afternoon. “You’ve nothin’ to be afraid of. You can trust my lady with your life.”
That, Clara worried, was exactly what she was doing.
“Come.” Faye walked ahead of her, and Clara allowed herself to be escorted to the hall dressed in one of Emma’s simple day gowns.
Even though Clara had been raised a noblewoman and had frequented plenty of such halls, this one was special.
Spectacularly appointed with a ceiling that seemed to never end and more tapestries than she’d ever seen in one place, Kenshire’s hall had to be the most elegant one in all of England. She spotted Sara with a stunning woman by her side. Could this be Emma?
“There you are! Are you quite all right, Susanna?”
The black-haired beauty walked briskly toward her, grabbed both of her hands as if they were long-time acquaintances, and stared at her with a pair of piercing, light blue eyes. Clara didn’t know what to say.
“’Twas the ride, was it not? I remember the first time I travelled any distance on horseback. I was exhausted as well.”
So she was to play the weary companion to this raven-haired woman? Clara looked from Lady Emma to the other expectant faces. A small crowd had gathered, and Clara fought back the temptation to run back to her bedchamber.
Except, it was not hers. It belonged to the woman who was holding her hands and awaiting an answer.
“I’m feeling much better,” she managed.
Emma’s broad smile was rivaled only by Sara’s.
“Wonderful,” the countess said, clasping her hands together. “Faye, can you please advise Cook we will take a late dinner? I’ve much to discuss with these two.”
The handmaiden nodded, though not as deeply as one would expect. The familiarity between the countess of Kenshire and her servants was another unique aspect of her household. Picking up her gown from both sides, Sara nodded to a corridor. Clara assumed they would speak there, in relative privacy, but Sara kept walking, the twists and turns convincing Clara that she would never be able to make it back on her own. After a time, they climbed a set of stairs and emerged outside. The gate in front of them was locked, but Sara pulled out a key.
“The sea