Read A Duchess by Midnight for Free Online
Authors: Jillian Eaton
shriek that Gabriella released.
“You are going to pay for this!” she declared, her eyes snapping with fire as she lifted her soaked skirts and backed slowly away. “Just wait until Mother comes home. Henrietta, let’s go!”
Henrietta’s gaze darted from her sister back to Clara. For a moment there was the tiniest hint of admiration in her expression, but it quickly vanished when Gabriella yelled her name yet again.
“Henrietta!” she exclaimed with an impatient stomp of her foot. “Hurry up!”
“That was a very foolish thing to do,” Henrietta whispered before she turned and hurried after her sister. Side by side they marched back across the lawn and slammed the front door behind them with so much force that Clara felt the vibration beneath her feet.
Biting her lip, she knelt down to retrieve the watering can and set it down beside the fallen roses. She had really done it this time. Until this moment she had never given Lady Irene any real reason to despise her. Now that she had she feared what her stepmother would do in retaliation.
Please hurry home, Papa. Please. Please. Please.
“I am very sorry,” she told Mr. Plum. “I hope they do not cut down the rest.”
“Wretched girls,” he muttered under his breath. “Wretched, wretched girls.” And then he picked up the shears Gabriella had dropped and set about trying to repair the damage her thoughtless actions had inflicted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Clara was locked in her room for an entire week.
For a girl who adored the sunshine on her face and the grass beneath her feet as much as Clara did, it was a very harsh punishment indeed. Lady Irene had even taken all of her books and paper and paintbrushes before having a lock installed on the outside of the door, leaving Clara with nothing to do but sit by her window and stare up at the clouds drifting by.
Three times a day food was delivered, but the maid was never allowed to speak to her. Every once in a while Agnes would sneak a chocolate under the door. Clara did not eat the chocolates, but kept them hidden in a basket high on a shelf. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was saving them, although she suspected they would taste all the sweeter once her father returned and Lady Irene and her awful daughters were sent back to London with all haste.
Even though Gabriella and Henrietta were not allowed into Clara’s room that did not stop them from taunting her from outside the door. Sometimes they made up silly rhymes. Clara the Cow was their favorite. Sometimes they drew mean pictures and shoved them beneath her door. And sometimes they did not say anything at all but she knew they were there. She could feel them; a heavy weight in the air that hadn’t been there before.
On the eighth morning of her imprisonment the sound of the lock being undone roused Clara from her sleep and she sat up in bed, blinking dreams out of her eyes as she waited for the door to open and her breakfast to be set down on the floor. But instead of a maid with a tray it was Lady Irene with a vase. A vase filled with bright pink roses.
“Good morning Clara,” she said as she entered the room and set the vase down on the windowsill. Taking care to turn each rose just so, she regarded her stepdaughter with a glittering smile that instantly put Clara on guard. “How are you feeling? I thought some flowers might cheer you up.”
“I feel fine.” In truth Clara felt sad and miserable and angry, but she would rather stay in her room for a hundred more days than admit as much to her wicked stepmother. “A bit tired, perhaps.”
“Tired?” One thin eyebrow crept up towards Lady Irene’s laced cap. “That is rather hard to imagine given you have done nothing but lounge about for an entire week.”
Strawberry blonde curls spilled over Clara’s shoulders as she sat up a little straighter. “Is there something you need of me, Lady Stepmother?”
“Need of you?” Lady Irene echoed. “Why Clara, why
“You are going to pay for this!” she declared, her eyes snapping with fire as she lifted her soaked skirts and backed slowly away. “Just wait until Mother comes home. Henrietta, let’s go!”
Henrietta’s gaze darted from her sister back to Clara. For a moment there was the tiniest hint of admiration in her expression, but it quickly vanished when Gabriella yelled her name yet again.
“Henrietta!” she exclaimed with an impatient stomp of her foot. “Hurry up!”
“That was a very foolish thing to do,” Henrietta whispered before she turned and hurried after her sister. Side by side they marched back across the lawn and slammed the front door behind them with so much force that Clara felt the vibration beneath her feet.
Biting her lip, she knelt down to retrieve the watering can and set it down beside the fallen roses. She had really done it this time. Until this moment she had never given Lady Irene any real reason to despise her. Now that she had she feared what her stepmother would do in retaliation.
Please hurry home, Papa. Please. Please. Please.
“I am very sorry,” she told Mr. Plum. “I hope they do not cut down the rest.”
“Wretched girls,” he muttered under his breath. “Wretched, wretched girls.” And then he picked up the shears Gabriella had dropped and set about trying to repair the damage her thoughtless actions had inflicted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Clara was locked in her room for an entire week.
For a girl who adored the sunshine on her face and the grass beneath her feet as much as Clara did, it was a very harsh punishment indeed. Lady Irene had even taken all of her books and paper and paintbrushes before having a lock installed on the outside of the door, leaving Clara with nothing to do but sit by her window and stare up at the clouds drifting by.
Three times a day food was delivered, but the maid was never allowed to speak to her. Every once in a while Agnes would sneak a chocolate under the door. Clara did not eat the chocolates, but kept them hidden in a basket high on a shelf. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was saving them, although she suspected they would taste all the sweeter once her father returned and Lady Irene and her awful daughters were sent back to London with all haste.
Even though Gabriella and Henrietta were not allowed into Clara’s room that did not stop them from taunting her from outside the door. Sometimes they made up silly rhymes. Clara the Cow was their favorite. Sometimes they drew mean pictures and shoved them beneath her door. And sometimes they did not say anything at all but she knew they were there. She could feel them; a heavy weight in the air that hadn’t been there before.
On the eighth morning of her imprisonment the sound of the lock being undone roused Clara from her sleep and she sat up in bed, blinking dreams out of her eyes as she waited for the door to open and her breakfast to be set down on the floor. But instead of a maid with a tray it was Lady Irene with a vase. A vase filled with bright pink roses.
“Good morning Clara,” she said as she entered the room and set the vase down on the windowsill. Taking care to turn each rose just so, she regarded her stepdaughter with a glittering smile that instantly put Clara on guard. “How are you feeling? I thought some flowers might cheer you up.”
“I feel fine.” In truth Clara felt sad and miserable and angry, but she would rather stay in her room for a hundred more days than admit as much to her wicked stepmother. “A bit tired, perhaps.”
“Tired?” One thin eyebrow crept up towards Lady Irene’s laced cap. “That is rather hard to imagine given you have done nothing but lounge about for an entire week.”
Strawberry blonde curls spilled over Clara’s shoulders as she sat up a little straighter. “Is there something you need of me, Lady Stepmother?”
“Need of you?” Lady Irene echoed. “Why Clara, why