Gabriel sighed, gripping my hand, meeting my gaze with deep blue eyes. “I never like talking about what happened. I want you to know about me. I want you to know me.” He gently took my other hand, clasping it lightly, continuing to watch me intently.
“It explains so much,” I said. “I wondered, when I saw your display for Uncle, why you were not well-known and why people were not clamoring for your work. Then when you agreed to make bookshelves for a poor schoolroom, I became more curious.” I shook my head at the cruel twists of fate.
“Don’t be too upset, Miss Clarissa,” Gabriel replied. “Else we never would have met.”
I nodded my agreement, continuing to smile.
“May I ask you questions, now?” he inquired, tilting his head to one side, watching me with frank interest.
“If you like, though I may not answer them,” I replied, repeating his words back to him.
He gave a bark of laughter before asking, “Why did your family scorn you after Cameron left?” He stared with fierce intensity, looking deeply into my eyes.
I broke eye contact, blushing. “My grandparents are society-type people. Well, the ones on my mother’s side, anyway. They were mortified that I caused such a ‘scandal.’ That was the word they used. It was snidely written up in the papers. Tongue in cheek. My grandparents disliked anything unflattering to be reflected toward them, and that reeked of it.” I paused, and a few tears escaped. I whispered, “My grandpapa even stated that there must be something inherently wrong with me for a man not to show up on his wedding day. That now no one would ever want to marry me as I had been shown to be so undesirable, so unlovable.”
Gabriel pulled me into his arms. “Oh, darling. They call themselves ‘genteel’? They may be rich in the amount of money they have in the bank, but they are poor in spirit.” He continued to cradle me against his chest, murmuring soothing words into my ear.
“I swear I did nothing wrong! I just stood in my room, waiting and waiting. Cameron never came. I never knew why. I still don’t, not really. His pathetic excuses now will never explain his reasons for not coming.” I leaned against Gabriel, sighing into his chest, trying to regain a modicum of control.
Gabriel eased me away from him, smiling at me. “Darling, I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. The man’s an idiot. No one who has the chance to marry you would fail to show up.” He spoke in a fervent yet gentle voice that soothed me.
He cupped my face in his palms, tilting up my face to meet his worried, tender gaze. He softly stroked my cheeks with his thumbs, the light touches a balm. His deep, rich baritone stirred a long-dormant part of me buried inside. A part of me I thought had died after Cameron.
“Why are you so good to me?” I asked with a teary smile.
He studied me for a few moments as though weighing his answer. Finally, he murmured, “Clarissa, I like to think we would be good to each other.”
My eyes widened slightly, unsure if this were a declaration. I found my voice, asking, “Would you mind clarifying what you mean?”
“Clarifying?” He smiled with wry humor. “I’m saying I’d like to court you. Have the chance to know you. Properly.” He watched me, waiting for my response.
“I’d like that,” I said in a strong voice.
“That’s good, Clarissa,” he murmured, leaning toward me.
I closed my eyes in anticipation of his kiss but felt disappointment pour through me like a bucket of ice water when he merely brushed his lips against my cheek.
“I’d hate it if you thought I took any liberties,” he murmured, a teasing note in his voice.
I opened my eyes to meet his amused gaze. After clearing my throat, I said in as firm a voice as possible, “I do not believe you have taken any liberties.”
“I may not have taken any yet, Clarissa,” he whispered, “but I thought it only fair to warn you.”
He leaned in, gently kissing me with his palms framing my face, fingers caressing my cheeks. This kiss seemed to go on and on, and I quickly lost my breath. I gripped his waist to maintain my balance and sense of place in the world, and kissed him back wholeheartedly. Though passion-filled, his kiss and touch remained gentle, almost reverent. None of the grinding, painful kisses from Cameron that I had thought showed his desire for me. I leaned in closer, not wanting this kiss, this embrace, to end.
Gabriel stepped back, breathing heavily. “Forgive me, Clarissa,” he gasped. He held me slightly from him, his hands softly on my shoulders.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mr. McLeod,” I said. I reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling the bristle from his late-afternoon stubble rasp the soft skin of my fingers. He leaned into my touch like a cat, and I smiled with unutterable tenderness.
The distant slam of a door jolted me out of my reverie, and I quickly lowered my hand.
“My name is Gabriel, Clarissa,” he murmured.
I nodded, meeting his gaze. “Gabriel,” I whispered, smiling as I saw his eyes flash with a deep emotion. “Gabriel,” I repeated in a stronger voice. “I must go.”
“Ah, yes, you must,” he agreed. “Send word when I may call?”
“As soon as possible,” I vowed.
He lifted my hand, quickly kissing my knuckles. I gathered my purse and departed, glancing at him over my shoulder. He stood still, watching me leave, intense longing in his eyes.
CHAPTER 26
“PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?” Florence asked as she sailed into my schoolroom. My head jerked up. She cocked her head to one side, studying me inquisitively. “What has you so pensive? You seem a thousand miles away.” She smiled as she walked over to the chalkboard to begin erasing today’s lesson.
“Florence, please don’t become angry with me,” I said. She turned to watch me with a small frown. I sighed, placing my hands at my sides instead of wringing them in my anxiousness. “I have been spending more time with Gabriel McLeod, and I really like him. I just don’t understand why you don’t. What happened between the two of you to cause such animosity?” I asked, speaking in a rush of words.
Florence stopped erasing the chalkboard, watching me with wide eyes. She lowered her arm slowly, setting aside the eraser. Her dress was covered in chalk, and her curly black hair was falling out of its bun to the right side, giving her a lopsided appearance. “It’s not a topic I like to discuss,” she replied.
“Florence, please,” I pleaded. “Help me to understand.”
“What is the worst thing to ever happen to you, Clarissa?” Florence asked in a low, pain-stricken voice. Her eyes were filled with a devastation I had never seen before.
“My mama’s death,” I whispered, unable to speak any louder.
“And yet, when she died, you knew she loved you. She loved you,” Florence said it as though a statement but in a questioning voice.
“Of course.”
“Not everyone is as lucky as you,” Florence said, closing her eyes as though to ward off terrible memories. She held herself horribly still, as if protecting against any further pain.
I again thought of my fragile seashells as I watched her. I approached her slowly, reaching out to touch her arm. “Florence, talk with me. Let me share the burden of this memory,” I said. I pulled on her arm, leading her to my chair. She sat with an ungraceful thud, her skirts crumpling around her. I leaned against my desk, crossed my arms, waited for her to speak.
“Do you remember my story about how my family died?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
“Of course,” I replied. “I can’t imagine such a loss.”
Florence closed her eyes tightly, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes. “That is the story I made up to make myself feel better.”
I gaped at her. “Florence, what happened?”
“I’m poor,” she sniffled, meeting my eyes.
I nodded.
“I have always been poor. But, when I was a little girl, my family was destitute,” she murmured. “My mam had a baby nearly every year, and Pa wasn’t muc
h of a worker. Liked to drink more than work.” Florence stared over my shoulder, a far-off, distant look in her eye.
“When I was seven, we ran out of food. Ran out of money. Ran out of ways to darn our old clothes. They couldn’t be darned again. The holes were too big, the cloth too thin. I’ve never known such hunger. As though my stomach would eat itself from its emptiness,” she said, bitterness lacing her rambling recollection. “Pa talked about his next great job. Talked and talked. But never did anything.” Her eyes lit with anger, and another tear escaped.
I gripped her hand attempting to show my support yet not wanting to interrupt her.
“My mam became desperate.” Florence’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat, continuing in a wobbly tone. “She had five children to feed and another on the way.” Florence wiped away her tears as they began to fall more readily. “She brought me to the Home one day, leaving me there. Just leaving me there. Promising to come visit.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head from side to side, trying to banish the memories and pain.
“The Home?”
“The Home for Little Wanderers. An orphanage for kids like me. Unwanted or orphaned, we were all the same. Alone in this world,” she whispered, opening her pain-filled eyes. “I couldn’t understand what I had done to be banished from my family. I had always helped mam, tried to be good. Why me? Why?” She took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling slowly before continuing to speak carefully. “She promised to come back. To bring me home again. But she never came back. I never saw her again. I never saw any of them again,” Florence said in an undertone. “I lived at the Home until I was old enough to go into service at age twelve.”
“Twelve?” I asked.
“I didn’t have to be very old to do some sort of work,” she replied, sniffing. “I went to live in the attic of old Mrs. Kruger. I cooked and cleaned and washed until my hands were raw. I hated my life. I prayed every day for my mam to come, to take me away. To take me away and tell me it had all been a mistake. But she never did.
“Mrs. Kruger didn’t treat me badly, but I was just so lonely. The house was quiet, so quiet. Mrs. Kruger had no children, her husband was long dead, and she had few visitors. She spent her days reading, writing.
“After about a year, Mrs. Kruger began to read aloud when I cleaned near her. When I began to ask questions, ask her why she believed certain things, she realized I was interested in learning. She hired another maid to help me with the chores and began to teach me,” she said in a choked voice. “She taught me more than I ever learned in any school. I learned later that she considered herself a Brahmin. I knew I would never be more than a maid, but she taught me, gave me confidence. Wanted me. Me.
“I was her maid, and yet she had tremendous faith in me,” Florence stated. “She insisted I go to school. That I become a teacher,” she said. “Mrs. Kruger wanted me to have another way besides service to support myself after she died.”
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“She died four years ago,” Florence whispered. “Right after my world fell apart again.”
“Why tell me the other story about your family?” I asked in a tentative voice, not wanting to sound critical.
“What would you say, Clarissa?” Florence asked. “Would you tell people that your family didn’t want you, so they left you at an orphanage, never to see you again? Would you?” Florence demanded. “Would you admit your mother lied to you?” She waved broadly at the room. “Would you acknowledge you have brothers, sisters, out there that you will never know?” she asked, her voice breaking. She brushed at the tears that continued to fall.
“I can’t begin to imagine what you went through, Florence, so I don’t know what I would have said. Yet, I can’t imagine living a lie. Creating a lie to live by for so long.”
“That’s one of the reasons Gabriel didn’t like me,” Florence choked out. “My inability to feel regret at having created a different past for myself.” She shook her head. “You live a lie long enough, it becomes a sort of truth for you,” Florence said in a raspy voice. “But you don’t know what it does to you to know you aren’t wanted.”
“You are wanted, Florence,” I said. I leaned forward, gripping her hands. “You are wanted here at the school as an excellent teacher. You are a dear friend to me. I can’t tell you how many days I would have been lost without you. Mrs. Kruger obviously wanted you, believed in you. And it’s not common for the rich to worry about their maids.”
Florence sniffed again. “She was eccentric,” she said as a way of agreement. “I know all of that is true, but the people who should have wanted me the most, didn’t. And nothing can take away that pain. Nothing.”
I nodded. “How did you meet Richard?” I asked.
“We should never have met. Yet we did. Mrs. Kruger loved sweets. Always sent one of us out every day to her favorite bakery. One day, her bakery wasn’t open. The sign on the door read Closed for Remodel.” Florence smiled, remembering the long-ago day. “I panicked, not knowing what I’d do. I stood outside the door, staring at it, like a simpleton, as though I couldn’t read the basic note. Richard was behind me, and he leaned over my shoulder, read it aloud and then looked down at me. I can still see the dimple in his cheek, the amusement in his blue eyes. So handsome.”
I blushed, thinking of his brother.
“He had been sent out to buy sweets for his aunt, for an important tea,” she mused. “But he knew another good baker, so he led me there.” She met my eyes, regret, longing, loss reflected in her eyes. “We met. We continued to meet. We fell in love and were to marry.” She paused.
“What happened, Florence?”
“I made a terrible error,” she admitted. “An innocent error. But an error.” A long pause ensued. “I trusted the wrong person.”
I waited for Florence to speak, watching her gather herself, attempting to form the words.
“Richard had told me how much he disliked his aunt, yet I couldn’t imagine her being as horrible as she truly was. As she truly is,” Florence said. “All I could focus on was that he still had family. Brothers. An aunt, uncle, cousins. People who wanted him. People who took him in after his parents’ deaths. I thought that showed love. I hadn’t realized it was her way of controlling them. Of punishing her sister in her own way, even though she was dead.”
I watched Florence, startled by her insight.
“I adored Gabriel. He was the older brother I had always wanted,” she said in a low voice. “He looked out for me, took care of me, teased me and treated me as a McLeod. Made me feel as though I belonged. I had spent over ten years not knowing what that felt like, and suddenly I had people who cared for me and treated me like family. Gabriel defended Richard against his aunt so we could have time together. I think that’s why it hurt so much when he turned on me.”
“Florence, what happened?” I asked, ready to explode with pent-up nervousness and curiosity.
“Mrs. Masterson found out about me. I’m not sure how as Richard and Gabriel were good at keeping secrets. One day their cousin Henry called at Mrs. Kruger’s. Came for tea when no one came for tea. He was tall, handsome and charming. He wanted to meet me. See who had so captured his cousin’s fancy.” Florence looked away. She turned her gaze back toward me. “I was flattered and unprepared to have such attention paid to me. I was going to school by this time, but, at heart, I was a poor simple orphan girl. He knew what to say to make me feel special, to divulge more than I should.
“He had heard inconsistencies in my story, learned about my coming from the Home. He had made inquiries. He continued to call randomly for a few months. I thought him charming, a cultured counterpoint to Richard’s rougher manners. Finally, one day, Henry called for tea with Mrs. Kruger—who by this time had warmed to him—with his mother, Mrs. Masterson. Unbeknownst to me, he somehow knew that Richard and Gabriel were going to arrive in the middle of tea.” She closed her eyes momentarily before opening them, exuding anger. “I had begun to drink tea with Mr
s. Kruger and her guests. Mrs. Kruger believed that, since I was studying to be a teacher, I should begin to learn how to interact in another social realm.
“I remember that day perfectly. I sat at the round table, practicing what it must be like to be a lady serving tea. Imagining in my mind what it would be like to be Richard’s wife. And then, looking up, with the teapot in my hand, in the midst of serving Henry, to see Richard and Gabriel striding through the door.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as though the memory were too much for her to bear.
“Winnie had let them in,” Florence murmured. “Winnie, the other maid. Richard seemed so happy, so confident. He called out a happy ‘hello’ to Mrs. Kruger, moving to kiss her on the cheek. He was so good to her,” Florence whispered. “He and Gabriel were on the verge of moving out, to a new home. He was to start as an apprentice to Old Man Harris. His spirits were high. In a few years, we’d be able to marry,” she continued. “We had everything planned. Then he walked through that doorway, moved to the table, with Gabriel on his heels, to find me serving tea to his cousin and Aunt. His hated cousin and Aunt.
“I hadn’t realized, until that moment, I was being played for a fool. A complete fool,” she said bitterly, shaking her head. “It seemed as though everything was in slow motion, watching Richard realize who it was. Seeing Gabriel turn nearly red with anger. Hearing Henry talk about me as though I weren’t present, talking about my past as though it were common knowledge. My real past. Watching Richard and Gabriel realize I had lied to them. I can still see the sense of betrayal on Richard’s face. Then Henry mentioned all of his lovely recent visits for tea, and I thought Gabriel would do me bodily damage. Richard just stood there, frozen.” Tears flowed from her eyes. “How could I have been such a fool?”
“You didn’t know that would happen, Florence,” I replied. “You have faith in people. And they betrayed you.”
“I lost everything again!” she wailed, rubbing at the tears pouring down her cheeks. “I lost Richard, Gabriel, my dreams for a future. My hopes for a family. I soon lost Mrs. Kruger. All I had was the training to be a teacher. So, I taught. I’ve learned not to dream. It doesn’t hurt when you don’t dream,” Florence whispered, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her face and blow her nose.
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