"A lot can happen in three weeks, miss. Hearts can change, circumstances can shift, miracles can occur."
"This isn't a fairy tale, Mary. This is real life, where housekeepers don't wed dukes and scars don't magically disappear and happy endings are reserved for people who can afford them."
Mary's expression softened. "You're right, of course. But if I may be so bold as to say, I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching, and I've seen the way you look at him when you think he's not aware, and if that's not a fairy tale trying desperately to happen, then I don't know what is."
"It's a tragedy waiting to unfold, which is entirely different from a fairy tale."
"Only if you let it be."
Before Clara could respond, Peter appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. "Miss Whitfield, His Grace requests your immediate presence in his chambers."
"Is something wrong?"
"I believe he's having difficulty with his evening clothes and has threatened to attend the assembly in his nightshirt if someone doesn't assist him immediately."
Clara sighed. "Of course he has. Thank you, Peter. Tell His Grace I'll be there momentarily."
After Peter left, Mary gave Clara a knowing look. "Shall I accompany you? For propriety's sake?"
"That won't be necessary. His Grace's tantrums require privacy to properly manage, and I doubt he's actually in any state of undress. He's probably just being difficult about his cravat."
"His cravat. Of course. That's definitely why he specifically requested you and not his valet."
"He doesn't have a valet."
"He could ask Peter or Edmund to help."
"Peter's too new, and Edmund would probably encourage him to wear something ridiculous just for entertainment value."
"So naturally, his housekeeper is the appropriate person to assist with his evening dress?"
"When his housekeeper is the only person who can manage his moods without running away screaming, yes."
Clara left before Mary could make any more observations, making her way through the house to Gabriel's chambers. She knocked, heard what might have been either "enter" or "go away," and chose to interpret it as the former.
She found Gabriel standing in front of his mirror, fully dressed except for his cravat, which hung loose around his neck. He looked devastatingly handsome in his evening clothes, black coat, silver waistcoat, everything perfectly fitted to his tall frame. The scar, rather than detracting from his appearance, gave him a dangerous edge that made Clara's mouth go dry.
"You bellowed for assistance, Your Grace?"
"I didn't bellow. I made a perfectly reasonable request for aid with this ridiculous piece of fabric that society insists I strangle myself with."
"You've been tying cravats since you were sixteen. You don't need my help with this."
"Perhaps I need your help with other things and the cravat is merely a convenient excuse."
"What other things?"
He turned to face her fully, and the heat in his eyes made her stomach flip. "I need you to tell me how to get through this evening without committing any heinous crimes."
"That's quite dramatic even for you. It's merely a country assembly, not a public execution."
"It might as well be an execution. I have to spend the entire evening pretending to court Miss Ashworth while you're there watching, and I can't touch you, can't dance with you, can't even acknowledge you as anything more than a servant, and the thought of it is already driving me to madness."
Clara stepped closer, reaching up to take the ends of his cravat. "Then we won't go. You'll send your regrets, claim illness, and spend the evening brooding in your library as usual."
"Aunt Agatha will use it as evidence of my continued antisocial behavior and inability to function in society."
"Let her. You've made improvements to the estate, hired staff, and maintained basic functionality for over a week. That should be sufficient."
