"I mean, Miss Whitfield, that you're right. You will pay me back. With labor."
"I'm not going to be your mistress."
"Good Heavens, woman, I'm scarred, not desperate." The insult stung more than she cared to admit. "Look at this place. Take a long look."
For the first time, Clara properly observed the library. Dust covered every surface. Books were stacked haphazardly. The windows were grimy. It looked like a mausoleum for literature.
"The whole house is in this condition?” Gabriel continued. "I dismissed the staff, as I could not bear their incessant stares nor their whispers, even though this all needs immediate attention.”
“I strongly suggest you make additions to your staff.”
“Patience, you say? I was nearly driven to madness by the last housekeeper, merely for humming while she went about her duties.
No, that simply will not do. What I truly require is a servant who already understands my intolerable disposition. Someone who will not give in their notice at the first word of my unpardonable temper.
Someone whose circumstances are too dire to permit their departure.
“Your Grace, Your testimonial is so charming.”
"I'm not trying to flatter you. I merely wish to make my suit of you, just as you are making your claim upon my roof for shelter. At least, in this manner, we are entirely candid in our dealings.”
Clara Took a moment to ponder over his proposal, even though it was humiliating, but it was also practical, and she was considered above all things now, a practical woman.
“And what precisely are the conditions of this arrangement?”
"Room, board, and a small wage. In exchange, you'll clean, organise, and generally make this place livable. You'll do it quietly, without complaint, and without trying to fix me or befriend me or whatever sentimental nonsense you might be considering."
"How long?"
"Until spring. When the roads clear and positions open up elsewhere. I'll even give you a reference, claim you worked for some fictional cousin. Respectable enough to get you hired somewhere far from here."
“And should I refuse?”
"Then you leave today, as you said. I'll have Edmund drive you to the village inn. You can explain to them how you'll pay with no money and no belongings except a ruined dress and stolen boots."
He had her cornered and they both knew it. However, Clara held one last advantage to use.”
"The gardens," she said.
"What about them?"
"They're part of the estate, aren't they? Part of what needs tending?"
“The gardens are utterly withered."
"Our rose isn't."
He went very still. "That's not…"
"Those are my terms," Clara interrupted. "I'll clean your dusty mausoleum, I'll organize your life, and I’ll tolerate your moods. But I will also tend the gardens. Or I leave now and take my chances at the inn."
“I assure you, your present circumstances do not permit you to dictate terms.”
"Neither are you. You are in need of assistance, whether you admit it or not. And despite your beastly behaviour, you would never actually allow me to freeze to death. Your conscience, whatever's left of it, won't allow it."
“You are wagering your very existence.”
"I'm wagering my life on the boy who once spent three hours helping me bandage a bird's broken wing."
