“Clara,” Harry huffed. Even chastising her, his voice held a particular fondness. “That’s terribly rude.”
“You know what I mean,” she huffed back, waving a hand in his direction as if in dismissal.
They walked into the manor’s front hall arm in arm, and Della gasped. It was as if the home had been abandoned. All of the furnishings had been stripped away, and trunks were stacked on top of one another in the center of the room. The furniture was covered in Holland cloths.
“What happened here?” Della asked, her eyes roaming the space like she’d never seen it before. She certainly hadn’t ever seen it like this.
“You told us to pack,” Clara shrugged. “So we packed.”
“Yes.” Della rolled her eyes, breaking away from Clara to pace the overly empty floor. “I told you to pack, but I did not ask you to take everything that wasn’t attached to the home itself!”
This was absolutely not what she’d imagined when she’d sent Clara and Harry back here ahead of her. She’d simply wanted everyone to have a chance to secure their belongings. She’d never expected them to ransack the entire home.
“Actually,” Clara smirked, “we might have taken some things that were attached, at one point.”
“And what would that be, exactly?”
“That is not your concern.” Clara had the temerity to blush. “And Harry made me promise you’d never know.”
Della nodded solemnly. Her parents would be furious. She thought of all that crying she’d just done. She thought of the woman she’d grown up to be during her time at Westfield Manor. The young girl who arrived here eight years ago would’ve put each and every item back in its rightful place and begged her parents’ forgiveness. That girl would never have left the house to begin with.
The woman Della was now—the Baroness of Kinloss—could not be bothered to care about ornamental vases and silverware. If her mother became apoplectic over her missing tableware, then so be it.
“And how are we to get all of this,” Della gestured around them, “to Kinloss? The journey will be difficult enough, just getting ourselves there safely—”
“Again,” Clara began with a smile, “that is not of your concern. Let me worry about that.”
Della considered that for a moment. She’d followed Clara’s lead thus far in terms of their move to Kinloss, and the world hadn’t crumbled. Even thinking about the complicated logistics of transporting herself, her household, and all of their belongings to Scotland made her head spin. To her, it seemed an impossible task. To Clara, it seemed a challenge, one she appeared eager to undertake.
“I suppose you have everything well in hand.” Della ran her hand over the corner of one trunk, feeling the leather straps that held the metal buckles.
“We were just about to have supper,” Clara said, grabbing her arm once more. “Everyone will be glad to see you.”
Della didn’t know about that. She’d decided to uproot their lives and give them what felt like an unimaginable choice: to leave the country with her, or potentially lose their positions—or their livelihoods depending on the mercurial moods of her parents.
“Miss Della!” Gwendoline arose from her seat at the table, approaching her with significant enthusiasm, but a much gentler hug than Clara had. “How was your trip? London must be so incredible, I cannot even imagine all the adventure you’ve had!”
Della so often thought of Gwendoline as a much younger girl than she’d been at her age only a few years ago. With the unbridled excitement shining in her eyes at the thought of the big city, she truly looked it. She practically bounced on the tips of her toes in front of her.
“It was lovely,” Della lied. She didn’t have the energy to explain the kinds ofadventureshe’d been up to, but she didn’t want to shatter the image of London that Gwendoline held. It wasn’t her place to impart that particular dose of reality.
“Sit down,” Mrs. Goldsmith said, gesturing to Della’s empty seat at the table. “Everyone, sit. I did not cook all of this to sit here watching it go cold.”
Della laughed. She hadn’t missed this place, not the furniture or the wallpaper or even whatever fixtures that Clara had somehow unaffixed. She had missed them, though. She’d missed the sight of each of their faces and the passing of bowls of stew and chunks of bread. She even held a fondness for the way they all seemed to forget their manners and no one cared which fork or spoon anyone else used.
“Clara has told us congratulations are in order,” Mrs. Goldsmith said once everyone had begun eating her delicious roast and gravy. Her smile was so kind. It reminded Della of Alice, and that sent a twinge of regret through her heart. She’d left a letter for her, too, butjust as with Andrew, it no longer felt like nearly enough.
“I don’t know about that.” Della stared at her plate. “It is just a title. It was... a gift. From my late mother. I am grateful for it, but I did nothing to earn it.”
“Oh, please,” Clara scoffed. A bit of potato flew off her fork as she dropped it against her plate. “You did nothing? My goodness.” She shook her head, and Della felt sufficiently chastised, but she had no idea what for. “You fought the people who had taken it from you. You stood up to the people who were profiting off of your estate.”
She’d never seen Clara so angry, and Della felt mired in guilt that it was on her behalf. She looked at each of their faces, some tightened in anger and others in discomfort. She’d brought all of this on all of them, and once again, Della couldn’t help but feel that to know her was a burden in and of itself.
“I must say”—Della set down her own fork and lay her napkin on the table next to her plate—“to all of you, I am truly sorry for all of this. I had no intention of... upending everything for everyone. I’m sure Clara has discussed this with each of you, but you are more than welcome to come to Kinloss with me. I certainly hope that you do, as I would be lost without you.”
She tried to laugh, to inject some humor into an increasingly tense moment. There was nothing for it, though. Each face looked back at her with a shocked expression, as if they hadn’t expected her to speak to them directly about this.
“But if you would like to stay in my parents’ employ, I would not blame you. They are... unpredictable, and I would hate to see any of you suffer because of their ire toward me. If you’d like to seek positions elsewhere, please know you will receive a superb reference from me.” Della heaved in a deep breath. She’d been talking so fast she’d forgotten to take in the adequate air to continue speaking. Or living, almost.
