Eliza’s soft knock came early the following morning on Clara’s bedchamber door.

She pulled his robe tighter around her flimsy chemise. The full-bodied thrill of her night spent with him still lingered, although part of her stubbornly refused to believe her nightmare was ending.

There were moments when she felt undeserving of her current happiness. Clara’s deeds hadn’t simply thrown her own life into chaos, it had affected the lives of everyone around her. The idea of explaining herself caused her chest to tighten with anxiety. How would Eliza receive her upon learning the details of her deceptions? Would the servants she had come to know as friends ever be willing to trust her again, and would they bristle at the notion of serving her? And how would anyone, except Stella perhaps, be able to accept her as the earl’s choice, when up to this point there had been no outward indication of their romance?

She needed to start setting things to rights, which included meeting with her future sister-in-law on honest terms.

Clara opened the door to find Eliza, looking lovely in a lilac day dress, clutching another gown in her arms. Eliza cleared her throat quietly and flashed a nervous smile, her green eyes, just as striking but so unlike her brother’s, moving to focus on the floor.

“Good morning, Helen . . . I mean, er . . .”

Eliza glanced up in helpless mortification, both women standing in silence for a long moment before dissolving into a breathless fit of mutual hilarity.

“I’m so sorry—” gasped Eliza. “I even practiced before I knocked on the door!”

Clara attempted to stifle her laugh and reached forward, touching Eliza’s shoulder to gently draw her inside her chambers. “If it brings you comfort, you should know Lord Ashworth is struggling with the very same thing,” she said, closing the door behind them as her tone sobered. “I have caused such trouble for you all.”

The earl’s sister made a sympathetic noise, draping her extra gown over Clara’s bed, then turning to envelop her in a warm embrace. Clara relaxed against her with a sigh of relief and lowered her cheek to rest on Eliza’s shoulder.

“You have been through a great ordeal.” She pulled back to gaze severely at Clara. “Although you should have come to us sooner for help. My goodness, you even let me prattle on repeatedly about the mysterious Clara Mayfield! Not to mention, I made arrangements for the earl’s ball . . .”

A tide of remorse crashed through her. “Forgive me, Eliza . . .”

“. . . Only to hear from my brother that he has apparently been in love with you for quite some time,” continued the earl’s sister with a remonstrative shake of her head, her shining golden curls bouncing softly with the motion. “I’d wondered if he might have held a preference for someone, especially after the way he had resisted my efforts at matchmaking. But since I couldn’t puzzle out who it could be, I never gave it much thought. Then to find out it was you! I’ll never understand why you both let me go through with it.”

“I suppose he could not publicly own his love for a housemaid any more than I could confess my true identity,” she replied, feeling a current of sadness at the knowledge that she had come so close to losing him. “In my mind, there was no way for us to be together. The only redeeming aspect of staying here would have been living with you and Rosa,” she added with a small smile.

Eliza gazed at Clara. “Well that certainly explains his sudden itch to be rid of you,” she said. “I didn’t understand it at the time, but now it seems obvious that the thought of loving you, yet marrying another, must have been killing him.” The earl’s sister reached up to gently touch the dark bruises that had formed across Clara’s neck before dropping her hand. “Clearly Rutherford was the worst kind of man.” She leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. “My brother would not tell me what he said to break the baron’s claim over you, but I can imagine the only thing that could have. I hope you can forgive him for that.”

Clara blushed all the way up to her hairline and glanced away, tongue-tied.

“I . . . I will admit, I was shocked at first. But the earl had only my best interests in mind. Besides, there is much more to forgive on my side, in my opinion.”

“Miss Mayfield, it is plain to see he had his own best interests in mind as well. I’ve never seen a man so smitten with a woman before. And by now you must know you are forgiven,” added Eliza gravely. “Yes, you lived in this place under an elaborate pretense. But I would wager it wasn’t an easy existence, working in service after coming from privilege, and it only attests to the desperateness of your situation. I’m still just puzzled at how all of this happened right beneath my nose, especially as it seems the only thing confusing Rosa was why her uncle was seeking a wife when he so clearly had feelings for you.”

Clara laughed in spite of herself. “Rosa is very perceptive,” she answered fondly. Her face grew warm with joy at the realization that soon she would be able to call her family. She crossed thoughtfully to the bed to admire the gown Eliza had brought for her to wear, tracing her hands across the lovely rose-colored muslin dress with ivory lace accents on the sleeves and neckline. Her eyes stung, and she lifted them to gaze at the earl’s sister. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t honest with you. Please believe me when I say there were many times I wished we could be confidantes, but my circumstances were dire, and I had already unwittingly placed your family in a hazardous position, as you discovered last night.” She glanced away in regret. “I will never forgive myself for the way it ended, with Rosa witnessing the baron—”

“No,” Eliza said sharply. “You will not feel a bit of guilt for that man’s actions. Rosa will be fine. In fact, she will be even better now that you are to be part of the family.” Eliza moved closer to wrap her arm around Clara’s waist.

Clara stared at Eliza, awestruck. For months she had suffered with the idea of losing the regard of the earl and his family when the truth about her came out. But somehow, they seemed to have grown to love her every bit as much as she loved them. The truth slammed home, and Clara threw her arms around Eliza in a tight hug, grateful beyond words for her friendship.

“Thank you,” she whispered fiercely.

Eliza shook her head. “This house has been joyless these past long years after losing so many loved ones.” She squeezed Clara back. “I must say I am supremely happy to be gaining one for a change.”

Clara’s fingers reached up to touch her elaborate sable coiffure, now thankfully free of the white cap that had covered it for months, then fell down to pause over her trembling lips. She allowed herself a moment to appreciate the drastic change that had occurred.

Lord Ashworth had arranged a leisurely morning for his bride-to-be—an opportunity to remove any lingering vestiges of her time spent here as a servant. This had included a steaming bath scented with rosewater, ample time to brush her thick locks into a gleaming shine, and a chance to change into the dress Eliza had given her. The dark pink fabric provided a flattering contrast between the creamy paleness of her skin and the dark mass of her hair. It was the touch that completed her final transformation from Helen, the housemaid, into the future countess Clara Mayfield.

Almost as if on cue, there was a rap on the bedchamber door. She opened it to find the Earl of Ashworth, who seemed adorably nervous standing there in the hallway.

“My lord,” she said with a shy smile. Stepping to the side, she allowed him to enter the room.

William came forward to close the door behind him, never taking his eyes off of Clara. She found she was many things all at once. Bashful, anxious, excited . . . but most of all, she was enamored with the man standing before her. What would he think of her now, seeing her like this? Her heart racing, she performed a little twirl to set her layered skirts fluttering, and he let out a soft sigh of appreciation.

“You are the woman I longed to see in that ballroom last night.”

Relief washed over her and she felt herself flush in pleasure. “Yes, and it only took four hours to achieve the desired effect!” she joked.

“Obviously it wouldn’t have taken anything at all,” he quipped lightly, coming closer. “It wasn’t as if I fell in love with an heiress who was primped to perfection. I fell in love with my housemaid, much as I tried to deny it.”

She sank eagerly into his arms. “I’m glad you like it, my lord. I was half afraid you might prefer me in my uniform.”

“Oh, I still like you in your uniform,” he said, sliding his hands possessively around her waist. “I liked you in that tattered, old dress you were wearing when you nearly got hit by the carriage, too.”

“Liar,” she laughed.

The earl leaned down, his mouth nearly touching her own. “I am not a liar,” he admonished, the warmth of his breath tickling her lips. “Why do you think I saw the carriage coming from where I was, across the street?”

“You—you were looking at me?” she asked, breathless now. Desperately, she rose up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against him, but he evaded her with a grin.

“That’s putting it politely, Miss Mayfield.”

William lowered his head to kiss her at last, and she was ready for him, for the slick thrust of his tongue against hers, for that seductive burn that flared whenever she was in his arms. He pulled away suddenly, causing her to moan in complaint. He shook his head in regret.

“Removing your dress now would be a shame, after all the effort you took in putting it on,” he teased, even as his eyes turned dark with desire. His fingers caught at her skirts. “Although perhaps we wouldn’t need to remove it completely . . .”

Her pulse jumped at his words, the hungry look on his face making her blush hotly. “No . . . I mean, I can’t,” she replied, shaking her head with a smile. “I need to go downstairs. I need to speak with them.”

He stroked a thumb affectionately over her chin. “I’d offer to help,” he said knowingly, “but you’ve shown that you are more than capable of helping yourself. So, what are you planning to say?”

“They need to know . . . I just want them to know . . .” Her words faltered.

After a lengthy silence, the earl leaned down to meet her eyes reassuringly. “That you’re still one of them?”

Clara smiled brightly at him, then frowned. “Well . . . yes?”

Ashworth drew her against his solid warmth and she closed her eyes, inhaling the intoxicating clean scent of him.

“You came into this house a stranger, and won every last one of them over—even Amelia,” he added with a sound of amusement. “Doing it a second time won’t be nearly as challenging. They know you’re a good person. And despite the many things that will be changing, that particular trait will remain constant.”

Clara melted against him again, burying her face in his shirt and wrapping her arms around his muscular torso. She wished she felt the kind of confidence he clearly did, but she just couldn’t.

With a last, lingering kiss, she left him there in her bedchamber, soon finding herself belowstairs in the servants’ hallway. The sounds of the staff in the dining hall reached her ears, and she felt wistful for a moment. Even if they forgave her, would it be possible for her to remain friends with them, as she had been before? To tease Matthew and laugh with Stella? She hoped so. She did not want to lose this small family she had found.

She glanced down at her skirts, smoothing the pretty pink muslin down nervously with her hands. Hesitantly, she proceeded forward, stopping one more time to calm her nerves before showing herself to the group as they chatted during their meal. The boisterous conversation halted abruptly, and the collection of faces stared at her in surprised anticipation. She was relieved to see that Matthew’s mouth bore the smallest hint of a smile, and Charles tipped his head in her direction. Both men were privy to more of her secrets than the rest of the gathering, and she knew they could be relied upon to keep them. Tess looked a bit flustered, Amelia was smiling encouragingly, but Stella would not meet her eyes, preferring instead to focus on the wooden table before them.

Mrs. Malone glanced up from her tea to find Clara standing awkwardly in the doorway, and replaced her china cup hurriedly in its saucer so she could rise in greeting.

“Hello again, Miss Mayfield,” she said with a smile and a nod before shooting an expectant glance at the rest of her staff, who were clearly frozen in shock. The sound of chair legs hastily scraping across the floor became deafening as the domestic servants shot up from their seats to greet her. The housekeeper gestured at an empty place at the table. “Would you like some tea?”

Clara was both relieved and surprised at the kind offer, and she nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”

The group took their seats and she lowered herself into the nearest chair, with Matthew taking a moment to pour her some hot tea, then push the cup in her direction. It reminded her of the first time she’d met everyone belowstairs, here at this table while sharing a meal, and she realized that—in a way—she was meeting them again for the first time right now. Twisting her fingers around the delicate porcelain handle of her teacup, she pondered how to start. Finally, she sighed and gazed apologetically at everyone.

“I’m so sorry for having deceived you all. If I could convince you of just one thing, it would be that.”

She felt the tension in the room diminish by a palpable amount, while the curiosity in the gazes that surrounded her actually seemed to increase. It gave her the encouragement she required to press on.

“And I want you to know that despite my altered circumstances, I still hope to be counted among your friends.” She fidgeted uneasily with her hands. “At a time when I felt very alone in my life, hidden away from my family and loved ones, your companionship was often the only thing that prevented me from dwelling on that unbearable isolation.” Clara allowed herself some solace in the fact that Stella had now raised her eyes and was looking in her direction. “I thank you for that. Most humbly.

“My real name is Clara Mayfield,” she continued, glancing down the long table at Tess, seated next to Oscar, the stable boy, who appeared even more ill at ease now than he ever had in Helen’s presence, were that possible. “You likely know of my situation from the papers these past few months, and there is very little I can add to that, except to say that I understand this state of affairs could prove awkward. I apologize for that as well.”

“Will you be staying here, at Lawton Park?”

Stella’s question rang through the hush of the dining hall, and the servants’ eyes darted from the housemaid back to Clara in curious expectation. It was a fair question, just not one she had hoped to answer in mixed company, and so soon after the drama of the previous evening. She felt a sheen of sweat break out across her forehead, and her eyes flicked over to Matthew and Charles. Both footmen nodded at her.

“Well,” she began, “although the earl and I will be leaving later today to journey home to my family in Essex, I should return sometime in the future.”

Her cheeks flamed. While she wasn’t comfortable making an announcement of any kind regarding her relationship with Lord Ashworth, they were welcome to draw their own conclusions. Indeed, she doubted anything could stop them, and if appearances were an indication, the outrageous look on Mrs. Humboldt’s face meant she had already started.

Stella smiled knowingly and stared down at the wooden table.

“Why did you run from the baron?” asked Oscar from his position toward the rear of the group.

The table was silent. She was surprised that the apprehensive stable boy had managed to voice a question of his own, and he certainly deserved an answer.

“I ran because I was scared,” she replied, tugging at the lace collar on her dress to reveal the ugly smudge of black bruises left upon on her neck. A collective intake of breath rippled through the servants. “The ball was interrupted last night when he attacked me. It was not the first time, and it would not be the last. That was why I leaped out of an upstairs window to escape on the eve of my wedding. Because the alternative was a lifetime of marriage to a cruel beast of a man, and it was more than I could willingly bear.”

“I hope Lord Ashworth pummeled him,” muttered Oscar with a scowl, and she repressed an affectionate grin.

Tess’s soft voice reached Clara from the far end of the table. “Why did you hide here, as a servant?”

Clara debated how to answer, since the full extent of the truth would implicate Abigail. Amelia would have figured out the extent of her involvement by now, but she was also her sister and would not jeopardize Abigail’s employment. In fact, the way Amelia had started playing with her fork likely betrayed her nervousness. The maid’s eyes darted surreptitiously over to meet Clara’s, and she gave Amelia a tiny nod of reassurance before facing the group once more.

“I thought the baron would never think to look for me belowstairs, and that was actually true. I’m not sure where he thought I was hiding, or whether he thought I’d be foolish enough to attend a ball, but it was only by chance that we met last night in the foyer.”

“I’m glad you’re safe now,” Amelia said with a smile.

She gazed gratefully in Amelia’s direction. Wrestling briefly with what to say next, she finally continued with pleading eyes. “Please . . . I really am not so different from the girl you knew as Helen. I hope we can stay friends.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected any of them to say, and for one terrifying moment, they said nothing. Clara shifted in her chair in the uncomfortable silence.

Then Matthew cleared his throat and took a bite of ham.

“Are you hungry?” he asked while chewing.

And before too long, laughter rang out in the servants’ hall once more.

Clara stared out at the passing hedgerows, grassy fields, and bare trees through the cover of a low-hanging fog that had persisted since morning. Her head lay resting on the earl’s shoulder and she snuggled against his solid warmth, a blissful peace settling in her soul as he murmured a noise of contentment, his arm curling more tightly around her body to draw her closer.

Ashworth’s carriage continued, dauntless, across the muddy roads of the Essex countryside. The journey from Kent had so far been uneventful. Aside from the anxiety she felt at confronting her parents, she was calmer than she had been in months.

Clara couldn’t anticipate her parents’ reaction at seeing her after everything that had passed, so she tried not to think about her reception, and how there was the distinct possibility that things might not go well. They knew she was coming, at least, so they would be prepared in that regard. William had summoned the fastest courier in the village to deliver his notification of Clara’s safety, and their impending arrival at the Mayfields’ estate. They now knew she was safe, and in the company of the Earl of Ashworth. No doubt the baron may have been in communication with her parents as well, although given the earl’s ultimatum to him, that would be risky indeed.

“We should be arriving shortly,” whispered the earl against her hair, thankfully now free of the starched white cap that had plagued her for months. She tipped her face up to meet his and he kissed her slowly, thoroughly. She responded instantly and he laughed low in his throat, pulling back to break the kiss and place some distance between them. “Neither of us will be fit to greet your parents if we continue,” he muttered huskily.

Clara knew he was right and yet she was reluctant to stop. She glanced up at him mischievously.

“I’ll stop, my lord. But I blame you for starting.”

“Fair enough,” he responded with a boyish grin that made her pulse beat a little faster. The smile faded quickly, however, and he regarded her with a serious air, his handsome face turning solemn. “How are you feeling?”

Her gaze dropped to the polished gold buttons on his jacket. “Scared,” she admitted truthfully. “Hopeful.”

Ashworth’s head swayed to the side as the carriage took a sharp turn around the drive, and he leaned in to touch his forehead to hers. “Choose to believe in the best possible outcome, Miss Mayfield, until they leave you no choice but to believe otherwise.”

She nodded, gathering her bravery. “This will not be the worst thing I have had to endure these past months.”

“No,” he affirmed, “it will not.” His gaze held hers as he pressed a final, lingering kiss onto the back of her hand. “In fact, I can promise you it will be the first in long lifetime of wonderful things for you.”

“Not the first, surely,” she said, eyeing him flirtatiously.

His lopsided grin caused her stomach to flutter. “No, not the first, and certainly not the last.”

“I love you, William,” she whispered. “So much.”

His long fingers slid beneath the curve of her jaw, tipping her chin up to face him, as the carriage came to a stop.

“I have loved you from that first moment I saw you, nearly trampled by a carriage in the street,” he said with a soft laugh. “We have suffered much to get here . . . to be with one another. You are so brave already, my little housemaid.” He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. “Come a little farther with me, and let’s start this new life together.”