wrested some control, finally lifting her head and taking deep breaths.
Without speaking, he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. She wiped her tear-soaked face.
The handkerchief was still warm from his body.
‘Thank you.’ She took another deep breath and started to return the now soaked handkerchief. She pulled it back, laughing drily. ‘I—I will have it laundered.’
What a silly thing to say. She had no means of getting it laundered. She had no money. No clothes. Nothing.
She, of course, could identify herself. Send word to London of her predicament. To Lord Stonecroft. Who else was there to help her in London? But why would she want to ask for his help when she wanted to escape him? Being his brood mare seemed even worse than drowning.
Lord Brookmore sat back in his chair again, his face averted.
She should tell him she wasn’t Claire Tilson, that she saw Claire washed overboard.
Oh, why had Claire drowned and not her? Claire had independence. She had work for which she earned her own money and she also had the hope of finding a man to love her some day. Claire would have fared so much better than Rebecca, who had nothing to look forward to but a prison of a marriage. Why could fate not have let them trade places in death as easily as they’d worn each other’s clothes?
She stole another glance at Lord Brookmore and her heart quickened.
He thought she was Claire. Perhaps she was the only one who knew she was really Lady Rebecca Pierce, doomed to marry Lord Stonecroft.
She could not die in the watery depths instead of Claire. She’d have been willing to do so. But she could trade places with Claire now. She could live Claire’s life for her.
Escape her own life.
Lord Stonecroft would not mourn her; he’d merely be annoyed that he must search for another brood mare to marry. Her brother would not mourn her. He’d get to keep her dowry. She could not sacrifice her life instead of Claire’s, but she could become Claire.
Guilt pricked at her. She’d be deceiving this very handsome man. What a way to repay his kindness.
He did need a governess, though, did he not? She could be a governess. How hard could that be? It would help him, would it not?
‘I—I had a fever, I think,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember much except—’ Except plunging into churning, cold water and thinking she would die. ‘Except the wreck.’
His eyes fixed on her again. ‘I know nothing more than you were saved and you were ill.’
‘Am I still to be your nieces’ governess?’ Will he accept her as Claire? she meant.
‘If you feel up to the task, yes.’ His voice was stiff and formal and so deep she felt the timbre of it as well as hearing it. ‘If you need a long recuperation—’
‘I am well enough.’ She sat up straighter as if to prove it. ‘I am quite recuperated.’
‘Good.’ He stood. ‘I will send for the maid and some food, if you are hungry.’
She didn’t really know if she was hungry, but the mention of food made her stomach growl. ‘Thank you, sir.’
He nodded. ‘We can travel to Brookmore House as early as tomorrow, if you are able.’
Better to leave soon, although, out of ten other survivors, who was likely to know she was not Claire? Someone must have already identified her as such. ‘I will be ready for travel tomorrow. I am certain.’
He nodded. ‘Very good. Anything you need, Miss Tilson, just ask for it. I will see that it is provided to you.’
She glanced down at herself. She needed everything! Lady Rebecca would not hesitate to enumerate each necessary item, but she could not imagine Claire doing so.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she murmured instead.
‘I will take my leave, then.’ He inclined his head. ‘Miss Tilson.’
‘My lord,’ she responded.
After he walked out the door she threw off the covers and climbed out of bed, suddenly restless. The wood floor was cold beneath her bare feet and her legs were weak. She made her way to the window and looked down upon a village street, its whitewashed buildings glowing in the waning light of early evening. Wagons and carriages rumbled by and villagers hurried here and there as if this day was like any other.
Her days would never be the same, though. A frisson of trepidation rushed up her spine. She was about to become a whole new person.
She rubbed her arms and smelled the faint scent of the sea on her skin. She did not want to smell the sea! She wanted to banish the memory of plunging into the water where so many others died.
There was a rap at the door and a maid entered, carrying a tray. The scent of stew and cheese and ale seemed to affirm her choice of life. A new life.
‘Oh, you are up, miss,’ the maid said. ‘Are you feeling better? The gentleman gave me some coins and said to bring you food and whatever you need.’
Rebecca seated herself at a chair next to a small table. ‘I am much better. I am afraid I was too feverish—what is your name?’
‘I’m Betty, miss.’ The maid put the tray of food on the table. ‘What else might I bring you?’
Dare she ask? She did dare, because she needed to feel renewed. ‘I would love a bath, Betty.’
The maid smiled. ‘A bath you shall have then, miss.’
‘And I will need some clothes.’
* * *
By the next morning, Rebecca was not only clean and well fed, but also clothed.
The maid, Betty, brought her undergarments and a dress. ‘His lordship said to find you clothes and so I did,’ she’d said. ‘The ones you wore before were ruined.’
Claire’s clothes.
Betty helped her into the simple shift, a corset that fit tolerably well and a plain dress, not unlike the one Betty herself wore. The stockings looked newly purchased and the shoes, well-worn half-boots, were only slightly too big. Included in the bundle of clothes had been a new brush and comb, as well as a set of hairpins. Betty helped pull her hair back, as Claire had done.
Rebecca looked at herself in the mirror, but in her reflection she could only see Claire Tilson. Her eyes again filled with tears.
She blinked them away.
‘I’ll tell his lordship you are dressed,’ Betty said, hurriedly making up the bed. The maid left and a moment later Lord Brookmore entered.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Rebecca remembered to curtsy deferentially. This was her employer, after all. His presence made her a bit breathless, but that must be only nerves.
