Sweet Awakening by Marjorie Farrell Page A

I wager.” After she gave Clare’s orders to the butler and the cook, she went looking for the housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke.
    “You will not be seeing the mistress downstairs today, Mrs. Clarke.”
    The housekeeper looked up from her accounting in surprise. “Is my lady not feeling well? Can she be increasing,” she asked expectantly, after a moment.
    “No, no. Her stomach is fine,” said Martha, pulling up a chair opposite. “It is her face.”
    “Her face?”
    “All red and swollen. And her arm all purple with his fingerprints.”
    “Whose fingerprints, Martha? Whatever are you saying?”
    “I seen my ma’s face like that often enough,” responded Martha bitterly. “I can tell when a man has hit a woman.”
    “Lord Rainsborough? Strike Lady Rainsborough? I am sure you are mistaken, Martha.” Mrs. Clarke’s tone had become quite cool. “Why they are absolutely devoted to one another. He has never been anything but loving when I see them together.”
    “Aye, well my stepfather was like that, too. Could charm the birds out of their nests, when he was in the mood to do it. And then in an instant, if my ma did one little thing wrong, like scorch his shirt collar, he was on her.”
    “I am certain you must be wrong. Did Lady Rainsborough say anything to explain her appearance?”
    “Oh, she had a good story. My ma could have written books, she had so many stories, too. My lady said she went down to get a book from the library and ran into the doorjamb. And pigs can fly,” added Martha.
    “Then I am sure that that is what happened, Martha,” replied Mrs. Clarke. “You can hardly compare your mother’s situation with that of the quality,” she said repressively. “And you are not to go spreading this story of yours around, do you hear? Lord Rainsborough is a kind man. Why, I have hardly heard him raise his voice to a servant, much less his wife.”
    Martha got up with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I will keep quiet, Mrs. Clarke. But for my lady’s sake and no one else’s. But mark me, the first time is never the last.”
    Justin had been up early that morning, and Clare did not see him until early afternoon. She had spent the day quietly reading and embroidering and was so enjoying the peace of a day without social obligation that she was almost grateful to her husband for providing the opportunity. She did feel a pang of guilt when Martha brought up Sabrina’s card. “Peters wasn’t sure if you wanted to turn Lady Sabrina away with all the other ladies.”
    “I would welcome her company, Martha. But not today,” said Clare, her hand automatically feeling her cheek, as she had off and on all day to see whether the swelling had gone down at all. “Tell her I am not feeling well.”
    “Yes, my lady.”
    A short time later, Martha was back. “Lord Rainsborough wishes to know if you will see him,” she announced in absolutely neutral tones.
    “Why, of course,” said Clare, laughing nervously. Justin had never asked for permission before this. Theirs had been a delightfully informal marriage, with both feeling quite free to walk in on the other at any time.
    Martha admitted Justin and closed the door behind him. She stood for a minute outside, glaring at the door as though he could feel her through the solid wood. “You had better not touch her again while I am around, my lord,” she muttered, before she moved off.
    Justin looked almost as bad as she did, thought Clare with some genuine amusement. His face was pale, and his eyes a little swollen from the drinking and from his tears of the night before.
    “Good day, my dear,” she said, in tones as close to normal as possible.
    “I am sorry I ran off this morning, Clare. I confess, I couldn’t bear to look at what I’d done to you.”
    “Well, Justin, neither of us is a pretty picture today,” she said lightly. “But we must put this behind us and move on,” she continued more seriously.
    Justin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small