1136 The Housemaid Who Knew the Duchess's Secret—And the Dangerous Bargain That Kept Her Silent

Julian Vance stepped into the tiny room without waiting for an invitation, closing the door quietly behind him. He looked around the spartan space—the single hearth, the bucket of fresh water, the medicine bottles on the shelf—taking in every detail with the practiced eye of a man who missed nothing.

Tommy shifted on his cot, peering sleepily at the stranger. ""Clara? Who's that?""

""Go back to sleep, love,"" Clara said, her voice trembling slightly as she turned her back on her brother and glared at Vance. She motioned him toward the far corner by the window, away from the bed.

""Keep your voice down,"" Clara hissed once they were out of earshot. ""Why are you really here, Mr. Vance? If the Duke wanted to question me, he could have kept me in the library.""

""And risked a scene with his mother and his future bride?"" Vance pulled a small wooden stool toward him and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. ""The Dowager Duchess wants you in prison. Lady Isabella wants you invisible. Wexley is walking a very thin tightrope between family honor and his own stubborn sense of justice. He couldn't keep you in the house after your pocket was found to contain stolen property without inviting a public scandal before the wedding.""

""So he threw me out to the wolves,"" Clara said bitterly.

""He gave you a head start,"" Vance corrected softly. ""He gave you time to get away before his mother could involve the magistrates. But Wexley isn't a man who lets loose ends dangle. He gave me two days to find out what really happened in that hallway.""

Clara crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her elbows. She looked at the man from Wexley House, weighing the risk. For six years, she had lived by the golden rule of service: see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. To speak now was to break every law of her world.

""And if I tell you nothing?"" Clara asked.

""Then I go back and tell His Grace that you are protecting someone—or protecting a secret so dangerous you're willing to ruin your own life for it,"" Vance replied evenly. He leaned forward. ""And Wexley will dig until he finds it himself. Only, when he finds it, he won't be as gentle as I am.""

Clara looked over at Tommy, who had drifted back into a restless sleep. She thought of the note in her valise—the neat, elegant handwriting threatening her brother’s life. If Isabella had enough reach to threaten a child in Southwark while living in Mayfair, what would happen if the Duke started tearing into her past?

No, Clara realized with a cold shiver. If anyone digs into Isabella's secrets, it can't be the Duke. Not yet. Not while Tommy is unprotected.

""You think you know everything, Mr. Vance,"" Clara said quietly, turning back to him. ""You think it's a simple puzzle about a missing brooch.""

""Was it not missing?""

""The brooch was never missing until Lady Isabella pulled it from her own reticule and slipped it into my pocket when she shoved me,"" Clara said, her voice sharp as glass.

Vance didn't look surprised. He simply nodded slowly. ""I suspected as much. Lady Isabella is far too careful to lose a family heirloom by accident. Which brings us to the real question: What were you doing outside her dressing room two nights ago, Clara? What did you see that made her decide you had to be destroyed before she walked down the aisle?""

Clara hesitated. The memory flashed back with terrifying clarity—the crack of the mahogany door, the flicker of candlelight, the unfamiliar man’s voice speaking in low, urgent tones, and the heavy leather pouch of gold coins sliding across the dressing table.

She wasn't just looking at a society bride buying a gown. She was looking at a woman paying off a blackmailer.

""I saw nothing,"" Clara lied, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Vance studied her face for a long, uncomfortable moment. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth—not a kind smile, but the expression of a man who recognized when a witness was holding back.

""You're a terrible liar, Miss Higgins,"" Vance said, standing up and brushing a speck of dust from his tweed coat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather purse, placing it quietly on the windowsill.

Clara stared at it. ""What is this?""

""An advance on your back pay from Wexley House. Plus a little extra for your brother's medicine,"" Vance said. He walked toward the door, stopping with his hand on the latch. He didn't look back, but his voice carried clearly across the small room.

""You think you're protecting your brother by keeping your mouth shut, Clara. But a woman like Lady Isabella doesn't leave loose ends alive once she's finished with them. Think about that before tomorrow morning. Because I'll be back.""

The door clicked shut.

Clara stood alone in the quiet room. Her hand trembled as she reached out and picked up the leather purse. It was heavy with sovereigns. Enough for the apothecary. Enough for rent.