and the rug that peeked out beyond another corner. Then she scoured the whole room to ensure no wayward embers smoldered, crawling on her hands and knees the entire way. Satisfied there was no more danger, she rolled up the rug and bedspread to take them outside.
Still on her knees, all she could manage was to drop her head. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for not allowing this to become worse. Thank You for keeping Tim and Leo safe.
Only after repeating her prayer several times, in utter gratitude, did Clare look up toward the door.
Tim and Leo were peeking into the room. Their faces were still smeared with dried mud. Filthy and anxious, they looked like they’d fallen out of their favorite Henry Castlemon book, the one where the boys chased a raccoon through a swamp.
“You didn’t need to light the lamp!” she told them harshly.
“I’m sorry. It was cold in here and we’re not allowed to start a fire in the stove.” It was the older brother, Tim, who spoke as he pointed to the small potbellied stove nearby. “Don’t get mad at us. Please?”
Fighting tears, she struggled to stand, but sagged again when she saw the section of her skirt below her apron was smeared with wet ashes from the burned rug. Her only work skirt was ruined. In fact, her entire outfit was soaked and rumpled, save the section protected by her apron. Clare whimpered when she noticed a burn hole at the sleeve of her blouse. She sank down farther.
And looked at the floor. Although the damage was minimal, the black, scorched area would need to be repaired. How did one fix such a large scorch mark? Not to mention how much water had seeped down through the plaster ceiling below.
Helplessness washed through her. How was she supposed to mind her two brothers when they couldn’t even be trusted with the simple task of cleaning themselves up?
Clare dropped her head into her hands and shut her eyes. As she knelt there, she could feel her brothers creep in and sit down on the floor near her.
One boy laid his head along her left side and gripped her arm. The other shifted in front and hugged her knees, dropping his head into her wet lap. Automatically, Clare reached out with her right hand and stroked his hair. The straight, silky strands told her without looking that it was Tim. Leo had the curly hair.
“I miss them,” Tim whispered, knowing she would understand who he was talking about.
“I know. I miss them, too.” When Clare heard one of them sniff, she fought to stop her own tears. She wrapped her left arm around Leo and drew him close.
She’d told Noah that she couldn’t punish these boys. And still she couldn’t. She loved them. She understood them. She missed their mother and father right along with them.
Sitting there until the damp seeped through to her stockings, feeling her hunger gnaw at her stomach and knowing she didn’t have enough food for a decent meal, she finally admitted to herself that one awful detail.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do any of what she’d boasted to Noah a few minutes ago. Not by herself. How had her mother managed a house, battled crippling arthritis and controlled two unruly boys?
Clare swallowed. Father had been there to help, taking time off work. He’d seen the boys off to school, given them strict orders to return home immediately after and had set out chores for them to do, all to help ease his wife’s burden. Clare had been away at college during most of that time, money no doubt spent on her when it should have been saved. When she had returned home last fall, she’d pitched in, even after taking a job as clerk at the Recording Office.
Yet, in the last six weeks since their parents had left, Tim and Leo had grown wilder, and Clare had struggled to keep their family home life stable.
She needed to get up. There was simply too much to do tonight to sit there feeling sorry for herself. Laundry, supper, cleaning up this mess, and the one below in the dining room—it all had to be finished before she could crawl into bed. Before tomorrow.
Before tomorrow, when she would ask Noah if his offer still stood.
With a gasp, she lifted her head. Was she really considering his proposal? When she heard Leo sniff, she bit her bottom lip, and cold, hard reality gripped her. She could no longer keep going the way she had been. They’d either have a house to turn over to the bank or, if Tim and Leo weren’t watched more carefully, no house at all. Either way, they would lose it. No doubt after that, her brothers would be taken from her. She couldn’t afford a solicitor to fight for her family, either.
Moving them aside, Clare rose wearily, cringing at her soiled skirt. Perhaps mindless work would help her form the words she needed to say to Noah Livingstone in the morning.
She should start with an apology.
* * *
Noah was always the first one in the Recording Office, an admirable work ethic. Through the window, Clare could see him poring over some paperwork in his small, glassed-in office.
Normally, she would’ve plastered on a bright smile, for a good attitude was as important as good training. But as she pushed open the door, her heavy heart wasn’t allowing any of that.
Noah looked up from his desk as she walked in. Eyes wary, expression guarded, he said nothing as he watched her. Her heart sank further. Oh, what damage had she inflicted in turning him down? Had it really been that personal?
This morning, she’d been churning possible words around in her head. But seeing Noah now, all thought escaped her. Could she really expect him to gather the pieces of his pride and propose to her again? Did she really want him to?
Tears stung her eyes. Yes, she did. She had two little ruffian brothers, and they were a family, and families shouldn’t be separated. But no man would want to take on the responsibility of parenting those boys, and surely her employer realized that. If she asked Noah to propose again, would he? Was that what she needed?
Yes, unfortunately. He’d only proposed to repair her financial situation and the look of consternation on his face immediately after proved he regretted his impromptu suggestion.
But did she really want to get married? Who would take her career seriously then? Married ladies didn’t work, didn’t aspire to be successful businesswomen. They allowed their husbands to control their lives. She’d seen it with all of her college friends who’d abruptly cut short their education in order to wed.
She remembered seeing the disappointment in their eyes when she asked if they were still pursuing the dreams they’d shared while at college.
No, she couldn’t bear for that to be her.
Noah Livingstone would surely sense the resentment she would no doubt harbor. It was only his nobility that had done the talking yesterday.
Forget it. She would not ruin his life to ease her own financial burden. Miss Worth had said more than once that strength came from discipline.
Clare stiffened, all the while fighting both tears and her indecision. She’d finished her crying. Miss Worth had a valuable saying about women’s tears. They were a weak woman’s weapon. A strong woman used her head.
No, Clare would not cry anymore.
Having listened to Clare quote her mentor on more than one occasion since returning from college, her father had disagreed with most of the woman’s opinions. They were too general, he’d scoffed, though he offered no other explanation, nor practical advice.
At the memory, resentment rose unexpectedly within Clare. She hesitated as she quietly closed the office’s main door. Resentment? At her father? She shouldn’t be feeling that at all. That emotion wasn’t the most important thing right now. She would deal with it later. First, she needed to be sensible, not flopping back and forth like the long ears on Leo’s favorite stuffed toy.
Gathering her courage, she pushed through the small swinging gate at the end of the counter and came to a stop in the threshold leading to Noah’s private office.
She