Chapter Four #3
The women donned comfortable cotton morning gowns in complimentary shades of green and blue.
Alongside their maids, they set about the organization and packing of Clara’s things.
There was a trunk for books and another for her painting supplies.
Hats, gloves, shoes, undergarments, her sewing basket, and her favorite gowns followed next.
It was not the first time Clara had packed for travel, but it was the first time she’d done so knowing that she was moving on to a new life.
It was, perhaps, not the most productive of ways for Clara to handle the situation, but she fell silent and morose as she and Amelia moved about their tasks.
She responded to each of Amelia’s patient inquiries with a nod or a shake of her head.
She followed along with the list of tasks that was made.
She agreed to each item and suggestion presented to her, not having the strength to argue anything.
Though it was one of the last things she wished to do, she even agreed to share tea with Lady Swanleigh and Lady Blackwood, the wives of two more of Dori’s closest friends.
It wasn’t that she disliked the women in any way—as a matter of fact, she found them both delightfully outspoken, entertaining, and pleasant to be around—she simply did not feel as if she were fit company to entertain anyone, let alone two women with whom she would be joining a close-knit group of wives whose spouses had known one another for a majority of their lives.
Would they welcome her? Would she be viewed as an equal?
She was much younger than most of them, with the American Lady Blackwood being her nearest peer.
Would she ever be more than Dori’s younger sister and the girl who had been compromised into marriage with Lord Brinley?
She did not know if she could handle a lifetime of feeling unwelcome.
She had many strengths and much self-confidence, but years of that would undoubtedly chip away at her.
Already, she was feeling the effects of Dori’s avoidance of her.
Her brother had kept his distance throughout their preparations and had taken his meals elsewhere rather than sit with them as he usually did.
Clara knew she had disappointed him deeply, and that was perhaps one of the greatest stings of all.
She was used to playing the role of an irksome sibling, the one who knew best how to needle her brother into certain reactions, but this was different.
She felt heavier than she ever had before.
The deaths of her parents had been a tragedy she could have done nothing to prevent; but feeling as if she were losing Dori because of her silly, impulsive actions was painful beyond measure.
To their credit, the ladies were all perfectly pleasant at tea. Not a single censorious look was sent her way; not a single snide comment passed anyone’s lips. As a matter of fact, the women requested very politely that they be allowed to attend the ceremony as a show of support.
“I feel it will go a long way toward spreading the word that the union is accepted,” Lady Swanleigh said as she set aside her cup and saucer. She was a handsome woman with rose-gold hair and a lovely, expressive mouth; Clara could hardly recall a time she hadn’t seen the woman smile.
“Agreed,” chimed in Lady Blackwood. The elegant American had dark hair and eyes, and enviably smooth skin, with a mischievous streak that rivaled Archie’s. “That is, if you wish to have us there, Lady Clara. We do not wish to impose.”
“I sincerely appreciate your support,” Clara responded, her voice slightly rough from disuse that day.
“Then attend, we shall!” Lady Blackwood chirped and selected another piece of shortbread from the tray.
While she was grateful for all their input and earnest eagerness to help in any way they could, Clara felt a weight of exhaustion bearing down on her like a lodestone. As soon as she was able, she made an excuse, ignored Amelia’s questioning glance, and escaped upstairs to the nursery.
Along with their wives, Blackwood and Swanleigh had also brought along a passel of children.
The nursery was normally bursting with activity, but the youngest children were enjoying their afternoon nap; Viscount Hart’s nephew, Dominic, was riding with the men, and Archie was occupied with a book in the corner.
It was tremendously peaceful, and just the sort of warm and welcoming Clara needed.
Archie looked up from the pages he held, and the broadest, most joyful smile bloomed on his freckled face when he saw Clara quietly crossing the room.
She adored the boy—she had from the very first moment she laid eyes upon him—and felt he was the younger brother she’d been missing in her life.
He allowed her to play and be free in a way that Society did not.
He was intelligent beyond his years and intensely proud.
He was also a surprisingly good conversationalist and had become quite adept at card games.
“What are we reading today?” Clara whispered as she spread out her skirts and joined him on the throne of cushions and blankets he’d created in the sun-warmed corner of the nursery.
Tears pricked the backs of Clara’s eyes as Archie launched into a detailed explanation of the tales of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. She would miss the lad terribly, and she dreaded the time that she would have to say goodbye to him almost as much as she did her brother.