Chapter Nineteen
Clara lounged in the library of Coylton Castle, her stockinged feet propped on an overstuffed ottoman set before the fire.
Her slippers had long been discarded on the floor and the warmth creeping into her soles from the hearth was soothing.
A book was upside down and open atop her stomach, which had grown to what she viewed as enormous proportions since her arrival.
Her feet hurt, her ankles and fingers had swollen, she wasn’t sleeping well, and she was constantly hungry, but she was somehow more comfortable than she’d felt throughout the pregnancy.
It had taken a long way for her to reach that point.
December came and went. January held Scotland firmly in its hold, turning the outside world wild and gray.
Inside the castle walls, however, Clara experienced nothing but unconditional love.
Though Amelia, Dori, and Archie did their best to cheer her and sweet little Owen was proving to be an endless source of comfort, there were some voids they were unable to fill.
Pearce’s absence at Christmas and his lack of even so much as a letter to her told her she was well and truly alone in her marriage and her pregnancy.
It seemed to her that, whatever his demons, Pearce was unable to conquer them.
Even for her. She could sympathize to a degree because she knew the weight of his losses, but it wounded her that he couldn’t be the least bit supportive.
As her pregnancy progressed, she recognized that she could become overwhelmed by her fear and her grief if she allowed it, but Clara knew she was far too strong to allow that.
Rather than waste any more of her tears on what could never be, she decided to pick herself up and move on with her life. She occupied herself with her nephews and learning what she could about motherhood from Amelia.
“So much will come naturally, but I will be here for you for everything else,” Amelia reassured her as she helped settle Owen in Clara’s arms.
“I will need all the help available,” Clara murmured, caressing the child’s petal-soft cheek with a gentle fingertip.
“You’ve always been lovely with Archie.”
“But he is so self-sufficient!” Clara had protested. “And babies, well…look at him. He’s so helpless.”
“They are more resilient than you might think. And so are you.”
Clara had wished she could feel a tenth of the self-confidence she witnessed in Amelia’s eyes.
She hoped she could live up to those expectations, but she supposed there really was no choice in the matter.
It was no longer about caring only for herself, and it was time for her to make decisions with that in mind.
There was a deep, rumbling sigh just before a large canine head rested atop Clara’s leg, snapping her from her musings.
Bonnie, Amelia’s wire-haired deerhound, had taken up the post as Clara’s new protector since Amelia had given birth and had become one of her closest companions, moving from one expectant mother to the next.
Clara would have liked to think they’d formed a bond over all the table scraps she snuck the dog, but really, it was because Bonnie was as lazy as her brother, Wallace, was ridiculously energetic.
She’d realized Clara was now the most sedentary person in the castle and, as such, was the best companion for a cuddle.
As she idly stroked one of the dog’s ears and savored the glow of the fire, there were the sounds of servants being roused.
She tilted her head to listen, but it was difficult to hear anything happening in the courtyard from the library.
The household had been anticipating Dori’s return any day now, barring any more inclement weather, and she hoped that the bustle was heralding his arrival.
Clara hadn’t been told of her brother’s departure for England until after the fact, nor had she been expressly told of his mission, though it did not take a great feat of genius for her to sort it out.
She’d spent the past few weeks witnessing firsthand how in love Dorian was with his family and, when he watched her sit alone, it was slowly driving him to madness.
She’d caught his pitying stares so often that she had taken to carrying around a pocketful of chess pieces to lob at him whenever she noticed.
She knew Dori at least partially blamed himself for her predicament—for marrying her off in an arrangement which had left her heartbroken, pregnant, and alone—but she wished he wouldn’t.
In fact, she had begged him countless times not to.
The last thing she wished was for him to bear the burden of such a thing or to live with it on his conscience, especially not when he had so many wonderful things to live for.
With some effort, Clara sat up and slid her feet back into her slippers.
She cursed when her book slid off her stomach to the floor.
Picking things up was quickly becoming a most loathsome chore.
She was eyeing the book lying supine on the rug when she heard the door to the library open behind her.
Bonnie lifted her head and eyed the newcomer.
“What fortuitous timing. Would you mind handing me my book, please? I’d rather not bend over and risk being unable to get back up. I feel rather like an unfortunate turtle. Then, you can tell me all about your travels.” She adjusted her seat with a sigh as the babe kicked one of her ribs.
Boots crossed the room in several long strides.
A golden head bent before her.
A very familiar hand held out the book to her.
Clara’s heart stopped when she met a pair of silver eyes.
Pearce still wore his black greatcoat, and his hair and shoulders were covered in small snow crystals which had begun to melt rapidly in the room’s warmth.
She whispered his name and his lips tilted in a smile that was equal parts heartbroken and relieved.
He gently set her book on the unoccupied sofa cushion when she was too frozen with shock to accept it, and he remained on his knees before her, beautiful and glittering with snow, like an angelic apparition.
“What are you doing here?” she finally croaked out.
His eyes lingered first on her face, and then her distended stomach which was no longer masked by the fabric of her skirts.
She placed protective hands there as the child kicked once more.
The fanciful side of her wanted to believe he knew his father was near, but then Pearce hadn’t been there for her at all these past months—not through her bouts of illness or when she began to prepare for the babe’s arrival.
His tortured eyes met hers and she felt an unwelcome wave of longing and sympathy.
He had dark bruises beneath his eyes and his face seemed leaner, more angular than the last time she’d seen him.
It appeared these past months had not been treating him kindly, either.
His grim silver gaze spoke more of a man haunted by ghosts—both past and present—than one who had escaped marriage and fatherhood for the pleasures of London.
Oddly, it gave her a small glimmer of a hope she had not felt in months.
Clara clasped her hands together to keep from reaching for him and she schooled her features to remain impassive.
“Clara,” Pearce groaned and lifted his hand as if to touch her but stopped.
“I—I am so sorry. Words can never convey the depth of my regret, nor can they ever make reparations for my absence. It was cruel of me. It’s a poor excuse, but I can say only that I allowed my fears to gain the upper hand.
” He pleaded with her with his eyes, gazing up at her from the ground as if he were throwing himself upon her mercy.
“All I could think of was losing you and I—I would die if that happened, Clara.” She clenched her hands as his voice cracked with emotion.
She still did not move as he continued. “When you told me you were pregnant, I should have been thrilled…but I heard only your screams in my head, felt your cold skin beneath my fingers. I cared deeply for Anna and I loved my daughter, but your loss would be the end. I stupidly thought placing space between us would spare you the same fate they endured; I did not want the Brinley curse to touch you. It was as if my greatest fear was being realized in quarter time. My past made me lose sight of joy and I hate that I allowed it to win. Please. I hope you are eventually able to forgive me. I’ve seen the error of my ways.
I know now that together we are stronger than when we are apart, I know you deserve a boundless well of love and support.
I cannot stand to be without you. I am begging you to allow me back into your life.
I will do whatever it takes. I need to be here for you…
and for our child.” He looked down at her stomach again, this time with longing instead of fear.
Clara watched him closely and, though she fought it, this vision of a truly repentant, remorseful man broke her heart.
However, she could not forget the anger and pain of the past. She would not throw her arms wide and absolve him of his sins—she would not be herself if she made it easy for him.
Hearing him confess that he’d left as a convoluted way of protecting her, though, made an odd sort of sense.
He hadn’t wanted to believe in the Brinley curse, but it had touched him too many times for him to discredit it.
What if, in his shock and grief, this had been his way to try to put an end to all of it—to keep her safe?
There was something noble there, even if it was misguided.
“If you ever abandon me again, Pearce, I swear it will be the last time you see me,” she said hoarsely, barely holding back her tears.
“What you did was terrible and pretty promises will not make up for the time we’ve lost.”
“I know—”
“But I am willing to try to move forward.”
His eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected such forgiveness.