Chapter 25 #2
She tried to temper her disappointment as she made her way to meet her family—or at least to hide it from their too-keen eyes.
She put on her favorite spencer, the one that made her feel as cheerful as the first blush of spring.
She stopped to coo over a precious, small dog that snuffled happily at her ankles as the elderly man walking it blushed and stammered apologies.
She snatched up every bit of good humor and held it tight to her chest.
And it was all destroyed in an instant when Phoebe, red hair gleaming in the sun, said, “Good day, Clio! Where is your husband?”
Clio clung to the smile on her face with both hands, but there was no point. She could feel the disappointment washing over her like a wave.
As, of course, could Phoebe.
Her expression dropped into something downright menacing.
“I see,” she said darkly.
“He was unfortunately detained,” Clio said, striving for diplomacy. “He is still dealing with a great deal of correspondence pertaining to his inheritance.”
Or so she assumed, since he had refused to show her any of it.
To say that Phoebe looked unimpressed would be like calling the Napoleonic Wars a “wee skirmish.” Clio’s sister by marriage looked downright murderous.
“It’s extremely impolite to do this to you,” she said, eyes narrowed. “And I do not like that he sent you out alone.”
Aaron, who had stood to greet his sister, returned to the scattered cushions for their picnic and began patting his wife’s hand consolingly.
Phoebe was not consoled.
“I have a footman with me,” Clio pointed out, tipping her head toward the man in question, who was waiting a polite distance away.
Phoebe pressed her lips together so tightly that they lost all their color.
“That’s not the same thing,” she said.
“And might I remind you,” Clio said, even though she felt herself on dangerous ground, “that you used to travel all parts of this city—at night—by yourself?”
Now Phoebe looked as annoyed with Clio as she did with Hector.
“As I said,” she replied, her words clipped, “that is not at all the same thing.”
Technically, Clio agreed, but only insofar as she would argue that Phoebe’s actions had been far more dangerous. What Clio was doing wasn’t even improper!
“Phoebe,” Aaron murmured, drawing his wife close. “You’re getting rather upset.”
And now Phoebe was angry with him, too. She snapped her head to the side so she could glare at her husband. Clio watched them, too. Had they swapped personalities, somehow? Usually, Aaron was the one playing protective older brother, while Phoebe was the voice of reason.
“Do not tell me what I’m meant to be feeling, Aaron Warson,” Phoebe seethed at her husband. “And do not even try to tell me that it’s not good for the baby—"
“The baby?” Clio hadn’t meant to yelp, but that was how the words emerged from her mouth.
Somehow, though, it did the trick. Aaron and Phoebe both turned to look at Clio, and suddenly Phoebe’s ire was gone, replaced by a beatific smile.
“Yes,” she said, her hand going to her belly. Clio wasn’t certain if she was imagining a slight curve there now that she knew or if it was truly visible. “That’s why we asked you here today. I’m expecting.”
It was hard to say who looked happier, Phoebe or Aaron. They were both shining so bright that it almost hurt to look at them.
“I—My goodness,” Clio stammered. “Congratulations!” She blinked against a sudden prickle in her eyes, then dashed away dampness. “I’m so happy for you both that it’s driven me practically to tears.”
The wetness in her eyes remained as she leaned forward to embrace first Phoebe, then her brother, and Clio blinked furiously to dispel them.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t truly happy for her brother and Phoebe. She was. Of course she was. She was happy for herself, too—she knew already that she would love being an aunt to the next generation of Warsons.
But—and she was absolutely, completely ashamed to admit it—the tears in her eyes weren’t just about that happiness. Not when they came with a pang of jealousy, too.
Because, yes, she and Hector might be aiming to produce an heir. But that was business. It was practicality. If such a child came to be, it would be born because of the laws of English primogeniture.
Phoebe and Aaron’s child would come from nothing but the force of their parents’ love.
And that was something Clio would never have. Not for herself, nor for her child.
It was an incalculable loss.
But she couldn't contemplate it now, not when she needed to be here, to be happy for her family, whom she did love with all her heart.
“Thank you,” Phoebe said, grinning at her husband. “As Aaron has pointed out, some of the changes of incipient motherhood have made me a little—"
“Difficult,” Aaron said.
“—tempestuous,” Phoebe finished, giving Aaron a betrayed look.
“Yes,” he amended without missing a beat. “That was what I meant to say. Well done, darling. You phrased it perfectly.”
Phoebe gave him a chiding smack to the chest, but she was grinning, practically blooming under his praise and easy affection.
Clio felt a wrenching feeling inside her so sharp that she wondered if she might be dying.
“How long have you known?” she asked Phoebe, partially out of genuine interest, partially to distract from the icy pit that was opening in her chest.
“I’ve suspected for a while,” Phoebe admitted. “But I was only certain recently. Of course, I didn’t mention anything to your brother until I knew, since he can be—"
“Difficult?” Clio provided, just to make them laugh.
“Well, I was going to say overprotective, but I like yours better,” Phoebe said, while Aaron pulled a face, pretending to be offended.
Clio looked at her brother and marveled at the changes that had overtaken him since he’d fallen in love with Phoebe. He was practically a different man—or, no, that wasn’t quite right, because he was still the Aaron he’d always been, beneath it all. He was just …
Happy. It was as simple and as wondrous as that.
“When is my little niece or nephew going to make their debut?” she asked. It was getting harder and harder to keep her focus on the scene in front of her, rather than on her own troubles. “I plan to spoil them rotten, so I’ll need to start scheming immediately …”
For the following hour, Clio tried to lose herself in the happy chatter of her family as they discussed the names of potential offspring, and as Phoebe lamented that pregnancy had made too many of her favorite foods suddenly unappealing. Throughout it all, Clio kept her smile fixed.
She would grieve later, she told herself. She would grieve this thing that she knew she was missing, that she wouldn’t get back. But for now, she would bask in the light of someone else’s love, since that was the closest that she’d ever come to having her own.