Chapter 3
Three
The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the sitting room, casting warm pools of light across the Persian rug and the delicate dishes perched upon the tea table.
Clara settled into the familiar embrace of the settee, smoothing the folds of her lilac silk gown with meticulous care.
Across from her, Juliet, ever radiant and composed, poured the steaming tea with practiced elegance.
Clara could not help envying her sister.
She seemed to have everything. She had a husband that adored her and a life that any woman would want for herself.
She was not an exception to that at all.
Clara had thought she had found it with her late husband.
What a fool she had been to believe he would be her everything.
She had been a blind fool. At least he had not lived long enough for her to suffer his incompetence.
She hadn’t thought that at the time. When he had died, she had been devastated.
Though her devastation should have been at the loss of the man she believed she loved.
But no… Life wasn’t that simple, was it?
She had realized rather quickly that with his death her life had taken a turn no woman wishes to find herself in.
She had been immediately destitute and homeless.
That was when her infatuation had turned to despair and a little hate for her late husband.
“You really must try to take better care of yourself,” Juliet said, her voice gentle but firm. “You are looking rather pale. What is bothering you?”
Clara inclined her head with a faint smile, though it did not reach her eyes.
“I assure you, my dear sister, I am well. You need not worry about me,” she murmured, though the day had weighed heavily upon her spirit.
Widowhood had not grown any lighter over the past few months.
She hated her life. Though she knew it could be far worse if not for her sister.
“Nothing is on my mind.” At least nothing she would bother her sister with. ..
Juliet narrowed her gaze. “Why don’t I believe you?”
She shrugged. “I cannot say. But I do not lie to you. I am well enough.” Well enough for a woman dependent on her sister’s husband for her home and income.
She had to get her sister off of this topic.
The last thing she wanted to do was have Juliet realize how unhappy she truly was.
It wasn’t her fault that Clara felt unsettled.
Juliet and the duke had been wonderful to her.
“I met with Lady Wyndam today,” she told her.
“The dowager or the new countess?” Juliet asked.
Clara’s lips twitched. “The dowager but Claudine did stop in while I was there.”
Clara liked Katherine the Dowager Countess of Wyndam.
She was a lovely elderly woman that had a good heart.
Claudine, the new countess had married Katherine’s grandson.
She too was wonderful. She had lost her first husband in the war and had not wished to marry again.
The widows had an organization designed to help other widows and Clara had been inducted into their little society.
Without them and her sister, Juliet she would have been lost. The widows had given her purpose.
“How are they?” Juliet asked. “I haven’t visited Lady Wyndam in a while. I should make a point to call upon her soon.”
“She is well.” Clara smiled. “They want me to take a more active role with the other widows.”
“You should,” Juliet encouraged her. “I don’t know a lot about their little league of widows,” she began. “But the little information I was privy to I know they do a lot of good for many women. I am fortunate that I never needed to join them.”
The only reason Juliet knew what little she did was because she used to be Lady Wyndam’s companion.
She had been privy to many things a woman who wasn’t a widow shouldn’t have been because of what the league stood for.
But if Juliet hadn’t known anything at all Clara would never have known either.
“You have a wonderful husband,” Clara agreed. “And I am grateful for you both.”
They were quiet for several moments. Clara opened her mouth to speak again but then closed her mouth. What else could be said to that? Nothing. Juliet was fortunate. The duke was blissfully in love with her and doted upon her lavishly.
The quiet was broken by the sudden entrance of the Duke of Sinbrough, resplendent in a morning coat that seemed almost to shimmer with authority, and much to Clara’s inward dismay—Viscount Oakwood accompanied him.
Clara’s heart refused to betray itself, but a flicker of awareness, sharp and unwanted, danced through her chest at the sight of the viscount.
He was so handsome, and her gaze seemed to gravitate toward him.
She had to force herself to look away or he’d realize how pleasing she found him.
“Good afternoon, love,” the duke began. His eyes seemed to blaze with the love he felt for Juliet. He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Juliet’s cheeks blazed brightly.
“Not here,” she warned her husband. “We have company.”
“Oakwood doesn’t mind,” the duke replied with humor in his tone. He turned toward the viscount. “Do you?”
“Not at all,” he said and chuckled. “Do not let my presence prevent you from kissing your wife.”
He grinned wickedly. “Not that I need your permission to kiss her,” the duke told the viscount. “But thank you nonetheless.” He turned his attention to Clara. “We decided to join you for tea. I trust we are not intruding?”
“Not in the least, Your Grace,” Clara replied with formal courtesy, lifting her teacup with a delicate gesture. “Would you like me to pour?”
The viscount, however, wasted no time. His blue eyes caught hers immediately, a mischievous spark dancing in their depths.
“Lady Cocwood,” he said, stepping forward with an ease that was infuriating in its familiarity.
“It is always a pleasure to find you in such agreeable company. Tea, would be lovely, thank you.”
Clara’s lips twitched, though she did not smile. “Lord Oakwood,” she said, her voice cool, precise, “your talents for flattery are only rivaled by your arrogance.” She tilted her head to the side. “But I will happily pour your tea if you require it.”
He chuckled, unshaken. “Ah, but a little arrogance has never harmed a gentleman—nor a lady with the fortitude to withstand it, I dare say.” That mischief in his gaze would be her undoing. Why did she find him so attractive? “As I said, tea would be lovely.”
Fortitude, Clara thought, was precisely what she intended to maintain.
She could not afford to allow the man even the slightest advantage, not after all she had endured.
Not after her late husband had stolen so much from her—her freedom, her security, her peace.
No man, no matter how handsome or witty, would ever have that power over her again.
“I am certain your compliments are as sincere as they are unwelcome,” she replied, letting a faint edge of ice slide into her tone.
She poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him.
She didn’t even bother to ask him how he took his tea.
Let him take it as she presented it or not at all.
She couldn’t make herself care. “And I would request that you exercise more discretion, Lord Oakwood. Your charm is unnecessary.”
Lord Oakwood raised a brow, the playful light in his gaze sharpening. “Discretion, my lady? I fear I am quite incapable of such restraint where you are concerned.”
Clara’s chest tightened, though she did not allow her expression to betray the thrum of awareness that had risen in her at his nearness.
She could not, would not, let him see even a flicker of interest, nor the way her pulse quickened at the sound of his voice.
She straightened, her spine rigid, the very picture of composure.
“Then I must be most resolute, my lord,” she said firmly.
“Your charm does not appeal to me. You will find no opportunity here to unsettle me.”
“Yet, you speak as though it is a challenge,” he murmured, stepping closer, dangerously close to the edge of civility.
In that brief moment she forgot they were not alone.
Heat crept up her spine and she feared that it would pinken her cheeks and give her attraction away.
She had to find an excuse to leave the room and soon.
Clara’s fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup.
“Then consider this your first and final warning,” she said, her tone both delicate and deadly.
“You may attempt your charms elsewhere. I will not permit you—or any man—to sway me again. Not now, not ever.” She had to remain resolute.
She could not, would not, allow him to get close to her.
The viscount’s lips curved in an unrepentant smile, one that spoke of patience, mischief, and challenge.
Clara met his gaze steadily, refusing to look away, to betray any hint of her inner turmoil.
She would not allow him power over her heart.
She would not allow history to repeat itself.
“Is it not a lady’s prerogative to change her mind? ”
Clara lifted a brow. “Are you implying that you believe I will?”
“Stranger things have happened,” he offered. He took a sip of his tea. Perhaps he liked it without any embellishments… “You may believe that is what you want now.” He shrugged. “But you could think something entirely different in a few days.”
“You think my mind that fickle?” She tilted her head to the side. Heat filled her for a different reason entirely now. How dare he insinuate that she would be that uncertain about what she wanted for her life. “Trust me on this, my lord. I am not.”
“I was not implying anything of the sort,” he reassured her. “I only suggested that sometimes circumstances change. What has made you so steadfast in your belief might not be the same in the future. Do you not believe that life often surprises us and alters the course we have set for ourselves?”
Drat. He was right of course. The entire reason she did not wish to marry again was because of the disaster her marriage had turned into.
She fully believed she would never marry again.
But… Well… Some of the other widows had believed that too and many of them had found love and married again.
It could happen for her. She didn’t truly think it would, but she would be a fool to discount the possibility.
“That may be,” she reluctantly agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I want anything to do with you. ”
He smiled then. “Fair enough, my lady,” he said. “But that does not mean I will not try to change your mind.”
She could not give him the opportunity to do any such thing.
Clara’s lips pressed into a thin line. She knew, in that moment, that she should retreat, disappear into the sanctuary of her chambers, and wrestle with her thoughts in private.
And yet, a small, irrational part of her wanted to linger, to watch the mischief and earnestness war in his golden eyes.
That part wanted to see if perhaps, just perhaps, he might be different than every man she had known before.
Different enough to tempt her to risk the fragile, carefully constructed peace of her heart.
She might not be completely happy with her life, but she also knew that it could be far worse.
She had seen worse, and she didn’t want to relive that ever again.
He was far too handsome and charming. He could break through the walls she had erected around her heart if she allowed him to become close enough.
She didn’t want to want him, and yet…as she set down her teacup and straightened her shoulders, Clara could not deny the storm his presence stirred within her. A storm she had sworn she would never entertain again.