Chapter 26
Clara made her way down the stairs the following morning, carrying David over her shoulder. Julian was just coming out of the breakfast room.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought we would take breakfast together.”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I cannot. I have a number of matters related to the estate that require my attention.”
“I see,” she replied. He stopped awkwardly in front of her, looking from her to the baby and back again. David yipped and extended his hand towards him, still eager to grab whatever he could reach, but Julian stepped back.
“What are your plans today?”
She wet her lips. “Lady Marjorie Taylor has sent her regrets. She cannot come to the ball, so I made up my mind to go to her and speak to her in person.”
“I see,” he replied.
“Marianne is going to look after David.”
“I see. Well, I wish you success.”
Why was he so cold? She did not understand it.
What have I done to make it so that he barely speaks to me? Ever since Dover, he has been cold and removed. Was it because I sought his comfort?
It had to be. She was certain of it. She had been foolish once more. She had allowed her heart to govern her conduct, and now, she received the bill for it. She had been wrong. He did not care for her at all. This really was just an arrangement. Nothing more.
“If I said something to upset you, I beg your pardon,” she said. She was not going to spend the whole day carrying this weight on her chest without at least saying so.
He opened his mouth and closed it again.
He watched her for what felt like an impossibly long time then took a deep breath.
“You did nothing wrong. But I think we were both beginning to forget the purpose of this arrangement. It was to find Arabella and keep David safe. Nothing else. I think we have both drifted somewhat from that path.”
So it was that. But what did he mean by drifted? That implied he had felt something too.
“I do not understand your meaning,” she said. “How have we strayed from the path?”
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I think you understand perfectly well what I am saying. We must remind ourselves of the purpose of this arrangement. It is merely to find Arabella. Once that is done, we will sit down with her and come up with a plan for all of our futures.”
“I see. You have made yourself perfectly clear.” She straightened. “Well, I must go.” She did not wait another moment. She held David out, and he took the child on instinct.
“Are you not going to take your breakfast?”
“I find I have no appetite.” She turned and walked away.
Her chest felt tight as she went, swallowing down the discomfort rising in her throat.
What an idiot she had been. A complete and utter nodcock.
Well, if distance was what he wanted, if an arrangement was all he wished this to be, then he could have it.
She did not need him. She needed him less now than ever before—she had the title, she had the position, and that was all she required to be free.
She could do as she pleased now, go where she liked, answer to no one.
Hang Julian and his changeable nature. Hang all these men.
She was going to do what she wanted. And what she needed to do right now was make enquiries about her best friend.
* * *
The tea had long since gone cold in her cup. This did not go unnoticed by Lady Marjorie Taylor, who leaned forward and refilled it. Steam rose from the cup, and Clara took it in both hands and stirred it though she had added no sugar.
Marjorie glanced at her over a pair of spectacles she had not worn at finishing school and tipped her head to one side.
“Truly, I am glad you came to enquire after my health. I suppose my note was rather vague. I did not mean to alarm you. But what a good friend you are to come all this way, even after all these years.”
The truth was that Clara had invented a reason for this visit.
Marjorie’s note declining the ball’s invitation had said only that she was indisposed.
Clara had pretended to interpret this as something more serious than it was, worrying in her reply about dear Marjorie’s welfare and insisting on calling.
In fact, Marjorie was in perfect health. More than perfect. She had the particular glow that came with impending motherhood which Clara hadn’t known about. It must have all happened while she was in Scotland, but she could certainly turn it to her advantage now.
“Of course, I had to come,” Clara said. “I was so sorry to miss your wedding. What a great surprise it was to hear that you were married.”
“Yes, indeed,” Marjorie said, settling back with a small, pleased smile. “Who would have thought it? I was always the wallflower of our set. You need not try to pay me Spanish coin by saying otherwise. We both know the truth of it.”
Clara had not sought to contradict her because it was in fact the truth.
“And you,” Marjorie continued, leaning forward with the bright eyes of someone who had been longing to say this for some time.
“I cannot believe you are married and a duchess. And you kept it all secret, how perfectly genius. I told Charles we ought to have done the same. I have been absolutely run off my feet with people wanting to call before my confinement. All the fuss about the wedding breakfast and the cake and what flowers and what music. I said to Charles, we should have done exactly what you and Julian did. Obtained a special license and been done with it.”
“Well,” Clara said, “it has not been entirely without its complications. We will have a good many questions to answer in time. Hopefully, the ball will help with that.”
“Oh, your ball. How I wish I could attend. It would be such a joy to see everyone again.” Marjorie sighed then brightened. “All our old friends. Pray, how is Arabella?”
Clara’s heart sank. The entire purpose of this meeting had been to discover whether Marjorie knew anything of Arabella’s whereabouts. The fact that she was asking meant she did not.
“I have not had a chance to see her since I returned from Scotland,” Clara said. “To tell the truth, we had something of a falling out.”
“Oh, what a shame. The two of you were always so close.” Marjorie tilted her head sympathetically. “Well, I am sure she will come round. She was always so good-natured at heart.” She paused. “I imagine she has been very occupied in any case, what with her Frenchman.”
Clara sat very still. Marjorie did know something after all. “Her Frenchman?”
“Yes.” Marjorie looked mildly surprised. “The gentleman she has been keeping such a delicious secret about. Very dashing from what I heard.”
“I… forgive me,” Clara said, choosing her words with care. “I had the impression he was Italian.”
Marjorie shook her head. “Italian? No, I am quite certain he is French. Or at least his people are. His name is certainly French. Bastien, I believe. I cannot recall all the particulars, but I remember thinking what a very romantic name it was.”
Clara set her cup down slowly.
Bastien. Not Bash.
French, not Italian. Or French by origin, perhaps, but with connections to Italy. Or perhaps neither. They had already figured out that Bash had connection to Italy since that is where they went. And Arabella had returned from there with an Italian servant posing as her husband.
“Did she ever say anything more about him?” Clara asked. “Where he was from, precisely? What his family was?”
Marjorie considered. “Only that he was very well traveled. Very cultured. The sort of man who made one feel rather provincial by comparison, she said.” She laughed lightly.
“I do hope the two of you make up,” Marjorie said.
“As do I,” Clara replied. “I hope so very much. Last I heard she had gone to Italy with this gentleman.”
“Yes, that is what I heard as well. I am almost certain she will return happily married, just as you are, and the two of you can make your peace and bond once more over your shared happy fate.”
Clara sat with her hands folded in her lap and said nothing for a moment.
Their shared happy fate. If Marjorie only knew that in reality Arabella ran from a self-inflicted wound, just as Clara did.
She had chosen this. She knew it. She could have said no when Julian asked if she trusted him.
She could have said no when he suggested marriage.
But she hadn’t. And still, as she sat there now, she wondered whether in agreeing to marry him she had made just as large a mistake as Arabella had when she trusted that mysterious stranger.
“I should hope so,” Clara said at last.
The rest of the afternoon passed without incident.
Marjorie told her all about her wedding, her plans for when the baby arrived, and all manner of other things besides.
Clara listened and nodded and smiled at the right moments, and when she had stayed long enough that leaving would not seem rude, she made her excuses and returned home.
These last few weeks, as she approached Julian’s house, her home now too, she reminded herself, she had felt a certain lift.
A sense of something to return to. She had looked forward to stepping through those doors, to seeing Julian, to seeing David, to stepping back into the illusion of what might be.
Today, she felt none of that. There was an emptiness in her chest that hadn’t been there in a long time, a hollowness she recognized and hated the particular feeling of having built something in her head that turned out not to be there.
As the carriage drew up, she sat for a moment before allowing the footman to hand her out. She took a breath and climbed the front steps.Richmond opened the door and greeted her as he always did, and she stepped inside.
She went directly to the nursery where Marianne sat on the floor with Molly and David around her, the three of them engaged in what appeared to be a game involving a great deal of rolling and laughter. Clara stayed longer than she needed to. She knew she was putting off the inevitable.
The inevitable being Julian.
She had uncovered something today, and she had to tell him. Just days ago, she would have gone to him at once, eager and animated, glad for any reason to seek him out. Today she sat on the nursery floor and watched David attempt to pull Molly’s ribbon loose and could not make herself move.
By the time she finally gathered the courage to go downstairs, the sun had already set and the first stars had begun to appear in the darkening sky.