Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“It’s so big!” Oliver gasped.
A carriage ride through London was a novelty for the children.
Clara had to watch Teddy and Oliver because they tried to lean over the door, and were in danger of toppling out.
Emily scowled at them, but Clara noticed how she twitched and sensed that she would have liked to have behaved similarly.
Sophia kept her hands tucked close to her body, watching everything with wide eyes.
“Of course it’s big. It’s London. What did you expect?” Emily said.
“You act like you know everything, but you don’t,” Oliver said.
“I know more than you.”
“Go on then. What’s that building?” Oliver thrust out a hand, pointing to a nearby building. Emily thought for a few moments, then lifted her eyebrows.
“That’s the Bank of England,” she said.
“You’re making that up. You don’t know that,” Oliver said. “Miss Sterling, she’s making things up!”
“Will you two please stop bickering and just enjoy the journey. We don’t often get to see London like this. Do you really want to spend your whole life arguing?” Clara said. Agatha then directed Emily’s attention somewhere else, and peace settled over the carriage.
It soon pulled up outside Clemont Hall, the carriage stopping in the courtyard.
When Teddy clambered out, he thanked the horse and waved goodbye.
Emily was about to make a scornful comment, but Clara noticed before it could be uttered and raised a finger in warning, making sure that Emily kept whatever she was thinking to herself.
The children were agog at the size of Clemont Hall, and were honored when the butler announced them.
Gerald came to greet them, flanked by his sister, Eleanor, who smiled at the children and shook each of their hands in turn.
She then nodded to Clara and smiled politely.
Clara returned the gesture, but felt a little guilty.
Eleanor had been entirely pleasant, but she was not aware of the truth of the bargain.
It was difficult to mislead their families.
Clara hoped that when she begged for forgiveness, it would be granted.
“Would you like to come with me and explore the estate? We have a ballroom and a feasting hall, and a suit of armor,” Eleanor said. The children turned to Clara.
“May we?” they asked.
“You may,” Clara said, suppressing a smile. They started to race off, before Clara reminded them to be careful and to show respect to Gerald’s house. They slowed their pace, although they looked as though they were liable to break into a sprint at any moment.
“I thought it might behoove us to distract the children. It will be easier for you to examine the wildflowers without them running about,” Gerald said.
“Indeed. I hope that it does not place too much of a burden on Eleanor.”
“Not at all. She comes alive in the company of children. She was thrilled when I asked her,” he said. Then, he showed them to the gardens. Agatha walked close behind them, ever a willing chaperone.
The gardens stretched out in a number of directions. The paths formed squares, leading to patches of wild bushes, fragrant flowers, and lush grass. Birds chirped and bees hummed. Clara breathed deeply. This was the kind of scene she always loved.
“Are there any flowers you would like me to sketch in particular?” she asked.
“I am willing to bow to your artful instincts,” he said. “I’m sure you have a better mind for aesthetics than I do. We can walk around, and you can frame the scenes. Feel free to draw as much or as little as you like. It may end up that my flowers are not as impressive as I initially thought.”
“I’m sure that won’t be the case. You have a wonderful collection.”
“I wish I could take credit for it. I have my groundskeeper to thank. He has some contacts on the continent and has created a blend of European and British flowers. I’m afraid I cannot remember them all, however.”
“Perhaps you should invite Aunt Charlotte here. She could catalogue them all, and would be able to tell you where they came from and what their most suitable environment is.”
“Suitable environments? Are air, sun, and water not sufficient?”
Clara giggled. “They are needed in different quantities. Different plants have different needs. As my aunt is fond of saying, they are more like people than we think.”
Gerald nodded thoughtfully.
“And I have met a number of people who have resembled plants,” he said with a particularly wry look on his face.
Clara’s giggle became heartier. They followed the path around until they reached a couple of benches.
The flowers were arranged in such a way as to make the pattern of a rainbow.
It looked utterly perfect with Clement Hall behind it. Clara nodded emphatically.
“This will be perfect,” she said. Agatha took a seat on a separate bench and tilted her head back, taking the opportunity to rest her eyes.
“Would you like anything, some tea perhaps?” Gerald asked.
“Nothing at the moment, thank you. I just need my pencils and paper,” Clara said, pulling out these items from a thin satchel.
She placed her sketchbook over her legs and pinched the pencil between her finger and thumb.
Gerald settled onto the bench beside her.
She shifted a little, feeling a tremor passing through her.
Their legs weren’t quite touching, but there was only about an inch between them. Should either of them move…
“Are there no pressing matters that require your attention?” she asked as she began sketching. She became keenly aware that he was watching her.
Usually she sketched in private, able to correct any errors she made without anyone noticing. People always marveled at the finished project, for they did not see the erased lines and smudged marks, or hear the frustrated mutterings that leaped from Clara’s mouth when things went wrong.
“Not today. I made sure to clear my schedule. I didn’t want anything to interrupt us.”
“I suppose that is natural when a man entertains the woman he is courting,” Clara said. “May I ask what detained you yesterday?”
“It was an important delivery. A delicate antique I recently ordered. It arrived sooner than anticipated, and I needed to be present to make sure that it was handled properly.”
“I see,” Clara said, unsure how she should feel about being outranked by an antique. Gerald made another comment, but then Clara said that she preferred to work in silence.
“It is more conducive to the concentration the art demands,” she said.
Gerald nodded once and then fell silent.
This was a little test of hers, a way to see how devoted he was to the pretense.
Would he break the silence? Would he grow restless and leave her by herself?
Clara smirked to herself as she sketched.
It was far easier for her to be in silence considering she had something with which to occupy herself.
However, as time passed, Gerald didn’t make any attempt to move, nor did he speak.
The most he uttered was a soft, interested murmur when she made a certain stroke.
It was not a particularly warm day, but Clara felt a certain prickle upon her skin.
She could not escape his attention, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed that he was looking at her just as much, if not more, than her sketching.
When Clara finished, she flexed her fingers and turned her wrist around, making sure to avoid any cramp.
“There,” she said.
“My goodness, it looks wonderful. You’ve managed to capture the movement of the flowers, somehow. When I look at it, I can almost feel the wind.”
Clara beamed. “It will look even better when I have added color. Let us find the next location,” she said. They rose together, Gerald helping her with the drawings. Clara roused Agatha, who spluttered awake and nodded, yawning as she shuffled behind them.
Clara gazed at her surroundings, waiting for the perfect scene to leap out at her. It came to her attention out of the corner of her eye. Nestled between two drooping trees, their branches and leaves so dense it almost obscured the path completely, lay a narrow path.
“What’s down there?” Clara asked.
Gerald turned to follow her gaze.
“That? Oh, it’s just the old rose garden. It’s in a state of disrepair. I’ve been promised that it will be seen to, but it doesn’t seem to be a priority. I’m afraid that it’s all overgrown with thorns. I can’t think there would be much of interest to you there.”
“I’m not sure about that. Sometimes great beauty can be found in neglected places,” Clara said.
Without waiting for permission, she headed off towards the path.
She ducked below the branches. The path was shrouded in verdant shadows, with only glimpses of sunlight breaking through.
Towards the end of the path lay a stone wall and a bridge, both of which looked in disrepair.
“Is that bridge safe?” Clara asked.
“As far as I know,” Gerald said.
Clara turned back. “Come on, Grandmother, this way.”
Agatha took one look at the bridge and shook her head.
“I think I shall stay here and stand against the gnarled old tree. I feel as though we have a lot in common, don’t we?
” Agatha turned towards the tree, chortling to herself as she nestled against a low branch and rested her hand against the trunk.
“You go on, I can still see you from here.”
Clara and Gerald approached the bridge, which looked worse the closer they grew. It was an arching bridge that was supposed to have two wooden railings on either side, but the right-hand side had fallen off, leaving it open to the ground below.
“The river was diverted a long time ago,” Gerald said, gesturing to the empty muddy ground that had been shaped by flowing water. Beyond the bridge lay the rose garden, jagged, thorny branches twisting around with small bursts of color where the roses had bloomed.
“Perhaps it would be safer if you took my hand,” he said, offering his palm. Clara stared at it. The stubborn part of her wanted to refuse, but another part of her wanted very much to accept, and this wasn’t entirely the practical, safe side.
It was the heart that fluttered when they danced, the soul that tingled when rowing across the lake, the mind that was calm when he was sitting beside her, attentively watching the movement of her hands, not in any way eager to disturb her.
Clara inclined her head and allowed her palm to drop into his.
Breath rushed out of her as their skin met.
So far that morning she had grown used to the roughness of the paper, and now she was met with his pliable flesh.
The warmth seeped into her as though he had the sun in his palm.
His fingers trembled with strength as they curled, encompassing the width of her hand with ease.
Together they stepped across the bridge, Clara a step ahead of Gerald, her hand trailing behind.
It was as though they were stepping into another world, one from a fairytale, so obscured were they from the outside world.
London didn’t exist here. The carriages, the ton, the expectation…
none of it mattered. Everything was quiet, apart from his breathing and the thump of her heart and the creaking bridge.
The creaking bridge.
They were about halfway across when a rotten piece of wood gave way. There was no time for her to react, other than to gasp in surprise, but just as she felt her foot slipping off the bridge, Gerald’s hand tensed.
He dragged her towards him with such force that gravity held no sway.
She slammed against his solid chest, her head tilting up.
The breath rushed from her lungs. He still had hold of her hand, while his other hand gripped her arm, his fingers digging in so deep it felt as though they reached beneath her clothes, although his grip wasn’t strong enough to hurt.
There was barely any distance between them.
She was so close to his face that she could see the vein pulsing at his neck, the faint hint of stubble along his jaw, and the way his pupils had dilated to deep, searching wells.
The air was warmed by his exhalations, and now her heart was going thumpthumpthump and he must have felt it. He simply must have.
Clara’s knees buckled. Weakness had never come easily to her, and so it was at this moment. She angled her head away, although she could do nothing about her body. That seemed intent on facing Gerald.
“It’s not a long way down. Perhaps it would have been easier if I simply fell to the ground,” she said, trying to make a joke as a distraction. Gerald’s gaze was unrelenting, and his voice burned the air.
“I hope you never think that escaping me is the safer option,” he said.
The words rolled around her mind. In that moment, everything became unmoored within her. Clara’s heart felt as though it was bouncing around wildly, never settling in one place, and she hated herself for feeling this way.
It wasn’t real.
It wasn’t real.
“Perhaps we should return to the main garden. It’s better to leave these roses to their isolation,” Clara said, attempting to keep her voice from trembling.
As she moved, Gerald released her. It took a moment before she relaxed, for the impact of the touch lingered.
She folded her hand closed, almost as though she was trying to keep hold of his touch.
“That was quick,” Agatha said.
“It wasn’t exactly as it seemed. I shall try again elsewhere,” Clara said, hoping that these churning feelings would settle before too long.
However, she had a feeling they would linger, because what just happened on the bridge was intense.
The shine in Gerald’s eyes had been like that of a wild beast. That, coupled with the way he held her and his words…
it was enough to make her dizzy. Clara tried to sweep these thoughts away, telling herself that it was just a part of the arrangement.
Yet that was hard to believe when nobody but Agatha was around, and it was even doubtful that she had seen anything. It was getting more difficult to know which moments were for the benefit of others, and which were for her and Gerald alone.
Or maybe they were just for her. Maybe Gerald didn’t care at all.