Chapter 2
Clara feigned a smile, excused herself and then turned away, only to find herself face to face with her brother.
"Clara." He sniffed and lifted an eyebrow. "You do not seem to be finding Lady Penelope's company interesting."
"That is because the conversation is not in the least bit stimulating," Clara replied, choosing not to hold back the truth from him. "I know that you think well of her and that is entirely your prerogative but pray do not demand that I find her just as interesting as you!"
Her brother David frowned, his eyes going to where Lady Penelope stood.
A peal of laughter came from her and that made Clara wince, having found the lady more than a little false during their conversation.
This was only her second ball of the Season but her brother seemed a good deal more interested in making certain that Clara spoke with Lady Penelope rather than in Clara herself.
Perhaps he knew that she was not truly interested in company, in dancing, in conversation and the like.
Perhaps he knew that her heart was still utterly broken.
"If I might, perhaps there are others I can speak with," Clara continued, as gently as she could. "You have encouraged me to dance this evening, brother and as yet, I have only one name written on my dance card."
Lord Tyrone harrumphed, nodded and then cleared his throat before turning away from where Lady Penelope stood. He offered Clara his arm and she took it, relieved to be away from the lady.
"I should thank you for your insight, I suppose," her brother muttered, unwillingly. "And for your honesty."
"It does not matter what I think of her," Clara replied immediately, seeing that her brother was continuing on the conversation about Lady Penelope. "If you find her engaging and delightful, then you must pursue that."
"But you know I trust your judgement," came the reply, "and that I do not trust my own."
Clara pressed her lips together, watching her brother's gaze dart about the room.
These last few months, he had become a shadow of himself --- flinching at footsteps, starting when she entered a room, his eyes forever searching for something she could not name.
Even their mother had become concerned for her son's welfare.
Tyrone had dismissed their worries, telling them both that there was nothing the matter with him and that he was doing very well indeed --- something which Clara did not believe in the least.
At that moment, a voice from a passing conversation reached them --- "...the Jennings family, yes, a sad affair..."
Clara saw her brother's reaction before she could identify its cause. His face went ashen, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. For just a moment, she saw something in his eyes that looked very much like terror.
"David?" She frowned at him. "Are you quite all right?"
He released her arm abruptly, pulling his hand back as if he had been burned.
"Perfectly fine," he said, though his voice was strained.
His eyes darted across the room, searching for something --- or someone --- that Clara could not identify.
"I thought I... it is nothing. A momentary indisposition. "
Clara studied him carefully. Whatever had just happened, it was not nothing.
She filed the information away, not knowing what to make of it.
The Jennings family? She did not recognize the name, but clearly her brother did.
And whatever connection existed between him and that name, it was enough to make him look as though he had seen a ghost.
"You do not think well of me still, I know," he continued, when she said nothing. "You will wonder how I can say that I do not trust my own judgement when I insisted that you end your connection to Lord Rutland. You are still angry with me, are you not? Even though you pretend otherwise."
Clara swallowed thickly. She had shed enough tears over that letter --- over the words David had made her write while he stood behind her chair like a sentinel.
No explanation given, none permitted. Only the hollow assurance that it was "for the family" and the sight of her own hand shaking as she sealed Lord Rutland's happiness away.
The resentment she carried had not faded, exactly, but it had shifted shape as she watched her brother alter these past months --- growing fearful where he had once been merely imperious, darting glances over his shoulder, starting at sounds.
Whatever secret drove him to destroy her happiness was destroying him too.
Clara was certain of that now, even if she could not yet see its outline.
But Clara was not so easily silenced as her brother believed.
In the quiet of her room each evening, she had begun to write --- not the polite letters expected of a lady, but a private journal hidden beneath her mattress.
In it, she recorded everything: the questions Tyrone refused to answer, the inconsistencies in his explanations, the strange way he flinched at certain names.
She did not know what she was looking for, but she sensed there was a pattern to her brother's behavior, a secret he was desperately protecting.
And she had resolved, in the privacy of those pages, that she would discover it.
It was a small rebellion, writing her thoughts where he could not see them or silence them. But it was hers.
A sudden thought struck her --- could this have something to do with Thomas?
Their younger brother had been sent away to Devon on business months ago, and his letters home had become increasingly infrequent.
Mother had remarked upon it with worry just last week.
Clara had not connected the two things before, but now, watching the way David's jaw remained tight, his eyes still darting about the room, she wondered if there was more to Thomas's absence than mere estate business.
"I am sorry for all that you have endured because of my demands," he continued, when she did not answer. "I have seen the pain and the grief you have been forced to carry ever since your connection to Lord Rutland ended and I am sorry for that."
Clara glanced at him. "You will not say any more than that, will you?"
He shook his head no.
"Then let us end the discussion about Lord Rutland there," she said, her heart still burning within her chest. "If you wish to ask me about any other young ladies that you might be considering, then I would be more than willing to talk about them but I have no intention of discussing my previous considerations with you. "
Her brother let out a long sigh and then nodded, turning his head away so he could look out over the crowd.
"Very well. But we will not discuss young ladies.
Instead, we will do our utmost to have your dance card filled, yes?
" Glancing back at her, he offered her a small smile.
"That way, you might find your thoughts pulled away from Lord Rutland with a good deal more haste. "
"Or you could explain to me why it was I had to end my connection to him," Clara replied, her throat aching as unshed tears burned behind her eyes. "You will not explain and I have been left with so many unanswered questions, with so much brokenness, I ---"
"I understand that." Her brother sounded brusque now, wanting to end the topic of conversation. "I have said that I am sorry but I have also said that you cannot ask me anything more." Turning, he paused in their walk and looked straight into her eyes. "I say this to protect you, Clara."
Her eyebrows flew upwards. "You mean to say that Lord Rutland ---"
"No, not from him." He shook his head and sighed, a pained expression on his face. "Protect you from... from the consequences that could have followed. That is all."
This made very little sense to Clara and whilst she opened her mouth to ask for further explanations, her brother turned swiftly and, taking her arm, began to walk again, ending all thought of asking such a thing.
Her shoulders dropped and she sighed, looking away from her brother and out across the crowd.
When she had written to Lord Rutland, her brother had refused to permit her to read the letter --- or letters mayhap --- that he had sent back in response.
Clara did not know why or what it was he feared would happen if she had done so, but all the same, there had been nothing but silence left for her.
That had made her pain all the greater and despite even her mother begging Tyrone on her behalf, the Marquess had been unmoved.
It was all so very secretive and, within that, so much confusion, Clara had become quite lost.
"One thing more, Clara." Turning, David fixed her with a piercing gaze and a chill ran over Clara's skin. "You will not speak to Lord Rutland this Season."
Her heart began to thunder.
"If he is here, that is," Lord Tyrone continued, his tone steady but his words devastating her. "You are not to speak with him, to be in company with him or to dance with him. Do I make myself clear?"
Clara shook her head. "No, you do not make yourself clear," she replied, her throat rasping. "You have demanded my obedience in so many things but have not explained to me why! Now you insist that I cannot even go near to him?"
"Yes, I insist." Leaning closer, his eyes still fixed to hers, he put one hand on her shoulder and lowered his voice.
"If I see you doing such a thing, then I will take you from London and return you home with all swiftness.
I will arrange your marriage, if I have to.
For the moment, you are permitted to consider any gentlemen present here but if you go near to Lord Rutland, then I will take that privilege away from you. "
"Good evening, Lord Tyrone!"