Chapter 4 #2
Lord Rutland stood there, his arms folded over his chest and his stance strong and confident.
Either he had been coming closer to her and had stopped upon realizing who she was, or he had intended to stand there until she had moved away.
Clara swallowed the tightness that came into her throat in an instant, catching his brown eyes with her own.
But it was not anger she saw in him. Not truly.
She had expected fury, had braced herself for the cold, dismissive look he had given her at the ball.
Instead, what she found in his expression was something far worse --- a kind of weariness, a heaviness that sat upon his features and aged him beyond his years.
There were shadows beneath his eyes that she did not remember from before Christmas, a set to his jaw that spoke not of strength but of a man holding himself together by force of will alone.
I did this to him.
The thought struck her with such force that her breath caught.
She had known, in the abstract, that her letter had caused him pain --- he had told her as much in the letters her brother had refused to let her read, or so she imagined.
But seeing the evidence of it written across his face, in the way he held his body as though braced against a blow that had already landed --- that was something else entirely.
That was not knowledge but recognition, the same grief she saw in her own reflection each morning staring back at her from his eyes.
Another breath in and out as she held his gaze, no thought in her mind save for that single, devastating recognition.
And with it came something she had not expected: not merely the desire to tell him the truth, which she had carried for months, but a fierce, sudden need to ease the suffering she had caused.
The desires she had battled since first seeing him in London, the thoughts of speaking with him honestly, came back towards her with such strength she could not resist.
But her brother's voice echoed in her mind --- cold, absolute. If I see you doing such a thing, then I will take you from London and return you home with all swiftness.
Clara glanced about her quickly, her heart hammering.
The park was crowded with the press of the fashionable hour, dozens of conversations filling the air.
Lord Tyrone was nowhere in sight --- he had mentioned something about riding along Rotten Row this afternoon, which meant he would be at the far end of the park.
She had perhaps a few minutes, no more. And if someone told him they had seen her speaking with Lord Rutland---
She looked back at Josiah's face. At the weariness. At the hurt.
It did not matter. Whatever her brother might do, whatever punishment might follow, she could not stand before this man and say nothing. Not when she was the cause of his suffering and had it in her power to offer him at least the truth, even if she could offer him nothing else.
Another deep breath filled her lungs as she took a hold of her courage.
Turning towards the gentleman entirely, she took a step closer, her heart beginning to quicken but the determination to speak the truth finally taking a hold of her.
It would cost her, no doubt, for even now, there were tears behind her eyes, but she had to speak.
"Lord Rutland." Dropping into a quick curtsy, she tried to look into his eyes again but found her gaze lingering around his shoulder. "Good afternoon."
There came a short silence. "Good afternoon."
"I --- I must tell you something." Her words began to tumble out of her mouth, afraid that he would move away from her at any given moment. "The letter, it was not my doing."
Lord Rutland's swift snatch of breath forced her head up, her eyes going to his. They were wide and staring, color fading from his cheeks as a single tear fell to her own.
"I had no choice but to write it," she said, hoarsely. "I am sorry, desperately sorry, for the pain that it caused you. It broke my own heart also."
There was no response from Lord Rutland, silence dragging out between them instead.
Clara, sensing that tears might begin to fall in earnest should she continue, closed her eyes tightly and let out a ragged breath.
"Forgive me," she whispered, before turning back around and stepping towards Alice again.
"I see that you are already acquainted with Lord Rutland.
" Lord Headley smiled as Clara, blinking furiously, tried to smile.
"And you, Lady Alice? Are you acquainted with him?
I am sure I would be glad to make your introductions if --- oh!
He has taken his leave." The gentleman chuckled, then offered Lady Alice a small smile. "Another time, mayhap."
Clara took her cousin's arm. "I think we must take our leave, Lord Headley, Lord Worthington," she said, her voice rasping as emotions still held her captive. "I can see that Lady Alice's brother has taken a few steps away from us and we do need to stay close to him."
"Of course we do." Alice was looking at her with concern shimmering in her eyes. "Thank you, Lord Headley, Lord Worthington."
"Do recall that you are to save me a dance!" Lord Headley exclaimed, as they stepped away. "I will be looking out for you both!"
Clara did not even glance over her shoulder as she walked with Lady Alice, her breathing coming quickly and her heart aching so dreadfully, it felt as if she were being pulled downwards by an invisible weight.
Her shoulders rounded and she closed her eyes against the heat that lingered there, forced to come to a stop in the middle of Hyde Park.
"You are not yourself." Alice put an arm around Clara's shoulders but Clara said nothing, shaking her head silently. "Do you wish to go back to the carriage?"
Taking in a long breath, Clara lifted her head and then gazed straight ahead, relieved that her vision did not blur. "I will be quite all right in a moment," she said, seeing now that she would have to tell her cousin the truth at some point soon. "Thank you, Alice."
"So long as you are well," her cousin replied, softly. "This is to do with Lord Rutland, is it not?"
Clara nodded but said nothing more, her throat aching as she began to walk again, her arm going back through Alice's.
To her very great relief, her cousin did not ask her anything further, did not demand anything of her and as they meandered around Hyde Park, speaking to no-one, Clara slowly began to regain her composure.
Lord Rutland had said nothing to her as regarded the truth she had offered him and she did not know what to make of that.
Was there any hope that he believed her?
That he would trust her word? Or was he simply dismissing all she had said, her words meaning nothing to him?
And yet, even as her spirits sank, there was something beneath the sorrow that had not been there before.
A small, quiet thing --- not hope, not quite, for hope required a belief in some future that she could not see.
It was more the simple knowledge that she had spoken honestly, that she had looked into his eyes and given him the truth, whatever he chose to do with it.
For months, she had carried the weight of a lie her brother had forced upon her and now, at least, she had set one piece of it down.
It did not ease the ache. It did not change what stood between them nor make the future any less uncertain. But she had spoken the truth, and she had meant every word.
Clara tightened her arm through Alice's and walked on.