Chapter 21
The garden behind Lady Alice's townhouse was quiet at this hour, the only sounds the distant clatter of carriage wheels on the street beyond and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
Clara stood beneath the old oak tree, her cloak pulled tight against the chill, the rough bark pressing into her back as she leaned against the trunk.
Her heart was pounding and she could not seem to make it stop, no matter how many steadying breaths she took.
She should not be here. If Tyrone discovered she had slipped out, there was no telling what he would do, especially after this evening's public humiliation at the soiree. He had not spoken a single word to her in the carriage home, his silence more frightening than any of his threats had ever been.
But she could not face tomorrow without seeing Josiah. She could not walk into that drawing room and confront both of her brothers without first hearing his voice and feeling his hand in hers. Tomorrow would bring the truth, and the truth, she was beginning to understand, would not be kind.
The garden gate creaked open and there he was. Clara's breath caught as he came through the gate and his eyes found hers immediately, his expression softening with such undisguised relief at the sight of her that her own eyes burned in response.
"Clara." He crossed the distance between them in three strides, his hands finding hers.
His fingers were warm despite the cool evening and she clung to them, feeling her composure begin to crack at the edges now that she was finally with someone before whom she did not need to pretend. "You should not have risked coming."
"I could not stay away." She squeezed his fingers and tried to smile. "Tomorrow, everything changes."
"For better." His voice was firm, certain in a way she could not quite match.
"Mayhap." She let out a long breath, looking down at their joined hands rather than at his face.
"I keep thinking of Miss Jennings. Of what she told us, of how she wept.
And then I think of Thomas's letters --- how he wrote to me with such feeling, how he spoke of a lady he had begun to think well of.
" Her throat tightened. "And all the while, he was the one who had wronged her.
He was the one who made her promises and then cast her aside.
How could he write to me of shame and suffering when he himself was the cause of it? "
Josiah was quiet for a moment, his thumbs moving gently over her knuckles. "You loved him very much," he said, carefully.
"I did." The admission cost her something, she could feel it --- a small, painful shifting in her chest. "Of my two brothers, Thomas was always the one I felt closest to.
David was always commanding, always determined to have his own way, but Thomas was kind and quiet and I thought --- I truly thought --- that he was good.
" She shook her head. "And now I must stand in a room with him tomorrow and hear him try to explain what he did to that poor woman, and I do not know if I can bear it. "
"You can." Josiah released one of her hands to tilt her chin up, gently, so that she was looking at him.
"You are the woman who stood in the middle of a crowded soiree this very evening and announced our engagement whilst your brother fumed and Lord Atherstone gaped at you like a landed fish.
" The corner of his mouth lifted. "I do not think there is anything you cannot bear, Clara. "
She could not help but laugh at that, even though it came out rather watery. "Lord Atherstone did look rather like a fish, did he not?"
"A very affronted fish." He was smiling properly now, the warmth of it reaching his eyes, and Clara felt some of the tightness in her chest begin to ease.
"I confess, I had every intention of stepping forward to announce our engagement myself but you were so magnificent that I could do nothing but stand there and admire you. "
"You did stand there for rather a long time."
"I was enjoying the spectacle." His smile faded to something gentler, more serious. "Clara, I have been thinking a great deal about Miss Jennings and about what your brother --- what Lord Tyrone --- chose to do when he discovered Thomas's behaviour."
Clara looked at him, waiting.
"When I was pacing outside the cottage, after you went back inside to speak with her alone, I found myself thinking that Lord Tyrone's actions were not entirely without reason.
A Marquess has his family's reputation to consider and Miss Jennings is a paid companion from a family that has already suffered one disgrace.
It would have been..." He paused, as if searching for the right word.
"Logical, I suppose, for Tyrone to send Thomas away quietly and provide for Miss Jennings rather than insist upon a marriage that would lower the family. "
The coolness that crept into Clara's expression made him falter.
"You think it logical," she said, slowly, "that a woman should be used and then hidden away in a cottage because her standing is not high enough to merit justice."
"No --- that is, I do not think it right.
" He ran one hand through his hair, looking genuinely uncomfortable.
"But I understood the reasoning, Clara, and I am not certain that is something to be proud of.
It is the way things are done. It is the way I was taught things are done.
And I did not question it until I saw Miss Jennings sitting in that tiny room with nothing but a stipend and three books and the knowledge that the man who ruined her would face no consequences at all. "
Clara studied his face in the fading light and saw that he was not making excuses but confessing something that troubled him, and that distinction mattered. "It is the way things are done," she agreed, quietly. "But that does not make it right. And I think you know that."
"I do now." He took her hands again, his grip firm. "I did not always. I am not sure I would have questioned it at all if I had not watched you refuse to accept the world your brother tried to impose upon you. You have made me braver, Clara, whether you intended to or not."
She felt the truth of that settle between them and she held his gaze for a long moment, seeing something shift in his expression that she had not seen before --- not merely devotion but the beginning of a harder, more honest kind of understanding.
"When we are wed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "where shall we live?"
The question surprised a laugh out of him, the sound low and warm in the quiet garden. "You are thinking of that now?"
"I am thinking of everything that comes after." She smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from her shoulders. "I want to picture it, Josiah. Our home, our life together. Something to hold onto when tomorrow becomes difficult."
He was quiet for a moment, then he drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her so that her head rested against his chest. His heart beat steady against her ear, a rhythm she wanted to hold in her memory forever.
"My estate in the country," he said, softly.
"It has rolling hills that turn golden in autumn.
A library with windows facing the sunrise.
A garden that my mother planted years ago --- roses and lavender and herbs whose names I have never learned. "
Clara closed her eyes and let his words settle over her like a blanket against the chill. "It sounds beautiful."
"It will be, with you there." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "We will have breakfast together every morning. Take long walks in the afternoons. Host dinner parties where we can bore our guests with how desperately in love we are."
She laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. "They will find us insufferable."
"And I shall not care one whit." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Let them whisper about the besotted Earl and his beloved Countess. I will wear their mockery as a badge of honour."
Clara pulled back just enough to look up at him. "I love you, Josiah. Whatever happens tomorrow, I need you to know that."
"And I you." He lowered his head, his forehead resting against hers. "Until the very end of me, Clara, and perhaps beyond that, if such a thing is possible."
The kiss that followed was soft and tender, a promise made in the quiet of a darkening garden with the first stars beginning to appear overhead.
Clara let herself fall into it, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat, and for a few precious moments there was nothing else --- no brothers, no confrontation, no Miss Jennings, no Lord Atherstone. Only this. Only them.
When they finally drew apart, the last light of evening had faded to purple dusk.
"I should return before I am missed," Clara murmured, though every part of her resisted the thought of leaving him.
"Tomorrow," Josiah said, pressing one final kiss to her knuckles. "We end this tomorrow. And then, my love, we begin the rest of our lives."
Clara nodded, holding his gaze for one last moment before turning and slipping back through the garden gate. Her heart was still racing but it was no longer from fear alone. Hope had kindled there too, fragile but growing, and she held it close against the dark walk home.