Chapter Three
Clem fiddled with her gloves, dropped her reticule, and generally behaved like a goose as she hurried to her meeting place with Will.
Major and Mrs. Armstrong’s morning call had delayed her by more than fifteen minutes, and good manners dictated she could not leave her mother alone to entertain their guests.
Yet how frustrating it had been to sit and smile and sip tea when all she wanted was to hurry out to meet Will.
He was going to ask for her hand—officially ask in a meeting with Papa—and she fully intended to say yes.
A great big, unequivocal, official yes.
A posy had arrived earlier with one corner of Will’s calling card neatly folded down to show he’d called in person. Had he spoken with her father then?
If only he had asked if Mama was receiving callers, Clem might have seen him sooner. She might have watched his eyes light up when their gazes connected and basked in the warmth of his regard.
His love.
He’d asked her—unofficially—last night, but surely he’d spoken to Papa by now? It would have been easier if she’d remained at home for him to propose once he had her father’s blessing, but her Will was a romantic, and this lake was as close to the one where they’d met as was possible in London.
A shiver of anticipation tingled down her spine. If they stole away into the thick bushes after Will proposed, might she entice him into a repeat of last night’s kiss?
“Mary, I’m going to sit by the lake.”
“Yes, my lady.” Her maid bobbed a curtsy and, accustomed by now to Clem’s meetings with Will, removed herself to a socially acceptable distance to feed the ducks while giving her mistress an illusion of privacy.
Clem slowed her pace as she approached the empty bench and looked for Will’s tall figure.
The temperature had dropped overnight and overcast skies and the threat of rain meant the day had not warmed sufficiently to entice those still in the city for the Little Season to venture forth.
The lake was a gray reflection of the sky, but nothing could dim her pleasure in the promise of today.
Settling herself on their park bench, she schooled herself to patience.
Last night, Will had been clear about his intentions, but there had been an underlying tension.
She attributed it to some problem with his business.
After all, hadn’t he mentioned that business had delayed his arrival at Lavinia’s ball?
A cascade of bells sounded from nearby churches, followed by four sonorous chimes. She counted each one.
Four! Her heart grew excited, then heavy, as she glanced along the path, devoid of people. And of one person in particular.
Willing her soon-to-be fiancé to arrive, she stared at the route by which Will always appeared, his long strides eating up the yards between them.
Where was he? Had she missed him?
But how could she have missed him?
He always waited for her, and today of all days, he simply would not have left because she was a few minutes late.
More than a few.
Anticipation was the reason for her impatience, she decided. Anticipation and excitement. Folding her hands in her lap, she looked out over the lake and ran through the Latin conjugations for love, grateful Papa had not objected to her desire to study the language with her younger brother.
A pair of swans glided majestically, serenely, in the middle of the lake.
Swans mated for life, just as she would with Will.
Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. She had little idea what mating might involve, but her reading of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels assured her there would be kissing.
If mating was as delicious as kissing, she would be the happiest bride and wife.
Her hands tightened in her lap as the quarter hour chimed. Peering along the empty path sent her nerves a-jangle. Appearing calm and serene was almost beyond her when she was anticipating a proposal of marriage.
“I need to take a lesson from the swans.”
Realizing she’d spoken aloud, she glanced around before returning her gaze to the lake. Beneath the surface, she was sure the swans’ feet were furiously paddling, but the world would never know from their regal, gliding progress.
She schooled her expression and her mind, focusing on the here and now. Focused on being a swan.
He will come.
A family of ducks swam past, the line of almost-grown ducklings straggling but never straying far from their mother, except for one adventurous little fellow who chased a dragonfly that hovered and dipped across the surface of the water.
Long minutes passed as Clem entertained herself following the duckling’s antics. But her gaze slid more and more often to the southeast. Will always entered the park from the far end of the old King’s Road.
He’ll be here soon. Something at his place of business has held him up.
When the church bells sounded the next half hour and the next quarter hour after that, and there was still no sign of Will, tears welled in her eyes.
Furiously blinking to clear her vision, she rose slowly.
The wind had a bite to it, the day had grown darker, and Mary hovered nearby, her anxiety as palpable as her shivering form.
Heavy in heart and without a backward glance, Clem left the lake and the bench.
Questions tumbled in her mind like leaves scattered by the autumn winds.
Why hadn’t Will kept their appointment? Had he been injured in an accident on his way to meet her?
Surely nothing less than a major catastrophe would have kept him from her side.
Her heart stuttered, and she stopped, unable to take another step at the thought of her beloved Will lying on a road, his beautiful, strong body bruised or broken by a carriage he’d failed to see.
“My lady, are you well?” Mary’s voice broke into Clem’s dark thoughts, and she gave herself a mental shake. Will was too full of life for an accident to cut him down. There must be some other reason.
“I am well, thank you, Mary.”
“Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, my lady, but Mr. Ravenshoe holds you in high esteem, and if he hasn’t come, there will be a good reason why.” Mary caught her lower lip between her teeth and lowered her gaze.
“I believe you are correct, Mary.” Lifting her chin, Clem set off at a good pace toward the park gates. By her side, Mary shivered. It was careless of Clem to have sat waiting for so long, risking a chill to both of them.
Careless and inconsiderate.
The air had grown frigid, and night wasn’t far off by the time they reached the carriage.
She climbed in and cast a lingering look down the pathway she’d taken to the lake with so much hope before the carriage turned a corner, and the lake and the path and her hopes disappeared, blown apart by the autumn wind.
On the morrow, she would send Lavinia a note thanking her for the invitation to the ball, and with a discreet inquiry about Will’s health.
“Mary, I will write a note for you to carry to Lady Lavinia.” She climbed into the carriage, downhearted but determined to learn the truth of Will’s absence.
“Yes, my lady.”
Despite Mary’s assertion that he esteemed her, the steady clip-clop of the horses was like a hammer sealing a door between her and Will. Stupid, mayhap, and fanciful, but the thought would not leave her be.
Was it possible Will had played false with her heart?
She gripped her hands inside her muff, unable to countenance such traitorous thoughts.
Will loves me. I’m certain he does.
But she had no answer to the question beating like a drum in her heart.
Why hadn’t Will come?