Chapter 16 - Michael
It was a lovely day for a drive. Crisp, but not too cold.
The sky was that peculiar shade of blue that was unique to London.
Or at least, Michael thought so. He admired Claire as she sat next to him in the phaeton.
He hoped she noticed that he’d chosen his ensemble with care—his valet had assured him he looked very fine in a deep-green coat paired with charcoal trousers and and a grey waistcoat.
“Over there,” he said, nodding across the park. “That’s just the kind of gentleman you’re looking for.”
Claire’s sharp eyes followed his line of sight to a grey-haired man stooped with age. As they watched, the man nearly snarled at a pair of children playing with a hoop and sticks at the side of the pathway.
“Lord Filver,” he explained. “A gentleman, but a miser through and through.”
“My husband need not be a miser,” she chided.
“No?” He arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me, I thought you wanted someone who had wealth and who was certain to keep it.”
Claire blinked. “Well, yes, but—”
“That’s a miser,” Michael said. “I’m fairly certain if you look up the term in the dictionary, that’s actually what’s written under miser.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not saying he can’t be generous—”
“You’re simply saying that he must never lose his money under any circumstances, correct?”
Claire’s only response to his interruption was her lips pressed firmly together, combined with a scalding glare.
Michael pretended not to notice. “The only way that anyone can be guaranteed of keeping all of their money is never to spend any of it, never to invest any of it, never to risk any of it. And that’s really what you’re trying to protect yourself from, isn’t it? Risk?”
“I want a secure future.”
“Then why on earth don’t you just inform your brother that you don’t wish to marry at all?”
“Because I do wish to marry,” she huffed.
“You wish for marriage, but not love. You wish for wealth, and judging by the cut of your lovely gown, you’d like to spend some of it. Yet you expect your husband never to have any risk of losing his fortune. Is that about right?”
Claire twisted her pleated taffeta reticule in her fingers. “You’re making me sound awful.”
“I’m pointing out the incongruity of your multitude of desires.” Michael frowned, then said gently, “I understand that things were hard for you.”
“You understand nothing,” she mumbled.
“And whose fault is that? I understand nothing only because you won’t explain it to me. It’s quite petulant of you, Claire, to expect sympathy for events that you won’t explain.”
“You always do that,” she blustered. “You always twist things around to make me seem like the unreasonable one.”
“I’m not twisting anything.” His eyes were wide.
“You know very well that I can keep a secret; otherwise, you never would have dared to ask for my assistance with the Season. So why haven’t you told me the full truth about what happened when your brother lost the family fortune?
Or about why you wouldn’t speak to me all those years? ”
Claire shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It can’t be fixed. I don’t see the point in talking about it if there’s no solution.”
“I don’t think that’s it at all. I think you want to hoard your pain and tease other people with it. You want to hint that something’s wrong without giving me the opportunity of offering any real solace. You haven’t told me the truth, because then you might actually have to get over it.”
“Get over it?” she said, her eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” he said stoutly. “Get over it. Forgive me, Claire, but you’re no longer impoverished.
Your sisters—whatever may have happened in the interim—are now well provided for.
You hint that these terrible things happened, but you’ll neither define them nor move past them.
It’s as if you have drawn your own pain around you like a shield to keep people away, and you don’t really want to heal from anything because then you’d have to move on. ”
She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. “You have no idea what we went through.”
“Because you won’t tell me!”
Claire slashed her thin hand through the air. Her eyes were bright with tears. Her pointed chin quivered; she looked as if she were momentarily incapable of speaking.
Michael hated that he had been the cause of her distress, and yet he didn’t want to take his words back. This was the only way forward, and he wanted a way forward with Claire far more than he wanted to avoid this fight altogether.
He took a deep breath. “Please, Claire.” He seeped his voice with every ounce of his sincerity. He prayed she saw the earnestness in his eyes, heard the vulnerability in his tone. “Please. Even if you can’t tell me all of it, just tell me something.”
Michael knew he perhaps should have felt ashamed for begging, but he had little pride where Claire was concerned.
Besides, he suspected that she’d never told anyone the whole of it.
She’d admitted as much—that she’d protected her sisters from the worst of their circumstances.
No one should bear such a burden alone, especially not the woman he’d fallen in love with all over again.
Claire’s jaw was twisted so tightly that he thought it would crack when it opened. He held back a sigh of relief when she began speaking.
“I was the one who had to tell the servants they had to leave,” she croaked.
“And then some of them took things when they left. Not that I can blame them. They hadn’t had wages, but it still was a shock to find Mother’s jewelry gone.
” She blinked back tears. “In the end, I was the one who did the marketing. I would go out early so no one would see me. I dressed like a servant. I…I haggled for food. I know that is how many people live their entire lives, but I had to learn.”
She swallowed and continued, “I’m ashamed to say that I found it humiliating.
I never thought before that I was a prideful person, but I was wrong.
Maybe that was one of the hardest things about being brought low in that way—realizing how much I had considered myself above poverty.
I know that things are supposed to be all better now, but I have nowhere to go with all of this anger that I still feel towards Richard.
With all of this fear that William is one bad year away from poverty himself.
You’ve seen how he furnished the house. It’s too extravagant.
I know he’s not a whoremonger like Richard was.
But what if he’s just as irresponsible?”
“He’s not.” Michael shook his head and bit the rest of his words back.
This was not about him explaining away her fears. He knew that fear was often irrational. But sometimes looking fear straight in the face was all that was required to diminish it.
“I know he’s not,” Claire surprised him by admitting.
“I can tell. But why am I still so frightened then? I feel it here.” She curled her fingers into her stomach.
“And sometimes I wake up in a sweat, remembering those days when I came home from market without being able to find something we could afford. I remember how hard it was. How embarrassing it was the first time I brought our things to a shop. And they swindled me.” She slapped her hand against the seat next to her.
“The first few times, the shopkeeper could tell I didn’t know what I was doing.
And he took advantage of it. I look back on how naive I was, and it makes me sick.
I should have gotten far more for that first batch of jewelry than I did. ”
Michael let the silence stretch between them. Instinctively, he knew there was more, if she’d just gain the courage to be able to speak it. This moment would be the deciding factor.
Claire finally took a deep breath and then let it all out in a rush, deflating like a soufflé brought out too early from the oven. “I told you that I went to see him. Richard, I mean.”
He nodded. “Yes, and he mistook you for—” Michael couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
Claire cleared her throat. Her gaze was pointed out over the park, but she looked as if she weren’t seeing any of it. “One of his women, yes. But I didn’t tell you the entire truth of it.”
Michael waited. He didn’t trust himself to speak—he was frightened that he’d say the wrong thing and silence her on the subject forever. Instead, he pulled the carriage off the path behind some shrubbery.
“It was late. I had been looking for him all day, going to a hundred different doors that I never should have visited. I saw him on the street and I followed him into a building. I thought it was apartments or some such.” She swallowed deeply. “It wasn’t.”
Horror nearly stole his breath. “Oh, Claire.”
“Of course I didn’t comprehend where I was until I was halfway up the second flight of stairs.” She huffed a disgusted laugh. “My brother was such a degenerate he had his own room.”
Michael couldn’t help it; his lip curled. Even if he’d thought it wise to speak, he couldn’t have mustered words.
Claire continued, “So when I ran from his room it was already dark. I started down the hall and…I recognized some men.”
“Who?” he asked, his voice guttural.
Claire shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, but I knew that if they saw me…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence; they both knew what would have happened to Claire’s reputation if she’d been spotted in a brothel.
His forehead wrinkled. “Is that why you are trying to get married? You’re worried they might have seen you?”
“No.” She shook her head again. “Just listen. I ran out into the hall and they were coming my direction, so I had to hide. I opened a door.” Here, she appeared to choke for a moment.
“But the room was occupied. Thankfully, the next door was a small closet. I wedged myself in and shut the door behind me just in time.”
He was gripping her hand now, trying to offer his strength. This memory was obviously difficult for her to recount. He hoped this story would help illuminate why she’d been angry with him, though Michael knew for a fact that he had not been one of the gentleman she recognized there.
He had never found cause to step foot in a brothel himself.
When he’d been on the cusp of manhood, his father had invited the family physician over, and the three of them had a frank, private, embarrassing, and very alarming conversation that had impressed upon Michael the dangers of ever visiting such a place. Not to mention the moral implications.
“It was too busy,” she whispered. “I couldn’t find a good time to escape, one where I was sure I wouldn’t be spotted. So I stayed there. Overnight. I just sat on an overturned bucket and prayed that nobody would need to use the mop.”
“All night?” Michael’s stomach turned as she nodded.
For a moment they sat silent, the reality of what she must have overheard pressing in on him until he thought he might be sick.
Claire gave a little shake. “In the morning I was able to sneak out while everyone was sleeping. None of my sisters ever knew that I was even gone. I snuck into the house, washed, and went down to breakfast like it had never happened. I’ve never told anyone. Until now.”
“I’m so sorry, Claire.”
She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
Michael shook his head. He could tell by the way she spoke of it that the memory was still fresh to her.
She turned to him and faced him fully. “I’m trying to explain that I got a front-row seat to the reality of what might happen to ladies who have no one to provide for or protect them.”
He reared back. This was why she wanted to marry prudently above all else.
Michael held her thin hand with both of his now, the reins dropped and forgotten. “Claire, I promise you that I would never let that happen to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, still distracted by her memories.
Michael wondered if she realized what she’d just admitted to him. He wondered if she’d ever realize that she trusted Michael to keep her safe.
“I am sorry that happened,” he said. “Truly I am. But Claire, you made it through. Your sisters made it through because of you. You are strong and wonderful. You kept them safe.”
“If it’s over, why doesn’t it feel like it?” she asked, meeting his eyes. Her forehead was crinkled in confusion.
“When my father died,” he started slowly, then swallowed. It was harder to say these words than it should have been. But she had offered him a piece of her, and he wanted to return the favor. He cleared his throat and tried again. “My father’s death was unexpected.”
“I remember,” she murmured. She squeezed his fingers back. He was grateful for the support, bolstered by it.
He continued, “Mother was devastated. She was—” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen her like that before or since. I was truly concerned for her. And Sylvia was still young. She needed me too. There was so much to be done. No one tells you how much work it is when someone close to you dies.”
She nodded. “I know.”
Michael nodded back, because Claire did know.
“I was strong for them. I had to be. I needed to take over the estate. I needed to set up everything for his funeral. I had to comfort my sisters. It was only after months had passed, when Mother finally got her feet back underneath her again, when Sylvia seemed all right, when the bills were paid and my stewards were taking care of most everything else…” He winced. “That’s when I finally fell apart.”
“I’m sorry, Michael.”
“I’m only telling you this to explain that I think that when things are bad, on some level, it’s easier.
Emotionally, I mean. Because there’s so much to be done.
You don’t have time to sit around and mourn.
You don’t have time to think about all the things that could have been different.
You don’t have time to remember what you’ve lost. It’s when things get quiet again, when you aren’t just fighting for survival—that’s when the grief really sinks its talons into you.
Because that’s when you have time for it. ”
After several moments, she nodded. “I think perhaps you’re right.”
“I often think so.” He gave her a tentative smile.
“It’s something worth considering, at least.”
“How right I am all the time?” he offered.
She rolled her eyes at his teasing.
“Thank you for telling me, Claire,” he said.
She squeezed his hand, then glanced down as if surprised to find their fingers still entwined. A blush dusted her features and she pulled away as she said, “Thank you. For listening.”
He nodded and steered the horses back onto the pathway, the memory of her blush fueling the hope inside him.