Chapter 7 Common Law #2
He chuckled. “Straight to the point, aren’t you?”
“Always.” With a sly smile, Clara stepped forward as he indicated the red peony.
“This one,” Philip explained. “My mother was quite fond of flowers, and I know she only gave them to those she wholly respected…to those she admired for their strength and love.” His expression turned shy.
“I am aware we’ve only been acquainted a short while, but you’re assuredly the strongest woman I’ve ever met. ”
Clara blinked at that, startled. “Me?” A scornful laugh bubbled in her throat. “How ever did you come to that conclusion?”
Bashfully, he shrugged. “You did stitch up my wound. If that isn’t strength, I surely don’t know what is.”
Chewing her lip, Clara accepted the three stems and twirled them between her fingers, a skeptical pleasure brightening her face as she stooped to inhale the sweet scent. Humming under her breath, she straightened and smiled. “This is quite sufficient, as far as bribery goes. Thank you, Philip.”
He laughed, though there was a hint of his earlier disquiet bleeding into his features. “I assure you, Miss Boyd, if I wished to bribe you, there would also be groveling.”
Her expression turned feline. “Indeed? Then perhaps you should get on your knees.”
A clearing throat interrupted their conversation—and a good thing too, seeing how dear Philip was ready to burst from embarrassment—and sighing, Clara turned toward Angélique behind them. “Yes, what is it?”
Despite her clipped tone, Angélique remained unruffled. “The cook would like your opinion on the sauces for Monsieur Ashby’s upcoming banquet. Would you please accompany me, mademoiselle?”
Clara pursed her mouth. Looking at the peonies, her handmaiden, and then back to Philip, she apologized, “Forgive me, but it seems you will have to dirty your knees another time. You may return to your book search.”
Philip spluttered, mortified, but she was already following Angélique with a pleased little smile on her lips.
Despite Benjamin’s varying successes that morning, he spent the rest of the day on guard, leery of everyone who crossed his path.
That man, that stranger who’d accosted him was still out there.
Even though it was doubtful he knew Benjamin was living with the Boyds, the overhanging quiet didn’t sit well with him.
And then there was the girl from earlier, Ada, who was the youngest courier Bishop recruited.
For today’s particular exchange, he’d written a coded note about Stewart’s death and requested a meeting with Amos, then tacked on an entreaty that the produce from Mr. Collins’s farm be burned.
He could only hope Ada passed that along in time…
Exhaling, Benjamin slipped into his bed and lay down, naked and uncomfortable.
It was funny, he thought. Ever since the beginning of the war, he’d remained adamantly neutral about his political leanings, yet the moment Daniel was arrested for his beliefs and strung up without a trial, Benjamin could no longer remain upon the fence.
He’d toppled headlong onto the patriot side, crashing painfully into his newfound allegiance.
And by God, it was painful; not only because of his irrevocable loss, but because the more he infiltrated this Tory family, the more he realized the other side wasn’t just filled with monsters.
Clara wasn’t a monster. She was intriguingly human, willful and alive, and whether or not he accepted it, he did admire her.
He even liked her. Maybe it was because he was forever indebted to her aid, he couldn’t be certain, but the lines between truth and pretend were officially starting to blur.
Dragging a hand over his face, Benjamin exhaled and attempted to settle into his bedding.
It was destined to be a long night.
Clara, too, was ill at ease that evening. She paced around in her bedchamber, clasping her hands over her mouth as though in prayer.
What was wrong with her? Why had she become consumed by thoughts of that silly, insufferable clotpole her sister had chosen to marry?
Although she’d started off tormenting and teasing Philip to prove he was truly loyal and devoted to Charlotte, and that he wasn’t just in this for the money, she was quickly finding herself quite fond of him.
And that, it seemed, was becoming a problem…
Oh, tar and sugar.
A sharp, painful slice of guilt twisted through her heart, and Clara exhaled, spinning about and facing her reflection.
It wasn’t as though she loved or desired Philip.
She wouldn’t be averse to physical entanglements, of course, but she actually found herself interested in what he had to say.
Clara liked listening to his fumbling, awkward attempts at conversation, and, more befuddling still, she liked him.
Ever since he’d given her that stupid flower, she’d found herself wholly endeared to Philip and his fawn-like eyes, bashful smiles, and bookish intelligence in ways she’d never thought possible.
Was this what it was like to enjoy a man’s companionship, and without the sole desire for intimacy? Was this what it was like to respect someone’s opinions other than her own? To yearn for their approval?
Groaning, Clara pushed back a loosened lock from her long, braided hair and once more glanced at her reflection.
She appeared lost, tragic, and despite the leap of shame in her chest, she decided she needed to check on Philip.
He hadn’t changed his bandages all day, to her knowledge, so she’d go by his room and see if he needed any help.
Attempting to calm her nerves, Clara slipped into her dressing gown, then prepared a punched tin lantern to take with her into the hallway.