Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Hillary sat at the long dining table, the vast array of breakfast dishes laid out in front of her—fresh fruit, pastries, rich creamy butter, and more spreads than she could name. She glanced down the table at Claire, who was seated a few chairs away, pushing a slice of toast around her plate without taking a bite. Her eyes darted to the windows and back again, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of her plate. Something was definitely off.
Hillary took a sip of her coffee and decided to try easing her into conversation. “I was admiring the artwork in the entryway last night,” she said, keeping her tone light and casual. “Do you know if there are any other pieces like that around the estate? I’d love a tour sometime, if you have a minute.”
Claire’s gaze flicked to her, distracted, as though she was only then realizing Hillary was speaking to her. “Oh... um, yes, there are a few pieces. Some in the east wing sitting room, I think.” She paused, her eyes sliding back down to her plate, clearly unsettled.
“Could we go look at them now? I’d love to admire them in the morning light.” Hillary painted on a forced smile and hoped it would be enough to sway Claire to agree.
Before Hillary could follow up, Claire’s grandmother, seated at the head of the table, gave them both a stern look over the rim of her glasses. “Girls, we don’t get up in the middle of breakfast. A proper breakfast is to be enjoyed, not dashed away from like common riff-raff.”
Hillary opened her mouth to respond, but Madame Fournier intervened with a calm, almost conspiratorial smile. “Oh, let them go, Agnès. Perhaps they have a little ‘girl talk’ to catch up on.” She looked pointedly at Claire’s grandmother, her lips quirking as she added, “Perhaps Hillary has a suiter that might be a good fit for Claire. Let them go.”
Agnès pursed her lips, but she said nothing, only sniffing as if to suggest that “girl talk” was hardly a proper excuse for disrupting breakfast. Still, she didn’t argue further, and with Madame Fournier’s encouraging nod, Claire stood up, casting a wary glance at her grandmother before heading toward the door.
Hillary quickly followed, sensing Claire’s need for escape, and together they slipped out of the dining room and into the hallway. They approached some of the hanging art but Hillary barely glanced at them, keeping her focus on Claire’s tense posture as they walked.
“Are you alright?” Hillary asked gently once they were out of earshot. “You seem a bit... distracted this morning.”
Claire looked around, as if checking for unseen people wanting to listen, before finally meeting Hillary’s gaze. “It’s nothing. Just... family obligations,” she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.
Hillary could tell there was more to it. She decided to tread carefully, not wanting to push too hard. “I understand. Family can be... complicated.” She paused, offering Claire a small, reassuring smile. “Sometimes you need a little space to breathe. Do you want to take a look at those pieces in the east wing sitting room?”
Claire hesitated, then nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah... yeah, that sounds nice. There’s a piece down there that used to be my grandfather’s favorite. He always said it was the only thing in the house that made him feel calm. My grandfather didn’t care for all the pomp and circumstance. We were very similar in that way.”
They made their way down the corridor toward the sitting room, and Hillary could feel Claire’s tension easing with each step, as though the physical distance from the dining room was helping her emotionally as well. They entered the sitting room, a beautifully appointed space filled with antique furniture and, true to Claire’s word, several striking pieces of art on the walls.
Claire stopped in front of a serene landscape painting, her gaze softening as she looked at it. “My grandfather used to tell me stories about this painting,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “About how he’d sit in this room on rainy days, just... looking at it. Willowbrooke was like a second home for our family.” She laughed a bit sadly.
“Our family owns about ten homes all over the world. It’s silly to call this a second home. But Madame Fournier and her husband always made us feel welcome. Our families are very intertwined.”
Hillary moved closer, admiring the brushstrokes, the soft, inviting colors of the scene. “It’s beautiful. I can see why he liked it.” She glanced at Claire, studying her for a moment. “Is there anything you want to talk about, Claire? I know we’re practically strangers, but sometimes it helps to talk to someone who’s... outside of everything. That phone call last night seemed like it bothered you. Was it someone from work?”
For a moment, Claire looked like she might open up, her eyes darting back to Hillary, her lips parting as if to speak. But then she seemed to retreat, her expression becoming guarded again. “I appreciate it, Hillary. Really. But... there are things going on that I can’t explain.”
Hillary nodded, respecting her reluctance. “I’m a lawyer,” Hillary said curtly. “I didn’t tell you that. In this world,” she waved around the room, “having a career as a women isn’t held in very high esteem. But I love what I do. Giving a voice to people who may not otherwise have one. Seeking justice at every turn. I feel like it matters.”
Claire’s eyes widened with genuine surprise, her guarded demeanor softening for the first time. “You’re a lawyer?” Claire’s voice was laced with amazement. “I... I assumed you were another socialite here to rub elbows and attend the party. I thought you were just like... everyone else.” Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed by her assumption, but her curiosity quickly took over. “What kind of law do you practice? Who do you protect?”
Hillary raised a hand gently, slowing her down. “I’m happy to tell you all about my career, Claire. But right now, I’m more interested in what you’re dealing with. I can tell something’s off, maybe even dangerous. And I want you to know—you can trust me, and Russ. It might feel impossible to explain, but between the two of us, I’m sure we can help.”
Claire’s brow furrowed, her gaze flicking nervously to the door. “I don’t... I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, clearly unsettled by Hillary’s offer.
“Russ and I both can be a help to you no matter what is going on. “He’s an investigative journalist. He’s seen things and dealt with situations people can’t even imagine. He’s skilled at uncovering the truth, no matter how complex it seems.”
At the mention of Russ’s profession, Claire’s face went pale, a look of raw fear flashing in her eyes. Her body tensed, and she took a quick step backward, her face suddenly shuttered. “He’s... a journalist?”
Hillary nodded slowly, watching Claire’s reaction with growing concern. Claire’s hands shook slightly, and her gaze darted around the room as though searching for an escape.
“I—I should get back to breakfast,” she said abruptly, her voice trembling. She took another step back, distancing herself from Hillary. “I didn’t realize. Excuse me.”
“Claire, wait—” Hillary reached out, but Claire was already retreating, moving with quick, jittery steps as she backed out of the sitting room. There was a palpable sense of panic in her movements, as if she’d heard something that had shaken her to her core.
Hillary sighed, watching as Claire disappeared down the hall. This hadn’t gone as planned. But even in setbacks, there was information. Claire’s reaction wasn’t just nervous; it was terrified. The idea that Russ was a journalist had clearly struck a nerve, making her retreat instantly. Hillary felt certain that whatever Claire was dealing with, it was something she desperately wanted to keep out of the public eye. Something that, if exposed, could have serious consequences.