Chapter Nine A Marriage Becoming Real #4
“We challenge successfully.”
“Bellamere?”
“Likely restored under the original security terms.”
Clara heard the words. Won. They had effectively won. Her father’s home could be saved. Whitcombe Park would not need to be sold. Her mother’s money would be restored. For several seconds relief moved through her so strongly she almost sat down. Sebastian turned.
“We have it.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
He looked happy. Not triumphant. Relieved for her.
Clara wanted to kiss him. The desire was immediate and startling.
Then something else followed. Cold. Because Bellamere was solved.
The reason for their marriage was disappearing.
Clara looked down at the ledger. She should have felt free.
Instead she felt frightened. That evening, Sebastian was late for dinner.
Clara waited. At half past eight Mrs. Linton suggested serving the first course.
“No. His Grace will come.”
At eight forty-five Sebastian entered, apologizing.
“You waited.”
“Of course.”
He stopped. The words affected him. Clara saw it.
“I was with Fane.”
“About the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Everything is proceeding.”
He seemed pleased. Clara tried to be. Dinner was warm.
Easy. They spoke about Whitcombe Park. Sir Edmund.
Bellamere. Sebastian suggested repairs to the Sussex roof.
Clara told him she had not yet decided whether she wanted to repair a house that appeared determined to drown its occupants.
He said he would buy more basins. She laughed.
It felt almost cruel. Because beneath every conversation Clara heard Augusta’s question.
And after Bellamere? She looked at Sebastian across candlelight.
He seemed content. Perhaps he was. Perhaps their marriage would continue exactly like this. Separate rooms. Shared breakfasts.
Occasional almost-kisses. Companionship.
That might be enough. Except Clara already knew it would not be.
The next afternoon she went to Sebastian’s study without knocking.
Habit. The door stood partly open. Voices came from within.
Fane. Sebastian. Clara would have entered. Then she heard her name. She stopped.
“Bellamere must be settled entirely upon Clara.”
Sebastian. Fane answered, “That is simple enough.”
“The recovered money too.”
“Yes.”
“Independently.”
“Of course.”
Clara smiled faintly. Then Sebastian said, “And if she wished to live separately?” The smile disappeared. Silence inside. Fane’s voice changed.
“Has Her Grace indicated that?”
“No.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because once the financial matter is resolved, she should understand every option.”
Clara went cold. Fane said something she did not catch. Sebastian answered.
“I will not have her remain because leaving appears difficult.”
Leaving. Clara’s fingers tightened around the papers in her hand. Fane spoke again.
“A legal separation can be arranged privately enough under certain conditions, though divorce is another matter entirely.”
“I am not asking about divorce.”
“No.”
“I am asking how easily she could establish a separate household without financial dependence upon me.”
Clara stopped hearing properly. Separate household.
Financial independence. Leaving. Bellamere was solved.
And Sebastian was already planning what happened next.
Of course he was. They had discussed it before the marriage.
If the legal problem ended, they could live separately.
Clara had agreed. This was not betrayal.
It was Sebastian keeping the terms. That somehow hurt more.
He had remembered everything. Yellow roses.
Street noise. Her favorite newspaper. But perhaps all his care existed because Sebastian was honorable, not because he wanted permanence.
Perhaps the kiss at Bellamere changed nothing fundamental.
Perhaps he regretted allowing the boundaries to blur and now intended to restore them cleanly before Clara misunderstood.
Too late. She already had. Clara stepped backward.
Neither man heard her. She turned quietly and walked away.
The corridor seemed unusually long. At the end, afternoon light fell through the tall windows across the carpet.
Clara stopped there. Below her, Grosvenor Square carried on with ordinary life.
Carriages. Horses. Callers. Servants. The same London that once watched Adrian leave her.
She pressed one hand against the window frame.
This was different. Sebastian had promised he would never disappear.
He was not disappearing. He was doing something almost worse. He was preparing the door for her.
Giving her every freedom. Making certain she could leave without losing anything.
Exactly as an honorable man should. Clara closed her eyes.
She had spent eleven years learning how to survive being unwanted.
The ridiculous thing was that she had begun to believe she might never need the skill again.