Sharon Sobel (18 page)

Claire’s body fell limp against his, and he heard her breaths grow deeper.

“I thought you were going to ask me about the roses,” he whispered, and kissed her tangled hair.

“I did wonder about them,” she answered, surprising him. “I was warned you were a bookish man, so I believed you better with historical characters and scientific studies than knowing how to drive a woman absolutely wild with pleasure.”

“And yet that is what bookish men think about all the time, even while reading about historical characters and scientific studies. Trust me on it. I know this even better than you know about kitchens.”

She laughed. “Oh, dear, but you have reminded me of something. We must gather the rose petals before the morning, for the maids will certainly know something is amiss.”

Max thought of Mrs. Clark, waiting for him with the scissors in hand, knowing precisely what he wished to do with them. “Nothing is amiss in this household, Lady Claire. And I am certain all the staff is already well aware of what is going on in this bed.”

“And what is that, precisely?” she asked.

“Allow me to refresh your memory,” Max said, and did.

***

Claire told herself she was happy to be back in London, but realized she had gotten quite used to the country hours they kept at Brookside Cottage, where the day began with the rising of the sun, and the engine of the household began to slow down after sunset. That she and Maxwell Brooks had extended each day several hours into the next was utterly delightful and impossibly exhausting. As a result, Claire slept on the long journey back to town, and provided very poor company for Lady Camille, who only wished to discuss their plans.

Max spent much of his time examining legal documents, and seemed to think they provided engaging information to share with his sister. She tolerated this, providing a captive audience for him, but even if Claire was able to open her eyes for more than ten minutes at a stretch, the texts he read aloud would have put her immediately to sleep.

However, Claire recovered some of her energy when they reached the outskirts of the great city, and she endeavored to describe to her friend what she saw through the window. Camille wanted to hear every detail, which truly was a challenging task; one busy street in London surely had more to see and do than all of the Wentworth estate in Yorkshire.

Claire was delivered to her door and waiting staff, and Marissa Ridgebury swept into her parlour not an hour later.

“You must tell me everything,” Marissa demanded. “I have been so frustrated by your cryptic letters that I was sorely tempted to travel to Middlebury and see everything for myself. My maid told me that Arista followed you there, and if I only knew, I would have joined her. Not only would I have had company, but I would have been able to learn about every single thing concerning every single person in London. Arista is such a treasure.”

“I desired her help to dress Lady Camille for an Assembly Ball.”

“And what of yourself? Did you do much fishing in Yorkshire?” Marissa asked, as she settled herself on the chaise and spread her shawl over her knees. “Were there any fish big enough to make your journey worthwhile?”

“That is not why I went to Brookside Cottage, as you may recall. I had a lovely time with Lady Camille, and we read and walked together every day.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “It sounds absolutely fascinating.”

Claire had pity on her. “I did catch a rather attractive fish one day at the brook. I considered throwing him back, for he is not a perfect specimen by any account, but I decided to keep him after all.”

“And his taste?” Marissa leaned forward, grinning.

“His taste is rather excellent. And, indeed, he tastes excellent as well.” Claire sat down opposite her friend.

“Better and better. I can only wonder who you might have found up in that wilderness, for I know of no one who ventures so far north, unless it is to travel through to an estate in Scotland. And, of course, the murderer was safely away.” When Claire said nothing, Marissa drew her own conclusions. “Oh, no. Not him, surely? You have not decided to take on Lord Wentworth, along with his poor sister? What can you be thinking?”

“Please, Marissa,” Claire said. If this conversation did not go well with her very best friend, what hope did she have of dismissing society’s rumors? “He is not a murderer. At the very worst he was a child who caused an accident with tragic consequences. At best, he had nothing to do with it at all, but has shouldered the blame for all these years. In either case, I do not find fault with him. In fact, he is rather wonderful.”

“I see. You have been swayed by a handsome man with a bit of mystery about him. But as you might recall, we have heard that he bears terrible scars of that night, which are likely to diminish one’s appreciation of his fine figure.”

Claire held her breath for a moment, knowing it was impossible for her to keep any secrets from her friend. “I have seen those scars and they do nothing to diminish my appreciation.”

Marissa nearly tipped off the chaise. “What have you done, my dear? And with this man?”

Claire waited, as her maid entered the room with an overloaded tray of tea and treats, including Claire’s favorites. She thought she ought to write down some of the recipes and give them to Mrs. Clark, if she ever saw Mrs. Clark again. But for now she reached for a cucumber and egg sandwich.

“I have done what I have longed to do since Glastonbury’s death, and have not dared with any gentleman of my acquaintance. I will not say I have not been tempted, but good sense always prevailed.”

“And what happened to your good sense whilst on holiday on Yorkshire?” Marissa asked.

“It did not abandon me. My eyes were open and clear-sighted when I did what I did, several times over.”

“Several times?” Marissa pressed her hand over her heart. “Will you marry the man?”

Claire was pretty certain that a bed of roses was not a proposal of marriage, but she also knew Max would not have gone to such trouble if he did not intend to make a compelling case in his favor. If she had not already guessed it, she knew last night in Brookside Cottage that she loved him and if he had asked for her hand then, she would have given him her promise. But he did not ask, and she did not insist upon it, and now they were in London, where roses were a bit harder to come by.

“I do not know,” Claire said, honestly. “He has not been out much in the world, and I should like for him and his sister to meet our friends and attend all the best events. I have taken on the responsibility of restoring his reputation, and can hardly step between him and ladies who will distract him from a widow who was a companion to his sister.”

“Of course. You are such an old dowd. Once Wentworth’s popularity is established, he will certainly find sweet young things who are all of—what?—four years younger than you. Why did I not think of that at once?”

Claire reached for another sandwich. “You know you cannot have it both ways, my dear. Either you are appalled by my relations with this man, and would be happy to see him out of my life. Or you want me to have him, and will strangle the competition.”

Marissa looked at her over her teacup. “I want what you want,” she said.

“Thank you,” Claire said, expressing a wealth of gratitude with those simple words.

“We shall begin at Mrs. Longreaves’ dinner party on Tuesday night, where I have already secured invitations for you, Lady Camille, and Wentworth. The St. Paul family will be dining there as well and their son is only recently back from Paris. I thought of him for Lady Camille.” Marissa paused and took a deep breath. “I daresay we shall have to visit my dressmaker immediately, for you wrote Lady Camille has an indifferent wardrobe. We would not want to add that to the list of qualities by which she shall be judged, for being blind is certainly sufficiently problematic. Then, I should like to . . .”

“One scarcely notices she is blind,” Claire broke in. “I find myself forgetting it all the time. She manages quite well, so long as she is in the company of a friend who understands how to help her. And we had some dresses made up in Middlebury. They are not the finest, I admit, but they will do until others are made. And of course she will need a gown for the ball we are planning for her. And there is one other thing.”

“Riding in the park; I have already thought of it. Can she manage on a saddle?”

“I believe she can, but that is not what I would ask,” said Claire. “Can you procure an invitation for a Mr. James Cosgrove, in Belgravia Square?”

Marissa frowned. “I never heard of the man.”

“He is the fourth son of the Duke of Lennox.”

“Which is exceedingly unfortunate,” Marissa pointed out.

“But he is a dear friend of Lady Camille, which is fortunate indeed.”

“Of course. Once other gentlemen see his attentions to her, they will be encouraged to step forward. It is a very good strategy, Claire.”

Indeed. If all turned out well during this London sojourn, Max would find a charming, young thing to marry, and Camille would forget about her beau from Middlebury and run off with an earl. It was a wonderful plan and when all was said and done, Claire and Jamie Cosgrove could console themselves over a pot of tea.

“Is it?” Claire asked. “Suddenly, I find myself wondering what I am doing here in London.”

“This is where you belong, my friend,” sighed Marissa.

Claire thought about dipping her bare feet in the lovely brook in Yorkshire, the wide lawn at Brook Hall and the row of neatly tended quince trees. She knew she would no longer awaken each morning to the riotous sound of birds in the woods and walk through rows of lavender and coneflowers on her way to the meadow. The food on her London table would not come from her little patch of garden nor would the fish be caught in the Thames. Maxwell Brooks’s bedroom was no longer down the hall from her own.

“I used to think so,” Claire said. “Now, I am no longer certain of it.”

***

Marissa’s planned events for Claire’s calendar did not include the one thing Claire truly missed during her visit to Brookside Cottage, and so Claire set off the next morning to Mrs. Maybelle’s Home for Orphaned Girls before anything could distract her from her mission. She selected a lively book that Lady Camille and she enjoyed reading together, about a lost girl and a dog that follows her about, rescuing her from improbable situations and unlikely dangers. Mrs. Maybelle’s girls would either be terrified or delighted by their adventures, but Claire thought she could improvise with some facility.

She nearly missed the modest house in its row of neatly tended neighbors, and only realized her mistake when she recognized a small face in the window. The sight of one friend, of someone loved, reminded Claire that the trappings of wealth and the grandness of furnishings had nothing to do with what made a house a home. She returned to a place of comfort and joy and as she entered, it seemed that not only did the girls embrace her, but the house did as well.

“We missed you most terribly, Lady Claire,” one girl said.

“I am so happy to be back,” Claire responded. “And did you not enjoy the company of my friend, Mrs. Brooks, who came in my stead?”

“She is a very fine lady,” said one of the girls, glancing around at the others.

“Yes?” Claire prompted them.

“Mrs. Brooks would not sit on the floor,” the oldest girl said. “She told us it would be quite improper to do so.”

Claire smiled, glad that this was all. “Mrs. Brooks is correct, for sitting on the floor is rather unladylike. But one can behave a bit improperly when one is at home. Do you not agree, Mrs. Maybelle?”

“Welcome home, my lady,” the good woman said, punctuating all that Claire felt just now.

“It is my pleasure,” Claire said simply. “I have brought a very remarkable book with me, about a young girl who is quite lost until she finds a dog to help her find her way home.”

And so she settled herself on the worn rug and the girls gathered around and resumed as if they had not just endured a separation of so many weeks. Claire did not have to probe too deeply to understand why this simple story affected her audience more than her reading of Tennyson or Bunyan: They all were lost girls, seeking a guide through the wilderness. The orphans desired nothing more than a home, each to her own. Lady Camille wanted to be mistress of a home wherein she was not a younger, dependent sister, but a woman in her own right, with a husband of her choosing. And she, Claire, with a choice of several properties with equally lonely beds, wanted someone she loved and trusted, with whom she could share her life.

No matter the words she read, her thoughts were only for Maxwell Brooks, which is why she was rendered speechless when his aunt strode through the door of Mrs. Maybelle’s parlour.

“Please, my lady,” urged one of the girls, tugging on Claire’s skirt.

“Yes, do not allow me to interrupt you,” said Adelaide Brooks. “I will sit here until you are done.”

She sat down on a stiff ladder-back chair. Of course.

Claire smiled as she continued to read, perhaps a bit too quickly, but nonetheless concluded with some satisfaction. The girls had much to say about the lost girl, the noble dog, dogs they once cared for, girls who got lost in the marketplace, and a cat that caught a mouse and deposited it in a baby’s cradle. Claire commented briefly on all their stories, and feigned great interest. But she truly wished to know why Adelaide Brooks sought her out so soon after her return to London. What had she heard?

Mrs. Maybelle finally took pity on her generous benefactor and reminded the girls about a drawing lesson in the park. They each bid Claire farewell with a well-practiced curtsey, and left the room in set order, from the oldest to the toddlers.

“Mrs. Brooks! How good of you to visit me within hours of my return to London,” Claire said, remaining on her seat.

“I confess, I was not altogether sure you would be back, but I stopped at Wentworth House and Lady Camille told me you were at Eton Square. Your housekeeper told me where to find you, and here you are.”

“And it feels quite comfortable, I admit,” Claire said. “But have I usurped your position? I know you read to the girls in my absence.”