“I would propose. Gladly.” Alden infused the last word with fervor. He lifted his teacup with a sigh. “But I know she will refuse me.”
What womanwouldn’tsay no to linking herself to an ill-tempered man whose friends couldn’t speak without crudeness, and to shutting herself in a dark house with a flowerless garden?
Lord Duxford’s eyes twinkled. “That is likely so. My advice to you is to give her time, and don’t give up. Now tell me, Lord Alden, how is your father? Been donkey’s years since I had a good chinwag with him.”
*
Weeks flew by.Drab October gave way to an even drearier November, with gray skies and plenty of rain.
Alden couldn’t remember when he’d been happier. He woke every morning with anticipation instead of the grim weight of despondency, dressed himself with only a little assistance from Milford, collected Harvey, and walked with him the short distance to the Griffin home.
He’d be invited into the morning meal, the family always professing delight to see him. His place at the table became permanent, a setting and cup waiting for him each day. The same manservant would dart out into the garden with a bowl for Harvey, who’d nearly knock the good-natured man down in his joy.
After breakfast, Alden and Clara, with or without her sisters, would take Harvey for his walk on the Heath. They’d roam the large park, from the gates of Kenwood House to the hill with its fine view over London.
Sometimes they’d head for Highgate, where Clara would continue taking rubbings from the markers for her aunt who collected them—apparently the woman was researching notable people who’d been buried there.
Alden grew to make peace with Highgate, a place he’d resented for the past year. He never visited his friend’s grave while they were there, not wanting to experience sadness when he was with Clara. Besides, the air there always grew soconfoundedly cold around him that Alden was ever glad to quit the place.
He and Clara continued to argue about anything and everything, she not afraid to make her opinions known. One thing they did not argue about was Harvey. He was their dog now, spending the nights in Alden’s garden and his days with Clara and her family.
Rather like Alden himself, Alden reflected, though he’d retire to his own bedchamber these days. He had, in fact, slept in the shed with Harvey for the first week.
On Guy Fawkes Night in November, Alden and the Griffin family, with Harvey, stood with other revelers on the Heath, the flames of many bonfires driving away the chill.
There was enough distraction that Alden could draw Clara away from her sisters and parents, leading her and Harvey along a less-trodden path toward trees that sheltered them from the wind. He’d brought along a lantern, wanting to prove to Clara that, yes, he could be practical, and it glowed on the branches bending over them.
Harvey, whose ribs no longer showed and whose coat was now sleek and clean, pranced and jumped at the end of his lead. When they were far away enough from the fires and celebrations, Alden unhooked the line from his collar.
They often let Harvey run while they were out for their walks, and he never strayed far from Clara. He’d gambol and dance, chase a rabbit or two to make certain they knew he was a hunting dog, and then rush back to Clara and Alden, barking in delight.
Tonight he scampered off into the darkness but soon reappeared, circled Clara and Alden, and flopped into the grass next to them, panting.
Alden turned Clara to face him and kissed her in the light of the twinkling lantern.
He hadn’t been able to steal many kisses from her since the night they’d rescued Harvey, and this one sparked need through his body. She tasted sweet and of excitement, putting her arms around him to kiss him thoroughly in return.
Alden needed this woman as he’d never needed anything else in his life.
He eased the kiss to its close and traced her cheek. “Clara.” Alden’s throat closed but he drew a breath and threw caution to the wind. “I love you.”
“Oh.” Clara stared at him, eyes wide, and Alden’s heart sank. He’d gone too far, presumed too much.
“You don’t have to—” he began.
“Good, because I love you too,” Clara said, her smile warm.
She squeezed his hands, and the last shadows in Alden’s heart splintered and fell away.
Harvey stared up at him, as though waiting for what he would do next.
“Will you marry me, Clara?” Alden asked in a rush. “I know you’ll say no, but please, will you consider it?”
Clara’s smile vanished, and she took a step back from him. “Why do you think I’ll say no?”
A few shadows crept back. “Because you immediately negate everything I suggest.”
“I do not,” she said with conviction. “I think over what you say instead of gushing that you are the most intelligent man of my acquaintance like some foolish, twittering female.”
