He let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t presume to tell me how to raise my children.”
He reached out, hauling on the bell pull. A deep, loud gong rang in the depths of the house. Seconds later, there was a scuttling outside, and the butler stepped into the study, out of breath. Clearly it was important to answer their master’ssummons as quickly as possible.
“Viscount Henley is just leaving,” Auric said, never taking his eyes from his son. “Fetch his gloves and hat at once. He can wait outside while his carriage is fetched.”
A sinking feeling formed in Clayton’s gut.
Fool, he thought sourly.
There was nothing for it, nothing beyond grovelling and begging his father’s pardon. There was no guarantee that would work, either.
He stalked out of the study, never once looking back, although he could feel Auric’s eyes boring into his back.
Eliza was standing in the hallway outside, ashen faced.
“I heard voices,” she said flatly. “Are you leaving, Clay?”
“He told me to go,” Clayton murmured.
“Oh, Clayton.”
“I am sorry. Truly, I am.”
Eliza shook her head, biting her lower lip. “Say goodbye to them for me, won’t you?”
Somehow, the idea of facing his younger siblings and saying goodbye was a more daunting prospect than facing his father again.
The raised voices must have travelled further than expected, because suddenly Edward and Amelia were standing silently in the drawing room doorway. He hugged Amelia first, holding her tight.
“I’m sorry, dears,” he murmured. “I have to go.”
Amelia tightened her arms around his middle. Sniffling, Edward hung onto Clayton’s arm.
“But we haven’t even had cake yet. Tell him, Emmy.”
Amelia bit her lip.
“Thank you for my presents, Clayton.”
He kissed his little sister on the top of her head. “Read a lot of books, Amelia. Don’t listen to Father.”
“I won’t.”
Then the butler reappeared, regretfully handing Clayton his gloves and hat, and there was nothing for him but to leave.
Chapter Thirteen
Isolde kept glancing at the clock on the wall. Visiting hours were still in full swing, which meant she had a good while yet before she could think about dressing for the evening.
Beatrice glanced up at her over her sewing, and bit back a sigh.
“Izzy, my dear, I know you are excited about that salon later tonight, but I do wish you’d concentrate. These are visiting hours, and you just spent the last twenty minutes staring into space and attending to nothing. Poor Mrs. Heff was quite put out, I think.”
Isolde felt a pang of guilt at that. Mrs. Heff was a neighbour of theirs, a pleasant and friendly woman whose daughter was making her come-out this year. But really, how could a person think about guests and idle chit-chat at a time like this?
She had spent most of last night awake, staring into space and wondering what had come over her. Why, oh why had she invited him? It couldn’t possibly end well.
Sighing to herself, she leaned back against the sofa, letting her book fall from her hands.
