Claire found that she was holding her breath. “How did you know?”
He gave her an odd look. “You told me so yourself. Have you forgot what you said to me in the carriage sweep? Wretched as I’ve been—difficult as it was to stay away—I was never so far beyond honor as to consider forcing my attentions upon a woman who had declined them so decisively. I have not forgot what you said.”
Nor had she.
Those words would be burned into her brain until her dying day, for she’d had ample time to rehearse them while Jonathan rushed about making all the arrangements for his departure. And as they’d parted ways in the snow-covered sweep, she’d delivered her speech with a quiet ferocity that had satisfied her pride—if nothing else.
“Should you go,” she’d told him, “you’re not to come back here. Not ever. Nor may you write to me, seek me out, or approach me in public. I never want to see you again.”
His eyes had pleaded with her. “You know I must go.”
“You’re choosing to go. You’re choosing her. And by the time you’ve seen your mistake, it will be too late. I’ll be lost to you forever. So make your choice now…and live with the consequences.”
Though tears had run down her cheeks, she’d held his gaze and refused to wipe them away. Let him see what his betrayal was doing to her. Let him—a man who abhorred nothing so much as the sense of having injured or imposed upon another—see all her naked grief and know he was the cause.
His face was contorted with guilt and remorse, and she wasn’t sorry for it. All she’d wanted in that moment was to hurt him as much as he was hurting her.
And she’d rather thought she was succeeding. He’d looked like she felt: as if his heart were cleaving in two. He’d even looked, for just a moment, as if he might change his mind.
But then an ear-splitting wail had commanded his attention, and he’d glanced over his shoulder. Behind him was the chaise, and in the chaise was his mother—bent over, hands hiding her face, sobs racking her body.
He’d made his choice. He’d climbed in and settled her little yapping dog on her lap.
And Claire was left standing in the snow, an icy wind stinging her wet cheeks.
Seven
When Claire spoke again, Jonathan heard an iciness in her voice. “Well, then why are you here in our kitchen?”
He was taken aback at the sudden change in her demeanor—and perplexed as to how he should respond.
No matter, though; Claire hadn’t finished yet. “You said you would never force your way in against my wishes. You said you had no hope of winning me over. Yet here you are at my home…against my wishes…trying to win me over.” She rose to her feet. “Why did you come?”
He was silent a moment, considering the question. “I always did hope—without any right to hope—that I might hear some hint of your softening towards me. That’s why I kept Noah abreast of my travels.”
“Noah?” Appearing astonished, Claire seized the table, looking like she needed it to help keep her balance. “He knew where you were? All year?”
“Of course.” Puzzled, Jonathan frowned. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“Why should he tell me?” Her voice rose, tinged with something that just might be hysteria. “I’m sure he couldn’t be bothered. He’s never given a moment’s thought to anybody but himself, after all!”
Jonathan wanted to defend his friend, but thought better of it. “I’m so sorry, Claire,” he said instead, with all the sincerity he could muster—which was a lot. From the bottom of his heart, he meant every word he was saying. “I thought you knew where I was—or at the very least, could obtain the knowledge should you want it. I didn’t mean to fall off the face of the earth, if that’s how it felt to you.”
“Of course not!” Her voice rose even higher. “What in the perfectly ordinary circumstance of your vanishing for an entire year, with nary a word of your whereabouts to anybody save my stupid brother, could have possibly made me feel that way?”
He felt a flicker of frustration. “I was only trying to respect your wishes! You said you never wanted to see or hear from me again. I did what you asked.”
“No, you didn’t!” she burst out. “I asked you to choose me!” Breathing hard, she hugged herself, as if she were trying to rein herself in.
“I wish I had,” he said quietly. “I know now that I was wrong, not—” Upon her starting to speak, he raised a hand. “Please let me finish. I was wrong, not only because maman was a saboteur, but in principle. Even had she been perfectly innocent, still I would have been wrong to prioritize her distress over yours. You are the woman I should have vowed to love, honor, and keep, not her. Perhaps it required the shock of her treachery to teach me that, but I have learnt the lesson.”
To this speech Claire said nothing. Was she absorbing what he’d said? Or struggling with a response? Either way, Jonathan took her silence as encouragement enough to continue.
To attempt to close his case.
“Claire,” he began. “Oh, Claire.” His voice cracked, as it hadn’t since he was an adolescent. “I realize there is nothing I can do to erase my past offenses, though I can promise never to repeat them. Your pardon would be a kindness rather than a justice, and certainly more than I deserve. I only desire you to know that I’ve changed and—well, that I’m still here.”
He paused for a much-needed deep, heartfelt breath before locking his gaze on hers.
