Aurelia had barely time to step down before she was caught fully in Clara’s orbit, the girl’s questions tumbling one over the other with such speed that no answer could possibly satisfy them all.
“I am very well, I thank you,” Aurelia managed with a faint smile, though she suspected Clara had not waited to hear it.
“And is it very different in France? I have always thought it must be so romantic, though Mrs. Ellery says the fashions are quiteimproper, but I should not mind that, if only for a little while. Oh! But you must tell me everything, every single thing!”
Clara leaned closer, as if the secrets of an entire country might be whispered between them in the space of a breath, though she gave Aurelia no chance to begin.
“And you will stay, will you not? Mama says you must stay the whole season, and I have made plans, so many plans, you cannot imagine!”
Aurelia’s smile lingered.
“Oh! We must not stand here,” Clara declared suddenly, as if struck by a new and urgent idea. “You must come inside at once, Mama is resting, but she will want to see you, and there is tea, and I have so much to show you, our rooms, and the gowns that have been sent, and the invitations! Oh, Aurelia, there are already invitations!”
Before Aurelia could protest or even properly gather her things, Clara had taken her arm and was drawing her toward the house with gentle but undeniable determination.
The gravel crunched beneath their steps, the sound sharp in Aurelia’s ears. The house loomed nearer with every pace, familiar in a way that unsettled her, though she had not seen it in years. England had a way of preserving its impressions too well.
She felt it then: the weight of the place, the quiet expectation of it, and the past, waiting.
Clara, however, seemed entirely untouched by such considerations.
“You must tell me everything on the way,” she continued, scarcely pausing for breath. “Do you dance still? I hope you do, for we shall dance constantly, I have resolved upon it. And you must advise me on everything, Mama says you are to guide me, and I am so glad, for I should not know what to do at all, though I think I should like everything, do you not think I shall like everything?”
Aurelia’s chest tightened, though her expression did not change.
“I think,” she said quietly, allowing herself the smallest gentleness in her tone, “that you will like a great many things.”
Clara beamed, as though this were a confirmation of every happiness she had imagined. And with that, she pulled Aurelia fully into the house, into England, into society, into everything Aurelia had once fled, chattering still, radiant and unstoppable, while Aurelia followed at her side, composed and silent.
“Mama is in the drawing room, she has been waiting all morning, though she said she would not tire herself by watchingthe road, but I know she did. You must not mind if she seems a little quiet, she has not been well, you know …”
Aurelia scarcely had time to take in the familiar arrangement of furniture and the faint scent of dried flowers and polished wood, before Clara had ushered her through an open doorway and into the drawing room beyond.
The change in atmosphere was immediate. Where Clara brought movement and light, the room itself seemed subdued, held in a stillness that spoke of long afternoons and careful conservation of strength. The window stood open to admit what air it could, stirring the pale curtains in slow, uneven motions, but even the breeze felt reluctant to disturb the quiet.
Mrs. Louisa Blackmore was seated in a high-backed armchair beside the window. Time and illness had altered her more than Aurelia had been prepared for. Once brisk and composed, Aunt Louisa now appeared diminished, her figure slight beneath a shawl that seemed too heavy for her frame. Her complexion was sallow and her expression composed but drained of vitality, as though animation required an effort she could no longer afford.
“Aurelia.”
Her aunt inclined her head, extending a hand that Aurelia moved at once to take. The greeting was proper and measured, neither cold nor particularly warm, but something in between, restrained by habit as much as by fatigue.
“It is … good of you to come.”
There was a pause, just long enough to be felt, before Aurelia replied.
“I am glad to be of use, Aunt.”
Clara lingered nearby, bright and expectant, as though eager to bridge whatever distance lingered between them.
“She has come all this way, Mama, and she says the journey was quite tolerable, though I am certain it must have been dreadful, and she will stay the whole season, will you not, Aurelia?”
Aurelia inclined her head. “As long as I am needed.”
Aunt Louisa gave a small nod, as though this confirmed something already decided, and gestured faintly toward the chairs arranged nearby.
“Sit, both of you. Clara, do not flutter so, you will exhaust yourself before the day has properly begun.”
Clara laughed lightly but obeyed, though she could not remain still for long, shifting in her seat as the tea tray was brought forward. The ritual of it, pouring, offering and accepting,provided a brief structure to the moment. Aurelia found herself grateful for it, for the familiar motions that required no thought and no feeling.
