She exhaled a pent-up breath.Lord, I believe you are both sovereign and good. Please watch over Mum in my stead.
Two members of the Garde Impériale walked the length of the palace, heads erect, eyes vigilant, and strides purposeful as they monitored the perimeter, defending the property of the French state from those who would wish to do it harm.
“If only people cared for one another so well.” Clara flattened her lips, regretting the utterance of her private musing.
Mr. Arthur angled toward her in the cart, placing an arm on the low-backed seat. “Such lament. Whatever does it mean?”
Her gaze drifted to the cobbles paving the street, dust strewn and worn down from years of constant use. “Merely that not all people are treated as palaces, admired by travelers and protected by armed guard. Some of us are treated as a cobbled road, trod upon and soon forgotten. That’s just the way of things.”
A gentle touch on Clara’s chin drew her face to Mr. Arthur. Concern furrowed his brow and tenderness gleamed in his eyes of jade. “Oh, Miss Stanton. Whatever did that cad Forrester do to you?”
Withdrawing from Mr. Arthur’s touch, Clara settled her gaze on her bandaged hands. What harm could there be in telling him now? Her well-meaning family had probably blabbed much of the sorry tale already, and with Mr. Forrester now pursuing them across Europe, Mr. Arthur would do well to know the sort of man they were dealing with.
“If I am to tell you what transpired with Mr. Forrester, you must first understand that his coldness of heart was not always so plain. I was raised to expect kindness and sincerity from everyone. To believe that when a boy smiles at you, he is in earnest. Thus, when we became acquainted with Mr. Forrester through our fathers’ textile trades ... well ... suffice to say he was then fifteen, and I, a girl of twelve, was blinded by naïveté and infatuation.”
Heat singed her cheeks, but a merciful spring breeze prompted her to continue. “When our families socialized, Mr. Forrester would seek me out in the library, and we’d play pretend with my maps and travel guides. Years later, when everything fell apart, I realized our adventures were but a joke to him.Iwas but a joke to him. I was just too starry-eyed to perceive the brittle edge of mockery in his smile. In any case, I believed us to be friends. For he was a constant companion, my Buccaneer Bill. That is ... until his father died.
“When Mr. Forrester inherited Forrester Freight, I finally began to perceive signs of his true nature. Only then I called them grief. The darkness in his gaze and severity of his tone. The thinly veiled insults directed at me and my family.” A shudder disturbed Clara’s lips, and she could only hope her bonnet concealed it from Mr. Arthur.
“Then, one day, Mr. Forrester was seemingly himself again. Smiling, attentive, and complimentary. When he proposed to me a fortnight later, I was taken aback. But Granny was gone by then, and I was tired of trying to see to the family’s needs alone. When Mr. Forrester promised to take care of us ... to take care of me ... why, it was enough to win me over. To make me hope the companionship we’d shared might be revived and inspire deeper affections. Thankfully, I discovered the truth of things before we married.”
“And what was the truth, Miss Stanton?”
“That our engagement was an entrapment. A cruel means to an end.” Clara clasped the compass on her chatelaine, squeezing it tightly. “Everything came out the night of our engagement party. Papa wished to make a toast, but Mr. Forrester had disappeared. I sought him in the library, thinking he’d retreated there, as the revelry had become quite boisterous.”
“I’d wager Mrs. S. had something to do with the rumpus.”
A weak smile tilted her mouth. “She was singing a romanticIrish ballad while Papa accompanied her on violin and our canine quartet improvised harmonies.”
Mr. Arthur’s laugh was like the first ray of sunlight after a storm. “I should like to take in an encore of that performance.”
Clara’s smile strengthened. That she did not doubt. For unlike Mr. Forrester, Mr. Arthur treated her family with respect and kindness and ...love. Genuine and unconditional.
“Forgive my interruption, Miss Stanton. Do go on.”
She fortified herself with a deep breath. “At the library door, I overheard a heated conversation between Mr. Forrester and another man. From their argument, I gathered that Mr. Forrester had inherited gambling debts from his father. Instead of coming into a thriving business, his back was laid bare to the leeching creditor in the library who wouldn’t be shaken until he was bled dry. Only there was nothing left to bleed.”
She sighed deeply. If Mr. Forrester had only been honest, Papa would’ve readily helped the son of his old friendly rival. “The creditor refused to leave without collecting the vast sum he was owed, so to pry the leech from his back, Mr. Forrester offered my inheritance as collateral.”
A shiver crept along her spine. She could still hear Mr. Forrester’s voice, calculated and callous.“Once I have legal control of her stocksin Stanton Shipping, you’ll have your money with interest. Why else do you think I’m fettering myself tothis idiotic family?”
The tears could not be prevented from sliding down her cheeks. “Instead of protecting me from his precarious circumstances, Mr. Forrester chose to ensnare me in them unawares. I, on the other hand, determined to shield my family from his fraudulence. Once the creditor left, I broke off the engagement. Mr. Forrester tried to persuade me that I’d misunderstood. To keep me from walking away, he grabbedhold of this...” She traced a finger over the compass’s dented brass.
“So you see, Mr. Arthur, if I’d known that I’m just a cobbled road, I would’ve expected to be treated as such and seen through Mr. Forrester’s alleged affections. Perhaps then I might’ve spared my family the havoc he has wrought. The gossip, derision, and social cuts. The constant threat of Mr. Forrester’s spies deceiving their way into our home to steal the letter informing Grand of his son’s death in an asylum. Of Mr. Forrester using that letter as leverage to blackmail me into becoming his wife to keep Grand out of Bedlam. The heartache of having our greatest pain exposed and twisted into cruel rumors of hereditary insanity. As it is ... I can only endeavor to shield them from the perilous chaos I unleashed.”
Having reached her story’s conclusion, Clara exhaled a long breath and settled into silence. She expected Mr. Arthur to make some rejoinder, but he said not a word. The man merely stared at her with illegible intensity, brows stitched together so tightly it looked as though his forehead might bust a seam. Since when was the hobgoblin speechless?
“I believe this is the part of the conversation where you’re meant to say something reassuring. You know, offer a poignant tonic that puts my tattered past into perspective and alters the course of my life.”
Mr. Arthur pursed his lips, then took her hand in his two. “That was a load of rubbish.”
Squinting, she waited for him to finish his sentence. Surely that was not all? “If that was my poignant tonic, sir, I should like a refund and to file a complaint with management. Here I’ve exposed the most embarrassing, painful, and intimate details of my life, and you respond with ‘rubbish.’ Is that what my feelings are to you?Rubbish?”
“Rusted cogs, I never meant that!” Mr. Arthur blustered. “The last bit you said was rubbish, not the first bit.”
“And exactly which bit of the ‘last bit’ was the ‘rubbish’ bit?”
“The bit concluding you were to blame for that cad’s actions. That was the rubbish. What Forrester did—what Forrester has done—is not your fault.”
