Chapter Four
“I feel sorry for gentlewomen in this time. Only taught needlework and how to be a decorative ornament. Nowadays, it’s frowned upon to teach you how to shoot or fight. I’ll have to teach you how to use your brain instead, Clara love.”
Mr Daniel Lockwood – classical scholar, philosopher and bachelor.
The day dawned sunny and fresh, and Clara was looking forward to it; the clear skies lightening her spirits.
They were to be taken on a tour of the house in the morning, and then later partake of games after an al-fresco light luncheon. She was looking forward to the house tour, as during her investigations in the portrait gallery yesterday, she had found the house to be fascinating. Admittedly, it was grand and befitting of an earl, but it somehow retained a certain cosiness about it. Small rooms were tucked away with sofas and books; the sun hitting them ‘just so’. The larger halls and reception rooms were bright and airy: devoid of clutter.
Clara had spent the majority of her life living in a bachelor’s house. Dark-walnut furniture had dominated her uncle’s home, and he had loved gloomy colours. She had always thought he liked brown so much because the housekeeper wouldn’t be able to see the mud, which was always tracked into the house.
After knocking for her aunt, they made their way downstairs. Their chambers were quite a distance from the main reception rooms, but she supposed it did work up a hunger. Her aunt grumbled about how tired she was. Apparently, parties did not agree with her. Just looking at the list of events had exhausted her.
The Earl of Rookdean had broken his fast earlier, and Clara was glad, very glad. She wouldn’t have those sky-blue eyes on her whilst she chewed her toast at least…
As always the food, even the breakfast, was exquisite, and Clara gazed around at the other diners. She finally settled on the earl’s sister, who was playing with the eggs on her plate. Conversation flowed around her, but the viscountesswas engrossed in the congealed, yellow yolk. She looked incredibly…sad, thought Clara, as she noticed moisture come to the lady’s eyes. The woman blinked rapidly, and Clara could see a look of fierce determination on her face, holding back whatever emotion was troubling her.
Slowly, the earl’s sister looked up, and their gazes collided. Clara gave a small, and she hoped kind, smile – a, ‘chin up, my girl. It’s a beautiful day’, smile. She saw the indecision on the lady’s face, before she finally gave a shaky grin back.
Clara knew that the lady had only given birth some months previously, so perhaps she was missing her son?
Hestia gave a forlorn smile to the young girl down the table. She’d felt so…alone, sitting here. She missed her babe desperately, and her husband was talking to a friend about poachers, seemingly without a care in the world. Whilst in her world…
The young, dark-haired girl was suddenly caught by a yawn and her look of total chagrin made Hestia’s smile widen. She should be looking after her guests, and not wondering…wondering where Nathan had been last night?
He hadn’t come to their chambers – drunk or sober.
Remembering the pretty blonde, he had been talking to last night, Hestia wondered if they had been initiating a tryst? She sighed heavily, and the young girl down the table rolled her eyes, making Hestia abruptly laugh. She looked away before she did worse and snort!
Her eyes suddenly collided with Nathan’s – his friend was still on about mantraps – but Nathan was staring at her with such warmth, pleasure, and dare she say…love.The man asked him a question, and her husband turned back; the moment of intimacy and contentment was broken.
Pursing her lips, Hestia realised she didn’t feel sad any longer. The girl’s antics had broken through her misery and to see Nathan look at her like that… She had to find out why he no longer came to her. Surely, they could talk about any problems?
Her mouth tightened with resolve and intent.
ΦΦΦ
Clara sat on a bench in the corner of the Elizabethan knot garden, surrounded by the smell of fresh mint. She was hidden away here – under a sweet arbour of climbing roses, with small pink buds awaiting the warmer days of June. She had to admit that the day so far had been most pleasurable.
For some reason, Sir Matthew, the Earl of Rookdean and a few other gentlemen had been missing from the house tour. She did know that some of them had gone into the village. Clara rather thought that it was the inn that beckoned, rather than the village itself, but at least it gave her some time to rest without looking over her shoulder – for either of them.
Indeed, she had finally spoken with Lady Dewsberry, or Hestia, as she had insisted on being called. The lady was delightful: witty, with an honest approach and calm disposition. Clara couldn’t imagine what had made her so sad over breakfast. The tour had been a success, and the luncheon pleasant; even Lady Pinesdown seemed at ease. The gentlemen had finally returned, and everybody had gone to rest before the afternoon’s events.
Now…now she was hiding – from everybody. But that was the point of hide-and-seek, she supposed. Ridiculous game – she was one and twenty – not ten years. However, the ladies had squealed, and the gentlemen had puffed out their chests at the ‘hunt’. God, she hated games! Give her a good book instead; in fact, even a bad book was better thangames.
Most of the ladies hid in two’s or a group. Her aunt had vanished before Clara could look around – she really was the most awful chaperone – and Clara had meandered off to the gardens. A bee wandered past her nose, seemingly in a drunken stupor, as though pollen was the strongest fruit punch, and Clara exhaled, closing her eyes in sheer delight.
“There you are,” the loud voice boomed in the gentle quietness of the garden. Clara’s eyes snapped open, and she lurched out of her slump on the bench.
“You cannot avoid me forever.” The voice was thick and slightly slurred. With those words, two hands grabbed hold of her wrists and yanked her to her feet.
Sir Matthew stood in front of her, not letting go of her arms – too close – but Clara was stuck between him and the bench. He smelt strongly of beer; the bitter note of hops making her turn her face away.
“We need to discuss marriage plans. Ralph is happy for a special licence to be procured.” He breathed strong ale over her.
“W-w-what? No,” Clara stuttered. “I’mnotmarrying you.”
“That’s what you keep saying,” he garbled, “but it’s been decided. I would like to see what I’m getting, however.” And with that pronouncement his mouth descended on hers.
