Clarissa frowned. Something about the stillness of him, and the way his gaze tracked across the windows made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
She blinked, and he was gone. He'd turned the corner and was out of sight.
It was probably nothing. But her eyes remained on the place where he'd been for a second too long. She was still staring when Estella and Thea returned, slightly breathless.
Estella smiled expectantly at Clarissa. "Ready? John's expecting you, isn't he?"
"Mmm." Clarissa cast another glance back as she climbed into the carriage.
Estella followed her. "Is something the matter?"
Clarissa shook her head. "No, I— It's only… Estella, has the duchess mentioned anything about… I don't know. Anyone watching her home?"
Estella's brow furrowed. "Watching? No. Why?"
Clarissa shook her head. "No reason. I thought I saw someone, but it was probably nothing."
Estella went quiet and Clarissa felt a pang of guilt for causing what was no doubt unnecessary concern. "Please, forget I even mentioned it. You know I have an overactive imagination. It's why I write stories for Lucy. It's the only thing I'm good at, really. Making up stories."
She laughed at herself, but the other ladies didn't join in.
Estella remained so quiet that Thea leaned over to ask if she was all right.
Estella smiled. "Yes, just thinking, that's all. Come, let's hurry lest we make John worry."
When Clarissa arrived home, she found John in the front hall shrugging into his coat. "You're back! Did you have a good afternoon?"
"I did, yes." She set down her parcels. "I even bought a new ribbon. It's blue, and I cannot wait to hear what nonsensical metaphor Kit comes up with to compliment it."
John smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you seeing him again soon, then?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, at the ball, of course. He's already claimed my first dance." She chuckled to herself as she recalled the way he'd made such a fuss over claiming that dance. As if every man in London were begging for the honor. "Truly, Kit has missed his calling. He's far better suited for the stage than a dukedom. Don't you think?"
John's murmur of assent was a little too quiet, and his expression far too thoughtful.
She busied herself with removing her gloves. "What is it?"
He glanced over. "Hmm? Oh. Nothing."
She arched her brows. "Then why this concerned look of yours?"
"It's nothing, it's only—" He leaned against the doorframe. "You seem…happy."
She laughed. "And that is a bad thing?"
"No, it's wonderful." His tone was so warm, she knew he meant it. But his smile faltered as he continued. "I just… This arrangement with Lord Stratton. It's been going on for a while now, hasn't it?"
She frowned, studying her gloves a little too intently. "I wouldn't say a while. A fortnight. Perhaps a little longer. Why?"
"It's only I…" He cleared his throat and shifted. "I want to make sure you don't get hurt by all this, that's all."
"Hurt?" Her voice was a little too loud. "How would I be hurt?"
Before he could answer, she hurried on. "It's working, John. Surely you've noticed. They're still whispering about me, but it's not cruel any longer. And I've had more callers, and more invitations, and?—"
"Yes, I know." John's smile reached his eyes this time and Clarissa relaxed. "And I'm glad. Truly. You deserve admiration and respect."
But… There was definitely a but coming, and Clarissa braced herself for it.
