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She beamed and his heart squeezed painfully. “One evening of waltzing and chatting hardly earns me such credit.”

“I’ve never talked to any lady as much as I talked to you last night. You have worked miracles—either that or you have cast a spell.” He was not certain where that came from. Around her the truth seemed to slip from between his lips. He had no defense against her inquisitive gaze and luscious lips.

He was surprised to see pink creeping up her cheeks as her gaze dropped to his collar. “I did nothing extraordinary,” she said.

“You are extraordinary,” he said. “To me you are. I do not know how to explain it, but you are so…so easy to talk to.” That was an understatement. Not only could he speak to her, he could not seem to stop himself if he tried.

Her smile was mischievous when she looked up at him. “Perhaps that is because I listen.”

He laughed. Twice in one morning.

Even Aunt Gertie took notice. “What’s going on over there?” she called out, her tone teasing. “Why, my dear nephew looks happy for once. Clara, what have you done?”

Clara’s cheeks turned a darker shade of pink as she ducked her head, and he found himself wishing to protect her, wanting to take her into his arms and shield her from the world.

Though he also found himself curious as to what had made her blush. She hardly seemed like the type to be frazzled by a bit of attention.

But alas, his new friend shot to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quickly, her head ducking down as if she were trying to hide. “I have some correspondence to attend to.”

“Of course, dear,” Aunt Gertie said.

She started to leave the room and then stopped, her head turning so she could face him over her shoulder. “Listen when others are speaking,” she said with a small smile. “Consider that your lesson for the day.”

As far as lessons went, it seemed easy enough, but was far more difficult in practice. He’d been standing in his brother’s room for who knew how long before he became aware of the fact that his sister had been talking to him from the doorway.

Two days had passed and he still had not quite gotten used to the fact that he was home once more, and this time for good. There were no properties to oversee for the foreseeable future, all the stewards had their land and accounts firmly in hand.

He eyed his brother’s room, which had been left virtually untouched these past nine months, and wondered what he ought to be doing now.

“Hello? Alex?” Tess said. “Are you even listening to me?”

He spun around, ashamed to realize he had not only not been listening, he hadn’t even realized his sister had been standing there.

She arched a brow and pursed her lips. She was probably too young to remember it, but the look she was giving him now was remarkably similar to the look their mother used to give when she’d caught him daydreaming rather than listening to her latest lecture.

“Sorry, Tess,” he said. “What were you saying?”

Her expression softened. “Nothing of consequence.” She shifted, eyeing him and then the room. He wondered if she felt his presence, too.

Or maybe it was Frederick’s absence that he felt.

“You can touch his things, you know.” Her voice was quiet. “You can sit on his bed, and we can sort through his clothing.”

Alex turned to look at her in surprise.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I know it’s difficult, but I don’t think it’s helping anyone if we continue to treat this room as though it’s a mausoleum.”

He nodded. In all honesty, he’d been thinking the same thing. Standing here he’d been starting to think that their mourning period had gone from respectful to morbid. “We’re acting as though he’ll come back any day now,” he said.

Tess sighed behind him. “Exactly. I don’t suppose it’s terribly healthy, is it?”

He didn’t answer. He likely did not need to. He took a step farther into the room, as though movement might dispel this haunted sensation.

“You seem to be getting on quite well with Clara.”

Tess’s unexpected comment had him spinning around to face her. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but her expression gave nothing away. Her hair was as dark as his, and in this lighting her skin seemed to glow in comparison. She could have been the ghost of his mother, and for a moment, he found himself wanting to confess to her as though she was.

He was not just getting on well with Clara. He liked her. He liked her more than he ought. Never in his life had he felt such a pull toward another, such an overwhelming desire to be close to someone, to understand them, to have them know him in return.