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Clara pushed her plate away, unable to use the cold fish as cover while she delayed answering.
She adored her friend, the marchioness, yet she had other, more important things on her mind.
Gussie had a new cough, Mrs. Pyle had to manage Violet House without Mr. Pyle, Stella had forfeited coin in order to work in the tents with her—and James.
James.
“She was to host a concert Friday night. Alas, canceled in light of the fire,” answered Clara in a thready voice.
Her brother meant well, he meant to show interest in her life, but her answer, while truthful, felt like a betrayal—to herself, to Violet House, to Stella.
David frowned as the undercurrent between them darkened. Even still, she couldn’t generate the cheer to dispel it.
Or was she no longer willing?
“It appears that the toll of the fire now includes our appetite,” said David blandly. After her confirming nod, he signaled to have their dishes cleared. “Straight to our constitutional, then, Clara?”
She agreed, glad for the reprieve. David seemed as troubled as she; she rubbed his offered elbow comfortingly, and they walked to nearby Berkeley Square. She was relieved when they both merely nodded to acquaintances, avoiding further social entrapment.
They gravitated to their favorite bench in the square’s gardens under the leafy canopy of the towering trees.
“Some were planted sixty years ago. Before our parents were born.” David gestured to the wide, knobby trunks. “This species tolerates London air especially well, thriving even in the smog. I don’t know that any human being can do so well in this town.”
Hearing his almost sad, wistful tone, Clara turned to examine her brother’s face. He wasn’t looking at the trees any longer; his gaze was trained on her—and he looked as concerned for her as she for him.
“You’ve been upset.” David delivered the words as a gentle statement.
“I…” Excuses floundered on the tip of her tongue—vexation about the fire, needing time in the country.
This was no time for superficialities, not when she’d recently witnessed how fragile any person or object truly was. How many times had she wished for one more moment with her parents before they sailed? For the chance to speak with them again?
“I’ve been upset,” Clara admitted.
The genuine words somehow centered her, even as they opened Pandora’s box.
He shifted toward her on the bench, his entire attention on her. “What can I do?”
His offer both endeared and angered her. She was grateful for a brother who wanted to help; she was furious that she didn’t have more agency to help herself. She opened her palms, at a loss for words.
David looked perplexed. Looking at the trees, he spoke as if to himself. “Perhaps I’ve been neglectful of my duties. Not looked after you as much as I should have after Violet passed.”
“That’s not it, David! Not at all! Quite the opposite. I…Iwantto find my own way. I’vefoundmy own way, in fact. But it’s…it’s as if I can’t acknowledge it with you.”
“Whatever deference I’ve shown, it isn’t full ignorance, Clara. I know there’ssomething.”
If he knew about James, he would have said something at the table,she tried to reassure herself.
David turned back to her. “Perhaps some travel. Some time in the country. You’ve scarcely left London this year.”
“I’ve been thinking of that, yes, but it’s not the solution. Rather, that’s not the problem.”
“I’m not keen on riddles, Clara. Never been good at them. What is it?”
She searched for a way to connect her experience to something her brother could understand.
“When you’ve spoken of the marriage mart, you say you can’t fathom marrying a child.” He nodded. “I don’t blame you. But can you imagine having tobethe child—forever? For the rest of your life, relying on others for protection? To set the rules? Deciding everything on your behalf? Being a burden?”
He frowned. “Is that what being my sister entails?”
