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As he traversed England, the ideas that had lingered unspoken for some time were named.
He wanted Clara as his wife. He wished all barriers between them dissolved. No more middle-of-the-night trips back to her home because of her menses, nor his comfort to her cut short.
He’d invite her to relocate her Aunt Violet’s infernal bird paraphernalia to his drawing room. He longed to hear her make mistakes at the piano and grow frustrated, trying again and again until she found mastery.
They’d escape to the country, and he’d make love to her in the middle of the day—in a home without a single servant in it.
He wanted to see her immediately upon her return from the excursions to her charity house, and either hold her as she mourned someone, or appreciate the spark in her eyes as she explained one of her new ideas.
He wanted to take her to the boring theater she loved; buy her a Christmas present.
He’d stop her courses, at least temporarily, by planting a child in her and watching her belly grow. The silence in his big house would be broken by their children’s laughter and tears.
Admitting these last thoughts exhilarated and terrified him, but these were his heartfelt wishes to be denied no longer.
James felt freed by naming and accepting his desires. No longer would he waste his energy evading or suppressing them.
He now needed every bit of that energy to pursue Clara anew.
Convincing her to marry him would require overcoming multiple obstacles, including their relative social stations—and her brother.
He had no ready answers to either of these problems. It was no wonder that his mind couldn’t find peace, even back in London, sharing a bed again with Clara at last.
As if the intensity of his thoughts had disturbed Clara’s sleep, she stirred.
He didn’t move, not wanting to interrupt her rest, but he was glad nonetheless when she reached out to touch him of her own volition.
“Why are you awake?” he whispered.
“Couldn’t say.” He barely made out her sleep-garbled words. “Why areyouawake?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Clara pulled him into her until he rested on her shoulder. “You were so tired. Why can you not sleep?”
He answered truthfully, if vaguely. “Many a thought on my mind.”
She stroked his hair comfortingly as he listened to her heartbeat. “Too many thoughts in that big mind of yours, James.”
“I want to take you away to the country. After the fire and everything since, I need rest. Come with me.”
“I want to go,” she began carefully, then fell silent for a while. “There are so many reasons why I cannot. But now that I’d explain them, none sounds persuasive to me anymore. We shall find a way. When do you want to go?”
“At first light.”
“When will you beableto go?”
“Not tomorrow,” he admitted. “Blast this fire. Blast the supply of wool. Blast it all!”
“Let’s be patient and see. For once, I’m in town at the end of the season. I actually received and accepted an invitation to a major ball in a few weeks’ time. A friend made the effort to procure it for me. I simply had to accept.”
“A ball.”
“Yes. A ball.” She sighed, not sounding terribly excited about it either.
“You don’t attend many of these types of functions. You prefer smaller gatherings?”
“Prefer, yes. And I don’t usually receive invitations to the best of the events.”
