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“And nine when you were adopted, you said. By a reverend and his wife?”
He nodded. “After my mother died, I moved from the poorhouse in Dundee to the Dundee Orphanage. It’s there I started school. I was called into the director’s office one day. Douglas and Agnes Robertson chose me because I shared a birthday with their only child. A fever took him at the age of ten.”
“Did they show you kindness?” Clara asked hopefully.
“They…they treated me as their natural born son. Which signifies they didn’t spare the rod. I did my right best to meet their expectations. My studies went well. But my ‘headstrong nature’ placed me at odds with Reverend Robertson. I experimented with all manner of rebellion, from subtle to outright. Eventually, I learned to placate him by appearing to do the expected.”
“That’s how you enrolled in divinity.”
“Aye. Perhaps I even thought I’d manage. But mathematics and arts were more my calling. So I quietly transferred colleges, and the Robertsons didn’t know until my last year.”
“How did they find out?”
“The reverend had business nearby and called on me at university.”
“A surprise.”
“Aye, for him! The look on his face, finding me in the red robe! After hearing my explanation, he said never to return to Dundee.”
Clara dropped her eyes so he couldn’t see her sympathy. She dared to ask one more question. “Didyou?”
His laugh was bitter. “Of course. I still hadn’t learned. After graduation, I moved to London. Within a few years, I’d done well enough. I wanted to repay my tuition and become a patron of the reverend’s kirk.”
The look on his face conveyed the pain of that visit’s outcome. Unable to hide her reaction but wanting to touch him, Clara wrapped her arms around him from behind. His hand covered hers.
She couldn’t push for more answers, not when the poor ending was clear. She simply held him, regretting everything he’d lost.
His voice was quiet in the large parlor, but Clara heard every word when he continued. “Like a fool, I explained that I still wanted to be their son. What I’d been doing in London. The reverend ignored me, didn’t look up from his desk—not until I asked after Mrs. Robertson.”
James wrapped his arms over hers around his waist. “Her heart gave out soon after learning of my deception and failure, he said. That he wouldn’t accept the money—or presence of an emissary of Satan such as I.”
Clara wanted to wilt behind him, but she held herself up knowing that he needed her. Her arms tightened.
It wasn’t only pride that led to his hatred of peers like her brother. Having been looked down upon by his adoptive family, was it any wonder he detested any hint of that now?
She loosened her arms when he pushed against them, but rather than break free, he turned around and pulled her close. Enveloped tightly, she held him in return. Perhaps he couldn’t accept her words, but he accepted this affection.
It took Clara time to gather herself, and when his and her breathing had gone from ragged to even, she pulled back enough to kiss his lips briefly. “Let’s embark on our excursion about the house, shall we? Then to bed?”
“Very well.” With an arm around her waist, he guided her out of the parlor.
Other than James’s, Clara had never visited the home of a tradesman—unless her brother counted. In fact, she hadn’t called socially on any residence save those of her class. His home was opulent, but all the furniture and decor appeared new, which felt exceedingly odd.
He conducted her to the dining room, where a maid rubbed the sideboard with an oiled cloth. After lowering her head respectfully, she melted through a side door.
Clara walked around the large, glossy table and tried to imagine James there. It struck her as unfailingly lonely in the big room, though she herself dined alone.
She stood behind James’s chair at the head of the table, gazing down at the place where he took his meals. They’d eaten together in his bedroom and at the orangery, but never at a table.
She walked over to the sideboard,imagining the indulgence of sharing breakfast in the light of day after passing a dark night together.
Didn’t he wish to share his life with another? Break bread with family? “Why have you not married?” she asked curiously.
He shrugged.“Why would I?”
Tilting her head, she answered his question. “For one, a wife would manage your household. Your house seems well run, but surely, a wife would make it even more comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable enough.”
