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“You know of my plan. I’m gathering every bit of—pleasure,” she whispered this last word, “and saving it. Whatever comes afterwards, marriage or eternal spinsterhood, I shall need my box of remembrances.”
Stella looked stunned. “Clara, do you truly believe that?”
“I told you when I commenced it all. I need these experiences.”
“And they’ll be enough?”
“Yes,” she said stubbornly.
“Enough for what?”
“I…”
They looked into each other’s eyes until Clara averted her gaze, either seeking or avoiding her own answer.
“Enough to marry someone you do not like?” Stella leaned in to murmur. “And you’ll close your eyes when he comes to your bed, with memories of past satisfaction to sustain you?”
An errant currant stuck to Stella’s plate; Clara stared at it until it blurred.
“I don’t condemn what you’re doing, Clara. Not I. But I must say, I fear that your hope is sheer folly.”
“I thought you understood.” She spoke almost to herself, her dejection palpable.
“I didn’t comprehend the nature of your expectation. Idounderstand your wish to feel alive. To be with someone.”
Clara fought not to let her shoulders slump. “Who made your lovely gown?” she asked desperately. “It is new, is it not? That cornflower blue is most flattering for your coloring.”
“Not between us, please, Clara.”
“There’s nothing else to say on the matter, is there? You believe my purpose to be folly. Perhaps it is. But what other aim might I have now?”
“I don’t advocate this for you, but this liaison need not be your last. If you feel the need to add more memories to your ‘box,’ so be it. Find someone else.”
Of course, she’d considered that option. Presently, it held no appeal.
Sh knew very well that married men of her class engaged in dalliances, but she couldn’t imagine herself attracted to them, nor could she consider being with a married man.
She could look for someone else in trade, like James. She shuddered in disgust at the thought.
Presumably she could find another man for an affair. But he wouldn’t be James, and that sounded simply repulsive. She shook her head soundly.
“No, Stella. I can’t fathom memories with someone else.”
“Why ever not?”
“You think I should?”
“No,” Stella answered calmly.
“In that case, why do you press?”
“I beg your pardon, Clara. I merely wish to save you from finding disappointment later. It sounds as if you expect this diversion to provide you with contentment for the coming years—or even longer.”
Clara’s throat close with emotion. Spoken aloud, that hope sounded absurd. “What am I to do, Stella? What choicehaveI? I don’t want to marry a dolt who doesn’t appreciate me, or with whom I have no passion. I have no need of his money.”
“What of marrying a dolt whodoesappreciate you? With whom youdohave passion?”
“Where would I find such a man?”
