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Indeed, gossip seemed to be the wickedest of the plagues that beset the upper class to which she now belonged. It really was as though no one had anything better to do than speculate about the comings and goings of every soul in London. Or at least every soul with more than a sou to their name.
Yet as dreadful a vice as this preoccupation with others seemed to be, Clara could not deny that she was consumed by curiosity at this knowledge. Just as she thought she was finished with mourning their failed romance, once again she was plunged into torrents of anger and fear and despair.
Who is she? she thought, fighting back a freshly rising tide of tears.
What appeal could she have that I do not?
Is higher birth or more money really all that stood between me and Edward?
How could he really consider marrying another woman? I have never even seen him flirt with another woman, nor mention having an interest in anyone.
Foolish girl, returned a voice within her to each of these queries. As though you would be party to every one of Edward’s social engagements. You have only been here a handful of weeks—do you really presume to know every corner of his heart?
There was no answer to this charge. She knew she had been foolish to fall so completely for this man she hardly knew, especially as he understood the ways of romance for the upper class in a way she never would. For all Clara knew, what she had shared with Edward was merely the normal idle fancy of a well-born gentleman. For all she knew, he had had a dozen dalliances just like theirs and would go on to have a dozen more.
Yet… Clara thought, sniffing.
I was so convinced that what we had was real. If what Edward showed to me was not real, lasting love, then what was it I felt? Head falling into her open hands, elbows resting on her knees, she sensed a cavernous well of self-pity open beneath her feet at the notion that she had been so badly deceived.
Not for the first time, Clara began to ponder extricating herself from the situation entirely. No matter how spacious the St. George house felt, no matter how kind Christopher and all the staff were to her, Clara saw it so clearly how miserable she would be in the wake of Edward’s surrender to his parents’ wishes. She knew she could not blame him for taking her at her word, though that was cold comfort indeed at having been abandoned so rapidly.
I wonder if my inheritance is sufficient to buy a house of my own somewhere in the country? Or if I should just do as Edward did and get myself married off as quickly as possible so I can be rid of this house and its intrigues for good?
As the wind changed direction, Clara began to shiver, her bare arms and thin dress providing little warmth on such a breezy summer day. But she froze, every muscle seizing instantly, when she saw the dark-haired, black-clad man walking down the path toward her.
Oh, no, she thought with trepidation. This feeling only deepened as she noticed a strange spring in his step, a carefree smile on his face she had not seen before. She steeled herself, pasting a sickly smile onto her lips as he walked right up to her.
“Clara,” said Edward with uncharacteristic glee. “I am so glad to see you.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle kiss, bowing ostentatiously as he did so. Clara looked away, unable to bear this performance that looked more like Jonathan Fletcher than the grim, quiet Edward Morton.
He is so…happy. Would that that fact did not bring me such petty, jealous misery.
“I have been looking for you,” Edward said, folding his hands behind his back, bouncing on his heels with a bizarre energy. “I should have known you might be out enjoying this wonderful, splendid weather.”
“Please,” Clara managed in an anaemic tone, gesturing to the empty space on the bench beside her.
Edward looked about, then gave her a wry smile. “Have you managed to elude your dear chaperone, then? I should hate to cause the old woman any consternation by sitting beside an unwedded woman. Any more consternation than she usually suffers, that is.”
Clara forced a laugh. “I fear Miss Forsythe has given me the slip yet again.”
“She is always sneaking off somewhere, isn’t she?” Edward chuckled, taking a seat beside her. “Quite mischievous, that Miss Forsythe—needs a closer eye on her.”
Clara nodded, still refusing to look into Edward’s face lest she burst into tears and spoil the semblance of good manners she was so desperately hanging onto. Even without glancing at him, however, she was keenly, agonizingly aware of how close his body was to hers. His presence brought back a crush of memories and desires, half-fulfilled fantasies that she had resolved to let die.
“Have you been well, the past few days?”
“Yes. Quite, thank you,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you, Mr Morton?”
“Me?” he answered, distracted though it was he who had raised the question in the first place. “Oh, yes. Quite well. Splendid, actually. Very, very…splendid.”
“Well. That’s good,” Clara answered, turning her head away from him.
Damn you, Edward Morton, Clara thought bitterly. Have I not already proven my good faith a hundred times over by now? I was willing to give up true, real love for your sake—must you now rub your happiness in my face?
The silence that pooled around them was thick enough that Clara feared she might choke on it. The gentle breeze rustling the branches of nearby trees, the songs of starlings, the shaking of the bench caused by Edward’s nervous jostling of his leg—it all felt entirely too much to bear.
Unable to take this feeling any longer, Clara jerked her head around to look at Edward and make her excuse to leave. Yet as soon as her eyes fell upon him, and she saw the joy on his handsome features, she was once again paralyzed where she sat. A light came into his gaze as soon as she looked at him, and he smiled warmly.
Why must you make this so difficult, you horrible man?
