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Christopher—poor, sweet Christopher, with the weight of the world on his fragile shoulders. Who had so much more to learn than Edward could even remember.
So many properties, so much paperwork and business to be done. Lionel St. George had been damnably good at his work, and now a lifetime of accords and obligations had fallen onto Edward.
And once again his father’s voice rang in his ears, unbidden. “You’ll never make anything of yourself playing nursemaid to that boy,” the old man had said just a few days before.
His mother’s voice joined in, singing the same song she had been at for years: “When will you stop throwing your life away for a family that isn’t even yours? When will you focus on your own life, on finding a family of your own?”
And that girl, Clara…that strange girl, who came from nothing. Who was so unlike anyone he had ever met before.
She had something about her…not just her courage in the face of her devilish sisters. More than her obvious physical beauty. She had something…natural about her.
The grandfather clock by the window chimed five times, startling Edward out of his reverie. Christopher will be finished with the day’s studies by now, surely, and will likely be wanting for companionship, he thought, rising hastily from his chair. The poor boy must be exhausted after such an emotional day. Perhaps we shall take a moment to discuss matters before dinner is served.
At even the thought of household matters, Edward gave one more smile as he recalled the image of young Miss Clara, squaring off against the she-dragons before her.
She may yet survive this family, after all, he thought as he snuffed out the candle that still burned at his writing desk.
