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CHAPTERFIVE
Clara held her breath as she watched Mr. Fitzroy.
He’d removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, his muscles flexing and straining as he squatted down, pushing the carriage through the thick mud that had collected on the road.
Her hands pressed together, covering her mouth as she watched. In this moment, he managed to be breathtakingly gorgeous. Something about all that strength.
“Clara.” Priscilla touched her arm. “This trip has been such a whirlwind, we’ve hardly a chance to speak.”
“It has,” Clara returned, tearing her gaze from Mr. Fitzroy to look at her friend.
“Tell me,” Priscilla said, “how is your mother?”
Unease slid through her at the change in topic. “My father says she’s fine, but…” Her words trailed off.
Priscilla winced sympathetically, her hand brushing down Clara’s arm. “She’s been attending fewer and fewer events.”
“That’s right,” Clara replied. “She stays in bed a great deal of the day and she only picks at her food.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“It isn’t her lungs or heart. They don’t say much and they can’t seem to pinpoint what’s wrong, but we’re all…” She stopped, taking a breath. “We’re all worried. Her most of all. She’s grown more concerned with my future and that of my brother’s. She’s been talking endlessly about matches for the two of us.”
Priscilla wrapped her arms about Clara, resting her head on Clara’s shoulder. “That’s so difficult.”
Clara found her eyes welling with tears. “How was it when you lost your father?”
Priscilla remained silent for a moment as her gaze shifted off to the horizon. Clara could see the sadness that still lingered there. But in a moment, it was gone, and when Priscilla turned back to her, her eyes were kind. “It gets better with time.”
Clara winced but she didn’t ask more. Instead, she drew in a trembling breath. “She wishes to see me married.”
“I’m not surprised,” Priscilla replied. “What mother doesn’t wish to see her daughter settled?”
Clara nodded. “It’s part of the reason I came on this trip instead of remaining with her.” But guilt twisted inside her stomach. Was it more important to find a husband than to be with her mother?
“You came to find a husband?” Priscilla stiffened and pulled back, studying Clara. “I thought you’d given up on Kinross.”
“I had,” she said, biting her lip. “But it feels a bit like the fates have aligned. My mother, his father.”
“I don’t know, Clara.” Priscilla shook her head. “He’s never been very…”
“Very what?” Clara asked, her gaze narrowing. “He’s shared things with me and when he visits, we spend all our time together.”
“Yes, but…” Priscilla bit her lip. “He disappears again and then months go by and you don’t hear from him. It all seems very…”
“What?” The truth niggled in Clara’s gut. When he was away, he didn’t seem to care for her at all.
The carriage made a loud groan, wood crackling as it pulled free of the mud. Clara swung her gaze back to where the men worked just in time to see Ralph pulling himself from the muck as he tried to wipe the brown slop from his legs and boots.
Even swiping at his pants, he looked very…manly.
Priscilla sighed. “You never doubted me when I wanted to marry Wyatt and no one else supported me, so I’ll support you no matter what. But…” Priscilla gave her a squeeze. “You’re the most wonderful person. Just make sure he thinks that too, all right?”
Clara looked back at her friend. Leaning down, she pressed her forehead to Priscilla’s. “That’s good advice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Priscilla gave her another squeeze before they broke apart, turning to face the approaching men.
“Don’t move,” Ralph called. “We’ll carry you back to the carriage. This mud is ridiculous.”
