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CHAPTERSIXTEEN
The carriage had hardly come to a full stop before Marcus was off his seat, jumping from the vehicle and pulling Clara out by the waist. They’d finally made it to London just before the sunset. “Follow us inside,” Clara called as she looked back at Ralph. “I’ll tell the butler to make you comfortable.”
He gave her a quick nod and an encouraging smile. “Go.”
His smile kept her from shaking in her boots as they raced inside, past the butler and up the grand stairs.
But Marcus drew to a stop when they reached the top and their father appeared in the hall before them. “Father,” Marcus said, squeezing Clara’s hand.
“Papa,” she said, stopping next to her brother. “Is everything all right?”
Her father’s gaze softened, a soft light glowing in his eyes. “She’s recovered. Mostly. We think.”
Clara’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. “Completely?”
“Well.” Her father cleared his throat. “No. But the danger she faced a few days ago has passed.”
Clara’s shoulders slumped. That was something. Wasn’t it?
“Come into my office.” Her father waved them forward before he disappeared into his wood-paneled room.
Clara had loved his large oak desk for as long as she could remember. It always gleamed with polish, smelling of wood and ink. But her stomach twisted when she came into the room.
Her father sighed as he stood by the fire, rather than sitting behind the desk.
“What’s happened?” Marcus asked as he stood too, gesturing for Clara to sit.
“The doctor found a lump in her stomach,” her father said, staring into the fire. “It was incredibly large and likely the reason she’s had no appetite. They’ve removed it.”
“What?” Clara stood again, her hands coming to cover her mouth.
Her father held out his hands. “If the wound doesn’t become infected, she might recover completely or at least have more time here with us.”
Clara sat down again, her body wilting into the chair. For a moment, she wished Ralph were there, holding her hand, or even better, holding her close. “When will we know?”
“Well.” Father let out a long breath. “It’s been two days and so far, no infection. In terms of how long she’ll live, no one knows for sure but time, and I for one am grateful.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. “Me too.”
“And me,” Marcus said with a heavy sigh. “Can we see her?”
“She’s sleeping now,” her father said. “And much as she wants to see you and I know you’ve raced back here—you must have—sleep is the best thing for her.”
Clara nodded. She agreed.
“If that’s the case, we have another matter to discuss.” Marcus scrubbed at the back of his neck.
“Another matter?” Father asked, his brow furrowing as the butler appeared.
“My lord,” the butler said. “Should beds be prepared for Lord and Lady Ware and their companion?”
“Yes,” her father said to the butler and then turned back to Marcus. “Begin.”
Clara was glad her brother took charge. She was exhausted both physically and emotionally, but as she listened to Marcus explain how Clara had turned down Kinross’s proposal and all the details about Ralph and Wyatt, she had to wince.
She’d not lie to her family, but still…
The part where Ralph used her to try to gain information about Kinross still stung, and then there was the fact that she’d fallen in love with the viscount’s illegitimate brother, whose primary occupation was stalking criminals in the night. It wasn’t precisely what her parents had envisioned for her, she knew.
