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Which led her to the second day that had changed her life.
Because at the age of one and twenty, today, the twentieth of June, in the year 1837, a day that started like any other—as those life-changing days often did—she’d sat down to eat her hard-boiled egg and opened her father’s paper. She could confess she’d been searching for another article on the Bushy Hero. Had he saved another woman in need? But rather than finding a story about him, another jumped off the page: a headline that once again turned her world upside down.
The Earl of Kinross had died.
Her fork had stopped midway to her mouth.
Aslin was finally free to wed. This had been the barrier between her and Aslin all these years, and now that it was gone…
Aslin was the new Earl of Kinross.
Her breath caught as her fingers trembled around the paper, all thoughts of the Bushy Hero gone. Heedless of her uneaten breakfast, Clara jumped from the table and raced to the sitting room where she kept her stationery.
She needed to write her brother, Marcus. He’d been away from town, back at home in Pembrokeshire, managing the family’s coal mine. But he’d have to return to London.
Or would she and her father travel to Bristol and meet Marcus there? Marcus would have to pass through Bristol on his way to London, so perhaps that made more sense?
Her breath hitched as she considered the possibilities.
Was it a sign that just as she’d given up on Aslin, his father had passed, making him free to marry her? Had this been a test of her feelings?
Would he declare his affection after all these years given her loving support?
Her hands trembled as she clasped them together, thinking of the possibilities. Surely this was the sign that she and Aslin were meant to be. Her mother’s wish that she settle, Aslin finally being free…
Her father appeared in the doorway. “Good morning,” he called as he stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over her as his mouth set into a frown. “What has you atwitter already? It’s not even ten o’clock.”
She pressed her hands together, forcing her voice to be calm. “I just learned that the Earl of Kinross has passed.”
Her father gave a stiff nod. “Shame, that.”
She nodded, wincing inwardly that she felt only passing remorse. “It is.”
“I received a letter from the new earl yesterday asking us to attend the funeral services.”
She clasped her fingers together. It really did seem as though the fates were aligning. “When do we leave?”
Her father shook her head. “I’m not certain. Your mother…”
Her hands dropped, her brows knitting as fear knotted her belly. “Is she worse? Should I be worried?”
Father waved his hand. “It’s nothing to worry about. She’s the same. But I’d rather not leave her all the same.”
Clara just managed to hold in her cry. She didn’t wish to leave her mother, either, but how did she fulfill the future her mother wished for if she stayed at home? “Not travel? But we need to show the new earl our support. I—”
Her father grimaced. “Not this again. What is your infatuation with that man?”
Clara didn’t answer. Was it an infatuation still? She didn’t want to think on it just now. But she knew she had to go, for everyone’s sake. “Marcus will travel straight to the funeral from Pembrokeshire?”
“Of course,” her father answered, his frown deepening. “But if you’ve got it in your mind to go, I’d imagine one of your newlywed friends is attending and can escort you there.”
Hope bloomed in Clara’s chest. That was precisely the answer.
With a clear plan in place, she sat down at her desk and began to write.
Mr. Ralph Fitzroy stared at the queen’s dignitary and attempted not to scratch his head in confusion.
Very rarely did he go into a situation with one set of expectations only to learn that he’d had the whole thing completely wrong.
