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CHAPTEREIGHT
Clara once again found herself in a carriage sitting across from Mr. Fitzroy. A group of guests was off to the village for some shopping. Priscilla was next to her and Wyatt across from his wife, just like their journey here. Exactly the same, and yet somehow it felt very different. Clara folded her hands demurely in her lap as she eyed him through the fringe of her bonnet.
As she watched, her heart began to beat faster and faster, its loud thrumming pulsing in her ears. Her hands clenched tighter as she attempted to appear still and not like she might jump out of her skin at any moment.
Marcus’s comment yesterday that her mother did not approve of Kinross had been the permission she’d needed to allow herself to let that dream go. She’d known her parents didn’t like him, but she’d somehow thought that her mother wanted her settled more than she wished for Clara to find a new beau.
But Marcus’s words had been clear. And having been away from her parents, he didn’t have the same frantic fear that had been driving Clara toward the Earl of Kinross.
He was a handsome, titled lord and he’d swept her away with his easy charm, but she’d been a girl. Now, as a woman, she wanted something else.
She’d fantasized about the Bushy Hero, of course. But he wasn’t a real man, either. He represented one in her mind, though.
She desired the sort of man who might rescue a lady from the worst of her troubles. The kind who could lift the stuck wagons. And while Mr. Fitzroy couldn’t heal her mother—that was in fate’s hands—he had listened to her when she needed to share her troubles.
Not a grace the Earl of Kinross ever seemed to give—he was more interested in having his needs met first.
She looked at Mr. Fitzroy again, the air trembling in her lungs. Was there any possibility of a future with the man? “Mister Fitzroy,” she said, her fingers lacing together. “Tell me. What do you do now that you’re not a boxer?”
He shrugged. “Most days it feels like not much of anything.”
Hmmm. That was not an answer she could tell her parents.
Wyatt gave Mr. Fitzroy’s shoulder a small shove. “Don’t be absurd. He has been my companion. In addition to training me physically so that I might better face any other thieves I encounter, he offers a great deal of advice on personal matters and in the decision-making involving my lands and title.”
Mr. Fitzroy glowered at Wyatt. “You give me far too much credit.”
Well, at least she could add humble to his qualities.
“Which doesn’t matter because he’ll soon be leaving my employ to move on to bigger and better opportunities.”
“Oh, really!” She leaned forward. What wonderful news. But then she tempered her excitement. He’d not expressed any interest in her. Smoothing her skirts, she lowered her voice, pushing down her tendency to become carried away. “What will you do next, Mister Fitzroy?”
He gave Wyatt a black look before he turned to Clara. “Not sure yet.”
Did he just not want to tell her? Did he not know? Either way, his brush-off did not bode well. She gave a stiff nod and deliberately settled back on the carriage seat.
The rest of the ride to the village passed in silence until the carriage finally stopped. Wyatt and Mr. Fitzroy climbed out, Wyatt helping Priscilla out first.
She hesitated a moment before she slipped her fingers into Mr. Fitzroy’s waiting palm. She had the feeling that just like with Kinross all those years before, she’d started trotting down the road of feelings without any understanding of how the other party actually felt about her.
She grasped his hand, tendrils of excitement curling in her stomach at the feel of his large palm encasing her much smaller fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured as she traversed the steps and then let go.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice a bit rough.
“Where shall we go?” Wyatt asked with a smile.
Clara didn’t answer; it mattered not to her. She’d only wished to leave the estate. Kinross had been stuck to her side the whole of the evening before and his attention had made her feel trapped. Like she’d been caught in a cage from which she might never escape.
Though today wasn’t turning out much better. Mr. Fitzroy didn’t make her feel captured—quite the opposite. He was far more distant than he’d been in days. She was alone.
“Go wherever the mood takes you,” Mr. Fitzroy said. “I’ve got an errand I need to attend.”
Yes. Alone. That was the correct word. He had an opportunity to spend time with her and he’d decided to complete errands instead.
She set off with Priscilla and Wyatt, trailing behind them as they made their way through several shops, but she had the overwhelming feeling that she was just wasting time. Was it too soon to ask when they might return home? She ought to check with her brother. Perhaps he could bring her back to London.
There was nothing here for her and the funeral was over. She’d help with the dinner arrangements for tonight and then, perhaps, she could return to her mother’s side.
