Julia nervously pulled at her gloves before she looked over at the impeccably handsome man. “I-I’m sorry to renege on our arrangement.” She blinked several times, looking everywhere except at him.
“Milk and sugar?” he asked, forcing her to look at him.
“A splash and four sugars.”
“Four sugars? Really?” He obliged her request before handing the small teacup to her. The delicate flowers on the white china seemed out of place in the home of a bachelor.
She waited as he poured his own, omitting both milk and sugar. Julia took a large sip, wincing as the hot liquid scalded her mouth.
“It’s okay, I can marry Florentia Vaughn or someone—”
“If you marry Florentia Vaughn, I will never speak to you again.” She was outraged at the idea of someone as wonderful as St. Clara marrying that dreadful woman.
How horrid?
“It’s not as if you have to be friends with her,” he said, sitting on the sofa beside her.
“I most certainly will since I am your closest friend, as you will be friends with Henry.” She smiled brightly at him, hoping that they both would try to get along.
“Clearly you have lost your mind today. Why would I be friends with Heartford? I have loathed him since we were boys,” he reminded her.
“I know, but you’re my friend and you will do it for me.” She said the last part quickly before she took a sip of her tea.
He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I make no promises.”
“Why do the two of you dislike each other? Is it because of Amelia?”
St. Clara dragged his hand through his hair, pulling at the dark strands. “You know when I first met you, you reminded me a lot of my sister. Somehow befriending you made me not feel as if I had failed her in every way possible.” He threw his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I remember my father being overjoyed when my mother was expecting Amelia. When she was finally born, she was the most beautiful baby. My father worshipped her.” His voice broke. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed several times.
“As she grew older her white-blonde hair and green eyes became more prominent. I saw the light dim in my father as the rumors swirled about my mother and Heartford’s father. I watched as my father withdrew his affections from my sister, a mere child. He blamed her for his wife’s infidelity, and I blamed her for the loss of my family.” He was breathing heavily, his chest moving swiftly, a bead of sweat trailing down his forehead. For the first time in their acquaintance, she truly felt like she was seeing the real St. Clara. It wasn’t their usual superficial playfulness, but it was deeper now that he had revealed pieces of himself to her.
“I’m sorry—”
He continued as if she had not spoken. “When I started at Eton, all the boys knew of my mother’s affair with Heartford’s father. I was teased, my mother was called a whore, and I hated him because where my mother was being labeled a fallen woman, his father was a conqueror. The marquess who bedded the wife of a duke.” He shook his head, like he was trying to rid his mind of the thoughts. “When is the wedding?”
“Henry is going to get a special license after he sees his solicitor today.” She waved her hand back and forth, nervously.
“Why the rush?” St. Clara raised a challenging eyebrow at her.
“Oh, you know…” She trailed off, looking everywhere but at him. Although they were extremely close, she still felt guilty for having a liaison with Henry while being technically engaged to St. Clara.
“I see, so you’ve been friendly with Heartford while engaged to me. I’m offended, Lady Julia,” he teased her, leaning back with a smile on his handsome face.
“Friendly? Is that what we’re calling it?” she challenged, an easy smirk on her face. Joy and happiness threatened to bubble out of her now that they were back to their easy relationship.
“Yes, when in delicate company.” He shrugged a shoulder.
Julia set her teacup down before sitting back and crossing her arms. “I think we both can agree that I’m not delicate.”
“No, you’re most certainly not,” he agreed, laying back so that their shoulders were touching. “I’m happy for you.”
“You don’t even like Henry.” She smirked at him, bumping his shoulder.
“I don’t, but I like you. I only have two friends after all, you and Bollingbrook. I need to make sure one of you is happy.”
“I am happy. I thought I couldn’t forgive him, but now that I have, I feel lighter. I feel free.” The words were never truer. She felt as if she was floating on clouds. She looked over at her friend. “Thank you, St. Clara, for being my friend. I shall always keep you around.”
“God help you.”
