And here she was in the midst of a family group she ought to have left a few hours ago. And she had no one to blame for her renewed discomfort but herself. When had sheeverbefore clung to a man for support and protection?
It was really quite lowering.
Claudia fell asleep—admittedly after a long spell of wakefulness—thinking about the Marquess of Attingsborough and awoke thinking about Charlie—the Duke of McLeith.
Oh, yes, indeed, she had come honestly by her antipathy toward the aristocracy, particularly toward dukes. It had not started with the odious and arrogant Duke of Bewcastle. Another duke had destroyed her life well before she met him.
She had lived and breathed Charlie Gunning during her childhood and girlhood, or so it seemed in retrospect. They had been virtually inseparable from the moment he had arrived at her father’s house, a bewildered and unhappy five-year-old orphan, until he had gone away to school at the age of twelve, and even after that they had spent every waking moment of his holidays together.
But then, when he was eighteen and she seventeen, he had gone away never to return. She had not seen him since—until last evening. She had notheardfrom him for almost seventeen years.
Yet last evening he had spoken to her as if there had been no abrupt and ruthless ending to their relationship. He had spoken as if there were nothing in the world for him to feel guilty about.
But what a delightful surprise!
But where are you living?
Where may I call on you?
Had he really believed he had the right to bedelighted? And tocallon her? How dared he! Seventeen years might be a long time—almost half her life—but it was notthatlong. There was nothing wrong with her memory.
But she firmly cast aside memory as she dressed for breakfast and her visit to Mr. Hatchard’s office later in the morning. She had decided to go alone, without Edna and Flora. Frances was coming to the house, and she and Susanna were going to take the girls shopping for new clothes and accessories.
And since Frances came in a carriage and bore the other three off in it not long after a prolonged breakfast, Claudia found herself riding to her appointment in Peter’s town carriage. He had refused even to listen to her protests that she would enjoy the walk on such a sunny day.
“Susanna would never forgive me,” he had said with a twinkle in his eye. “And I would hate that. Have pity on me, Claudia.”
She was buoyed by high spirits as she rode through the streets of London, despite a niggling worry that the employment Mr. Hatchard had found for the two girls might not be suitable after all. Now that the time had come, she was fairly bubbling with excitement over the fact that she was about to put the final touch to her independence, to her success as a single woman.
There was no longer any need of assistance from the benefactor who had so generously supported the school almost from the start. She had a letter for him tucked into her reticule—Mr. Hatchard would deliver it for her. It was regrettable that she would never know who the man was, but she respected his desire for anonymity.
The school was flourishing. Within the last year she had been able to extend it into the house next door and add two more teachers to the staff. Even more gratifying, she was now able to increase the number of charity pupils she took in from twelve to fourteen. And the school was even turning a modest profit.
She was looking forward to the next hour or so, she thought as Peter’s coachman handed her down from the carriage and she stepped inside Mr. Hatchard’s office.
Less than an hour later Claudia hurried back outside onto the pavement. Viscount Whitleaf’s coachman jumped down from the box and opened the carriage door for her. She drew breath to tell him that she would walk home. She was far too agitated to ride. But before she could speak, she heard her name being called.
The Marquess of Attingsborough was riding along the street with the Earl of Kilbourne and another gentleman. It was the marquess who had hailed her.
“Good morning, Miss Martin,” he said, riding closer. “And how are you this morning?”
“If I were any angrier, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “the top might well blow off my head.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I am going to walk home,” she told the coachman. “Thank you for waiting for me, but you may return without me.”
“You must permit me to escort you, ma’am,” the marquess said.
“I hardly need a chaperone,” she told him sharply. “And I wouldnotbe good company this morning.”
“Allow me to accompany you as a friend, then,” he said, and he swung down from his saddle and turned to the earl. “You will take my horse back to the stable, Nev?”
The earl smiled and doffed his hat to Claudia, and it was too late to say a firm no. Besides, it was something of a relief to see a familiar face. She had thought she would have to wait for Susanna to return from her shopping expedition before she would have anyone with whom to talk. She might well burst before then.
And so just a minute later they were walking along the pavement together, she and the Marquess of Attingsborough. He offered his arm, and she took it.
“I amnotmuch given to distress,” she assured him, “despite last evening and now this morning. But this morning it is anger—fury—rather than distress.”
