For him. For her.
And what would his father think—his son, heir to Bedford Manor, publicly admiring a woman society had already cast aside? A woman who’d once poached from their land just to make it to another day. How easily he could overlook that. And wasn’t that the trouble? He could hear his father’s voice even now, asking if his affections had clouded his judgement. If he’d mistaken recklessness for compassion.
Or perhaps that was his own voice, sharpened by doubt.
The musicians struck the first notes of Purcell, pulling him from his thoughts. He stood at attention while the men on either side of them took a turn. Once they returned to their places, he pivoted around the back of them and then approached Clara.
When they clasped hands, she leaned close. “I trust things have improved for Charity, that there is no more need for her to go to Italy?”
“Actually, she will sail next Friday.”
“Oh dear.”
He released her fingers, rejoining the line at the opposite end of the set, and when they circled back together, she picked up as if no time had passed. “I thought you had things under control.”
He cocked his head. “What things are you speaking of?”
“Oh, you know.” She shrugged. “Whatever it is you have Juliet helping you with.”
Hmm. A valiant attempt to parry, but he suspected Charity might have told Clara more than he and Juliet would wish. Clara and his sister were best friends, after all.
Once again they joined hands, and he guided her through a series of gentle turns.
“I am sorry, Henry. I know you shall miss your sister greatly.” She matched his steps with seamless grace, their movements as comfortable as their friendship. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her kindness did much to ease the cynicism that’d been building in his heart. Blast, but he was tired of eyeing everyone with suspicion. “No, but thank you for the offer. You are a good friend.”
They separated briefly before she returned to his side.
“I am always at your call, Henry. You have only to ask.”
He pressed his fingers against hers, guilt pinching his conscience. After all these years, he took her for granted. She’d been a constant in his life, particularly when his mother had died five years ago, and he was grateful for her. Countless childhood memories bombarded him, from chasing each other about in the garden to sharing secrets beneath the old oak tree.
Loosening his grip, he moved to the outer edge of the formation, then once again returned to the center.
Clara lowered her voice as they came together. “And Juliet? Will you still have need of her once Charity is gone?”
What a dreadful question. He wouldn’t have any reason to keep her at Bedford Manor other than that he’d grown accustomed to her smile every morning and conversation at night. “No,” he murmured against his will. “She will return to her home.”
The thought tasted rancid. Without her, the house would feel unbearably empty. He’d miss her unexpected laughter and—yes—even her bold challenges whenever she did not agree with him. But he could not expect her to stay with him forever.
Could he?
Sympathy flashed in Clara’s eyes. “That will be quite a lonely change for you, I imagine.”
Indeed—though now was not the time to dwell on such a dismal fact. He forced a smile. “I have plenty to do, what with my father being away. An estate does not manage itself, you know.”
Indeed, it didn’t, but it wasn’t just about keeping books balanced or roofs from leaking. It was about proving himself worthy of the trust placed in him. His father had built the manor into something strong and steady—its roots deep, its reputation untarnished. Henry could not—would not—be the one to falter. He must maintain control. It was his duty. That was what mattered. What defined him. Leastwise he hoped it would.
Because when his father returned, Henry wanted him to find nothing lacking—no cause to regret handing over the reins, and no reason to regret coming home.
Not this time.
“You cannot work all hours.” Clara scoffed. “Once your sister is gone, you must come for dinner more often. I will not see you turning into a hermit like Mr. Dankworth.”
“You need not worry about me.” He offered her a faint smile.
“Of course I shall. You would do the same for me.”
