“My sister, actually.”
“Oh? Where is she?” Clara glanced around the lobby as if Charity might be about.
“She is at home.”
Clara turned back to him with an arch to one brow. “How mysterious.”
“None of it.” He chuckled. Leave it to Clara to imagine an intrigue. She was always the one to dream up theatrics when they were children, forcing their abysmal playacting skills upon their parents. “I am merely enquiring about coach schedules for her.”
Clara’s smile faltered. “Is she going somewhere? We were supposed to work on the details for the ball together.”
“Yes, well …” He gave a sheepish grin. Clara would not like the news one bit, for she and Charity were fast friends. “My sister will be joining my father in Italy soon.”
For the briefest moment, Clara’s lips parted in surprise before she recovered with a little laugh. “Italy? How … lovely.” Herbracelet jangled as she clasped her hands too tightly. “What fortune to have such a caring brother arranging it all.”
He stifled a snort. “Unfortunately, my sister does not share your opinion.”
“I see. But if she’s so reluctant, why go to so much trouble?”
His eyes dropped to the carpet. No lady should hear the real reason. “I may not actually purchase the tickets today. I am just gathering information.”
“And yet you did not answer my question.”
He grinned. “It is complicated, and we shall leave it at that.”
“Very well. I suppose you know best, and if it is truly that important, maybe I could stop by and encourage her towards the idea. Does tomorrow after church suit?”
His brows lifted. “That would be kind, Clara. She might benefit from hearing it from someone else.”
“Oh, it’s not kindness, truly. Visiting the manor spares me lunch with Grace Woolcott and her matchmaking schemes. You see, you’re doing me the favour.” With a nod, she turned. “I shall see you then.”
“Oh, Clara, one more thing.”
“Yes?” She glanced back.
“Do you know anything about Edwin Parker returning to town?”
“Mr. Parker?” She shook her head slowly. “Not much. I heard he’d returned some months ago. Word is he suffered a nasty injury—something to do with his regiment being ambushed. Poor man. I suppose that’s why we haven’t seen him about. I imagine he’s not quite the same.”
“Likely not,” Henry murmured.
She angled her head. “Why do you ask?”
“I passed him earlier. Thought I recognized him but wasn’t certain. Just curious.”
Clara smiled, bright and untroubled. “Ah. Well, I can’t imagine he means to cause any stir. Men like that tend to disappear into their own troubles. Still”—she shrugged—“I shall keep my ear open for news, if you like.”
“That’s kind of you. No need, though.”
“Nonsense. We old friends must look out for one another.” She grinned. “Now, I best be off before Mother sends out a search party.”
Henry chuckled. “Of course. Good day, Clara.”
“Good day, Henry.” With a graceful swish of skirts, she was gone.
He approached the front desk, Parker’s return still weighing on his mind. If the man had been back several months, could he be the one tormenting his sister? Would Parker truly lash out merely because his life appeared to be unraveling? He would have no cause to wish to drive Charity away. None—unless by some twisted reasoning such an act might soothe his own crushed ego. A stretch, that. Leastwise for a sane mind.
Even so, the thought gnawed at Henry, adding to his unease.
