Josiah looked up to find Lord Worthington at his side, his expression calm but his grip firm. There was a warning in his friend's eyes --- not merely the concern of a companion watching a friend drink too much, but something sharper. A reminder. Worthington knew exactly who Lady Clara was, knew the whole painful history, and his steady gaze said clearly:not here, not like this.
Josiah shrugged off his hand. "I am quite well, I thank you."
"I must take my leave at once." Lady Clara bobbed a curtsy, glancing around the room. "Forgive me for interrupting you. I did not mean to cause you more pain but clearly, I have done so."
"Wait." It was very strange indeed how his temper flared one moment, only for his longing to take a hold the next. His hand shot out, catching hers as Lady Clara turned away and that touch, his fingers to hers, made his heart cry out with both desperation and pain. "You said we could talk." He did not release her hand but she was the one to pull away, her eyes holding fast to his.
"If you wish to," she said, tears now shimmering in her eyes. "If we met in a bookshop or some quiet place, I might be able to speak to you then. Alice and I can make our way to The Theatre Bookshop tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock."
Josiah nodded, his stomach beginning to tighten and then release as he set his glass of brandy down again, realizing just how much he had drunk these last few hours. "Tomorrow, then."
She held his gaze steadily and then let out a slow breath, shaking her head as she did so. "I do hate to see you so, Rutland."
She was gone the very next moment, leaving him to stare after her as the hubbub of the crowd swallowed her up. He wanted to tell her to come back, to state that he had more to say, more to tell her, more to ask her... but he did not. Instead, his hand continued to burn where their fingers had touched, desire beginning to lick its way up towards his heart.
"Come." Lord Worthington was beside him again, one hand on his shoulder, and this time Josiah did not push him away. His friend's voice was low, meant only for him. "You have a meeting tomorrow and you will need your wits about you for it. Drinking yourself into a stupor tonight will not serve you."
Josiah dropped his head, his stomach going from one side to the other. "You think me a fool."
"I think you a man in love who has been given a reason to hope and does not know what to do with it." Worthington steered him gently away from the brandy tray. "That is not the same thing as a fool, though the two can look remarkably similar from the outside." A pause. "Go home, Josiah. Sleep. And tomorrow, when you are sober and your head is clear, go to that bookshop and listen to what she has to say. You owe her that much --- and you owe yourself the truth."
Feeling his head begin to ache, Josiah let out a low groan and shoved his hands through his hair. "I should never have let myself drink so much."
"On that point, we are in complete agreement."
Without another word to anyone, Josiah made his way to the door of the ballroom, ready to call his carriage and make his way home. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, as the cool air hit his cheeks, he might finally have some answers as regarded Lady Clara's separation from him and perhaps that would bring him some relief.
But it would never bring her back to him.
7
"Alice? I must ask you something."
Lord Rutland had come to her. That was the thing she kept turning over --- the determination in his eyes, the way he had moved through the crowd as though nothing else in the room existed. Hope had surged through her so fiercely she had barely been able to breathe. But then she had found him at the brandy tray, his eyes glassy with drink and sharp with pain, and that hope had dimmed. There was still so much anger in him, so much confusion --- and she could not blame him for that.
And yet, he still desired to speak with her.
"Yes?" Alice beamed back at Clara, her eyes bright with happiness. Evidently, the ball was going very well for her. "What is it?"
"I need you to come with me to The Theatre Bookshop tomorrow," Clara said, tugging Alice away from the crowd that she had been a part of, wanting to speak quietly so that she could not be overheard. Alice's brother and her own brother were standing there also and the last thing she wanted was for Tyroneto hear her speak of Lord Rutland. "Listen to me for a moment if you would."
As she glanced back at the group they had left, she caught sight of Tyrone standing rigid beside Alice's brother, his chin lifted and his gaze sweeping the ballroom with that particular watchfulness that had become so much a part of him since their father's death. Clara remembered, with a sudden ache, the brother who had once laughed easily --- who had carried her through the apple orchard at Thornfield and made up silly rhymes to amuse her at supper. That David had disappeared so gradually she could not name the moment of his going. Somewhere between inheriting the title and shouldering all its expectations, he had hardened into someone she barely recognized. The warmth had retreated behind a wall of duty and propriety so thick that even their mother could not breach it.
She turned away. Whatever had changed in David, it did not excuse what he had done to her and to Lord Rutland. But it did, perhaps, explain something of the fear she sometimes saw behind his authority --- the fear of a man holding too tightly to something because he was terrified of losing it.
Alice, perhaps seeing that Clara's tone was one of seriousness, let her smile fade as she nodded. "Of course."
"You recall the sadness that was in me before?" Clara asked, as a frown pulled lightly at Alice's brows. "I dismissed it as foolishness but that is because I did not want to be honest with you." She took in a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment so she could gather herself. "Alice, I was in love with Lord Rutland and he with me."
Alice's eyes widened but she did not exclaim as Clara had feared she might. Instead, something shifted in her expression --- a dawning recognition, as though pieces she had been turning over in her mind were finally falling into their proper places."That is why you wept at the ball," she said, quietly. "And why Lord Worthington looked at you so strangely in the park."
Clara stared at her cousin, astonished. "You --- you connected those things?"
"I did not know what to make of them at the time," Alice admitted, "but I knew they were connected to something. I could feel it." She squeezed Clara's hand. "Tell me everything."
"We were going to become engaged after Christmas time," Clara continued, darting a glance at her brother, relieved that he was not looking at her. "However, my mother came to me one afternoon and informed me that I had to write a letter to Lord Rutland to end our connection."
Alice's eyebrows lifted. "Why?"
