Alice's eyes went wide. "You did?"
Clara nodded. "I have no address but it mentioned that Thomas is to remain in Devon --- and I am sure we have a spinster aunt who resides there." She paused, committing the words to memory ---I need not repeat to you my reasons for keeping you in Devon--- so that she might record them in her journal tonight, alongside everything else she had gathered. The collection was growing: David's terror, Thomas's letter about shame, Miss Jennings, and now this half-finished threat. Eachpiece sharpened the others, though the full picture still eluded her.
"Then what shall you do?" Alice asked, shifting to the edge of her chair. "Will you ask your mother about the lady?"
Considering this for a few moments, Clara frowned. "No, I think not. There is no certainty that she will not, in turn, say something to my brother and that could bring a good deal of suspicion with it." She set her shoulders. "If you would be willing to help me, I will write a letter to my brother Thomas and will send it to my aunt's home in Devon. If it arrives there, then all is well. If it does not..." Her shoulders lifted and then fell. "Then it will be lost. I will place no seal on it, I will not even sign it for fear of discovery. I shall take great care with what I write and in what I convey in the hope of a response."
"I shall send it for you, of course," Alice replied, her eyes bright with hope. "You cannot have it sent from this house since your brother or mother might intercept it."
"Indeed." Clara smiled back at her. "Oh, Alice, once more your advice has been just what I needed to hear. I thank you for it."
Her cousin waved a hand vaguely. "I need no thanks," she said, as Clara sat back in her chair, somewhat weary after the afternoon's escapades. "All I want is for you to be able to stand, hand in hand with Lord Rutland again."
"It is everything my heart desires," Clara admitted, softly. "I want nothing more than that."
12
"Clara, might I speak with you for a moment?"
Clara looked up from her embroidery to see her mother standing in the doorway of the small parlor, the afternoon light from the window casting soft shadows across her face. Lady Tyrone's expression held something Clara could not quite read --- something between concern and weariness, as if she had been carrying a burden too long and had finally decided to set it down.
"Of course, Mama." Clara set aside her needlework, the silk thread cool against her fingers, and gestured to the chair beside her. "Please, come and sit."
Lady Tyrone crossed the room --- the rustle of her skirts the only sound --- but she did not sit. She moved to the window and stood looking out at the garden below, her hands clasped before her in the way she always did when something weighed upon her mind. Clara's embroidery hoop sat forgotten in her lap.
"I have noticed," Lady Tyrone began, her voice soft as the afternoon light, "that you have not been yourself these past weeks. In truth, not since Christmas."
Clara's stomach tightened, a chill running through her despite the warmth of the fire crackling in the grate. Had her mother noticed more than she had realized? "I am well enough, Mama. The Season is simply tiring."
"Do not lie to me, child." Lady Tyrone turned from the window, her eyes meeting Clara's with a directness that made Clara's breath catch in her chest. There was no accusation there, only a quiet determination. "I may not be as young as I once was, but I am not blind."
Rising from her chair, Clara moved to stand beside her mother, not quite certain what to say. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had kept her secrets for so long now --- the letter to Lord Rutland, her investigation with Alice, her suspicions about Tyrone. How much could she reveal without endangering everything they had worked so hard to uncover?
"I have been troubled," she admitted finally, choosing her words with care. "But I did not wish to burden you."
Lady Tyrone reached out and took Clara's hands in her own, her grip warm and steady. "You are my daughter. Your burdens are mine to share."
The gentleness in her mother's voice nearly undid her. Clara blinked against the sudden sting of tears, her throat growing tight. "Mama, I ---" She hesitated, then pressed on, her voice barely above a whisper. "Have you noticed anything strange about Tyrone, these past months?"
Lady Tyrone's expression shifted, a shadow passing behind her eyes like a cloud drifting across the sun. "In what manner do you mean?"
"He has been..." Clara searched for the right word, her brow furrowing. "Fearful. Secretive. He watches me constantly, as if he expects me to do something he disapproves of."
A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft pop and hiss of the fire. Lady Tyrone released Clara's handsand moved to sit in the chair by the window, her movements slower than usual, as if the weight of the conversation had settled upon her shoulders.
"I have noticed it," she said quietly. "Though I confess, I did not know what to make of it. Your brother has always been protective of this family, sometimes excessively so. I thought perhaps it was merely the weight of his responsibilities as the Marquess."
"But you sense there is more?"
Lady Tyrone's gaze dropped to her hands, now folded in her lap. "Thomas was sent away very suddenly. Your brother claimed it was business, but Thomas is not the sort of young man who would leave without a proper farewell, not unless something had compelled him to do so." She looked up at Clara, her eyes glistening in the firelight. "And then there was the matter of your letter to Lord Rutland."
Clara's heart stopped. The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet. "You knew?"
"I knew that you were forced to write it," her mother said, her voice heavy with regret. "I knew that your brother demanded it of you. I did not intervene because I..." She paused, her lips pressing together. "I was afraid."
"Afraid?" Clara moved to kneel beside her mother's chair, her skirts pooling around her on the floor, her own fears momentarily forgotten in the face of her mother's confession. "Afraid of what, Mama?"
"Of what Tyrone might reveal." Lady Tyrone's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached out to cup Clara's cheek, her palm warm against Clara's skin. "He implied that there was a scandal brewing, one that could destroy us all if it came to light. He said that your connection to Lord Rutland would make discovery inevitable."
