"If they are, then that would suggest an intimacy between them that was never made formal." A chill ran over Josiah's skin. "I must write to Clara. Through Lady Alice, of course."
"I could bring it to her," Lord Worthington suggested, his own smile growing. "Imagine if we were both to end up suitably contented by the end of this Season."
That thought made Josiah's heart lift free of all questions and confusion. "That would be wonderful indeed," he agreed, already thinking of all the ways he might tell Clara of the love he held for her.
14
"Clara?"
Looking over at her cousin, Clara smiled. "Yes, Alice?"
"Your brother has suggested we walk the Grand Walk together --- he wishes to see the cascade."
Her eyebrows lifted. "He wishes to walk with you?"
Alice nodded and then grasped Clara's hand, her voice dropping low beneath the swell of music from the orchestra stand. "Take the opportunity. Lord Worthington has told me that he and Lord Rutland will be near the south colonnade, past the second turning of the hermit's walk. It is quieter there --- fewer lanterns."
Excitement sent a thrill up Clara's spine as she caught her breath, her eyes widening. The warm evening air carried the scent of supper-box ham and something sweeter --- night-blooming jasmine, perhaps, from the gardens beyond the walks. Thousands of glass oil lamps glittered in the trees above them like earthbound stars, casting everything in a soft, golden haze that made the familiar faces around her seem almost otherworldly. "You think that I might ---"
"Why not? The walks are long and dark enough that no one will notice your absence for a quarter hour." Alice's eyes twinkled. "And I will keep Tyrone occupied. He is in an oddly agreeable mood this evening --- the arrack punch, I think."
Clara put one hand to her stomach, her breath swirling in her chest. "I do not know what to say."
"There is nothing you need say!" Alice laughed, putting her hand on Clara's arm. "You must only act!"
"Alice?"
The deep voice of Lord Tyrone swiped the smile from Clara's face in an instant. He appeared beside them, his coat well-fitted, his manner relaxed in a way Clara had not seen in weeks. Vauxhall seemed to ease something in him --- the openness of it, perhaps, the anonymity of the crowds.
"Ah, Tyrone. I was just telling Clara how eager I am to see the cascade. Shall we walk?"
"Indeed." Lord Tyrone put his arm out to her. "Clara, will you come with us?"
"I think I shall stay and enjoy the music for a few minutes more," Clara replied, gesturing to the supper box where her mother sat in pleasant conversation with Lady Whitaker. "Mama will want company, and the orchestra is about to play a new piece."
Lord Tyrone hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the crowded walks as if assessing something, but Alice tugged gently at his arm and he relented.
Before he turned away, Clara caught her brother's gaze lingering on a gentleman passing their supper box --- Lord Atherstone, recognizable even in the lantern-lit dimness by his commanding height and the particular way he inclined his head to every lady he passed, as though bestowing a gift. David raised a hand in brief acknowledgment and Atherstone returned it with a broad smile and what Clara thought was a ratherconspiratorial nod before disappearing into the crowd along the Grand Walk.
Clara frowned after him. She did not care for Lord Atherstone --- she had said as much to Alice weeks ago --- and her brother's apparent fondness for the man's company was another small puzzle she could not yet place. But there was no time to dwell on it. Alice was steering David away and the walks were waiting.
"Very well. We shall not be long."
Clara gave her cousin a quick smile and then watched as Alice steered Lord Tyrone towards the Grand Walk, their figures gradually swallowed by the lantern-lit crowds. The moment they were gone, she rose from the supper box and murmured an excuse to her mother about finding Alice a shawl she had left behind.
She had taken no more than a dozen steps along the lamp-lit path when a familiar figure fell into step beside her.
"Lady Clara." Lord Worthington offered her his arm with an easy smile, as though they had arranged this meeting by the happiest coincidence. "Might I escort you? The walks can be rather crowded this evening."
Relief washed through her. She took his arm gratefully, knowing that with a gentleman at her side she would draw no unwanted attention. Worthington guided her away from the main avenue with the practiced ease of a man who knew Vauxhall well, turning down a quieter walk where the lanterns were sparser --- pools of golden light separated by stretches of warm darkness where the gravel crunched softly beneath her slippers. Laughter floated from somewhere she could not see, and the rustling of the elm trees overhead sounded almost like whispered conversation.
And there he was.
Lord Rutland stood beneath a lantern near the colonnade, half in shadow, waiting. When he saw her, the sharpness left his face and something luminous came into his eyes --- something that made her breath catch and her step quicken.
Lord Worthington released her arm and stepped back. "I will keep watch," he murmured, positioning himself where he could see the path in both directions.
Lord Rutland grasped her hand and drew her past the last of the lanterns and into the shadows of the elm walk, where the branches arched overhead like the nave of a cathedral. The moment they were hidden from the path, she was in his arms. His lips found hers and she clung to him, her hands gripping his shoulders, his hands tight around her waist, both of them holding on as though these stolen minutes were all they would ever have.
