The coolness that crept into Clara's expression made him falter.
"You think it logical," she said, slowly, "that a woman should be used and then hidden away in a cottage because her standing is not high enough to merit justice."
"No --- that is, I do not think it right." He ran one hand through his hair, looking genuinely uncomfortable. "But I understood the reasoning, Clara, and I am not certain that is something to be proud of. It is the way things are done. It is the way I was taught things are done. And I did not question it until I saw Miss Jennings sitting in that tiny room with nothing but a stipend and three books and the knowledge that the man who ruined her would face no consequences at all."
Clara studied his face in the fading light and saw that he was not making excuses but confessing something that troubled him, and that distinction mattered. "It is the way things are done," she agreed, quietly. "But that does not make it right. And I think you know that."
"I do now." He took her hands again, his grip firm. "I did not always. I am not sure I would have questioned it at all if I had not watched you refuse to accept the world your brother tried to impose upon you. You have made me braver, Clara, whether you intended to or not."
She felt the truth of that settle between them and she held his gaze for a long moment, seeing something shift in his expression that she had not seen before --- not merely devotion but the beginning of a harder, more honest kind of understanding.
"When we are wed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "where shall we live?"
The question surprised a laugh out of him, the sound low and warm in the quiet garden. "You are thinking of that now?"
"I am thinking of everything that comes after." She smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from her shoulders. "I want to picture it, Josiah. Our home, our life together. Something to hold onto when tomorrow becomes difficult."
He was quiet for a moment, then he drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her so that her head rested against his chest. His heart beat steady against her ear, a rhythm she wanted to hold in her memory forever. "My estate in the country," he said, softly. "It has rolling hills that turn golden in autumn. A library with windows facing the sunrise. A garden that my mother planted years ago --- roses and lavender and herbs whose names I have never learned."
Clara closed her eyes and let his words settle over her like a blanket against the chill. "It sounds beautiful."
"It will be, with you there." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "We will have breakfast together every morning. Take long walks in the afternoons. Host dinner parties where we can bore our guests with how desperately in love we are."
She laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. "They will find us insufferable."
"And I shall not care one whit." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Let them whisper about the besotted Earl and his beloved Countess. I will wear their mockery as a badge of honour."
Clara pulled back just enough to look up at him. "I love you, Josiah. Whatever happens tomorrow, I need you to know that."
"And I you." He lowered his head, his forehead resting against hers. "Until the very end of me, Clara, and perhaps beyond that, if such a thing is possible."
The kiss that followed was soft and tender, a promise made in the quiet of a darkening garden with the first stars beginning to appear overhead. Clara let herself fall into it, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat, and for a few precious moments there was nothing else --- no brothers, no confrontation, no Miss Jennings, no Lord Atherstone. Only this. Only them.
When they finally drew apart, the last light of evening had faded to purple dusk.
"I should return before I am missed," Clara murmured, though every part of her resisted the thought of leaving him.
"Tomorrow," Josiah said, pressing one final kiss to her knuckles. "We end this tomorrow. And then, my love, we begin the rest of our lives."
Clara nodded, holding his gaze for one last moment before turning and slipping back through the garden gate. Her heart was still racing but it was no longer from fear alone. Hope had kindled there too, fragile but growing, and she held it close against the dark walk home.
22
"Worthington, thank you for coming."
"I would not have missed it." Lord Worthington came into the drawing room and shook Josiah's hand firmly. "Though I confess, I slept very poorly. I have been thinking a great deal about what lies ahead today."
"As have I." Josiah gestured to a chair and went to pour them both a measure of brandy, despite the early hour. His hands, he noticed, were not entirely steady. "I appreciate your willingness to stand with us in this. Clara and I both do."
"You know I would do a great deal more than simply stand in a room." Lord Worthington accepted the glass with a grateful nod. "Has there been any word from Lady Clara this morning?"
Josiah shook his head. "Not yet. Thomas was expected yesterday or today, so I imagine we will hear from her as soon as he arrives." He took a drink of the brandy, feeling it burn a steadying path to his stomach. "When the note comes, we must go at once."
Lord Worthington regarded him over the rim of his glass. "I have been meaning to ask you something, if I may."
"Of course."
"You are now engaged to Lady Clara. Whatever Lord Tyrone's objections, they have been publicly overridden. You could simply marry her and leave his secrets in the past." He tilted his head. "What does it matter, at this stage, why he held you apart?"
