Closing his eyes, Josiah shook his head. "Do not ask me."
"It is because of that young lady, is it not?" Lord Worthington's hand tightened on Josiah's shoulder. "If there issomething between you that you cannot speak of, then please ---"
"Do not ask me, I beg of you." Josiah, caught somewhere between anger and upset, shook off his friend's hand. "I am to go to White's. Excuse me."
Without another word and without any intention of giving Lord Worthington an explanation, Josiah moved away quickly, determined to reach the door of the ballroom and make his way from it at once. Nothing could keep him here, nothing could have him tied to this place. He had to escape it, had to escape her. She had broken his heart once already and Josiah was not about to let her do the very same thing again. How much he wished his heart had been able to forget her! How much he despised himself for still clinging to her!
Josiah threw open the door. A footman scrambled to catch it as he strode outside, the cool air calming his hot face. The darkness was a welcome, a quiet haven against his tormented soul.
Waiting for his carriage, Josiah let out long, slow breaths in an attempt to steady himself but the vision of her remained in his mind, lingering there no matter how much he tried to throw it aside.
Why can I not forget her?
Josiah lowered his head and shoved his hands into his hair, gripping hard. One look. That was all it had taken to undo four months of trying to forget her.
"But I must."
Speaking aloud, Josiah lifted his head and looked out at the darkness, his chest still heaving with deep, heavy breaths. Could it be that his friend was correct? That coming to London might be the only way to chase away this melancholy? If he was here, then might he not flirt and laugh and smile with the many young ladies who were here seeking a match? It did not mean that hewould have to seek out a match himself and certainly did not mean that he would be looking to find a bride but he could enjoy himself, could he not? It might be a way for him to forget about Lady Clara given that nothing else thus far had worked.
The carriage came and stood, waiting for him to step inside. Josiah hesitated, looking over his shoulder again at the open door that would lead him back inside to the ballroom.
With a deep breath, he set his shoulders, dismissed the carriage and turned back inside. It was time for him to find a way to forget her, once and for all.
2
Clara feigned a smile, excused herself and then turned away, only to find herself face to face with her brother.
"Clara." He sniffed and lifted an eyebrow. "You do not seem to be finding Lady Penelope's company interesting."
"That is because the conversation is not in the least bit stimulating," Clara replied, choosing not to hold back the truth from him. "I know that you think well of her and that is entirely your prerogative but pray do not demand that I find her just as interesting as you!"
Her brother David frowned, his eyes going to where Lady Penelope stood. A peal of laughter came from her and that made Clara wince, having found the lady more than a little false during their conversation. This was only her second ball of the Season but her brother seemed a good deal more interested in making certain that Clara spoke with Lady Penelope rather than in Clara herself. Perhaps he knew that she was not truly interested in company, in dancing, in conversation and the like. Perhaps he knew that her heart was still utterly broken.
"If I might, perhaps there are others I can speak with," Clara continued, as gently as she could. "You have encouraged me todance this evening, brother and as yet, I have only one name written on my dance card."
Lord Tyrone harrumphed, nodded and then cleared his throat before turning away from where Lady Penelope stood. He offered Clara his arm and she took it, relieved to be away from the lady.
"I should thank you for your insight, I suppose," her brother muttered, unwillingly. "And for your honesty."
"It does not matter what I think of her," Clara replied immediately, seeing that her brother was continuing on the conversation about Lady Penelope. "If you find her engaging and delightful, then you must pursue that."
"But you know I trust your judgement," came the reply, "and that I do not trust my own."
Clara pressed her lips together, watching her brother's gaze dart about the room. These last few months, he had become a shadow of himself --- flinching at footsteps, starting when she entered a room, his eyes forever searching for something she could not name. Even their mother had become concerned for her son's welfare. Tyrone had dismissed their worries, telling them both that there was nothing the matter with him and that he was doing very well indeed --- something which Clara did not believe in the least.
At that moment, a voice from a passing conversation reached them --- "...the Jennings family, yes, a sad affair..."
Clara saw her brother's reaction before she could identify its cause. His face went ashen, his grip on her arm tightening painfully. For just a moment, she saw something in his eyes that looked very much like terror.
"David?" She frowned at him. "Are you quite all right?"
He released her arm abruptly, pulling his hand back as if he had been burned. "Perfectly fine," he said, though his voice was strained. His eyes darted across the room, searching forsomething --- or someone --- that Clara could not identify. "I thought I... it is nothing. A momentary indisposition."
Clara studied him carefully. Whatever had just happened, it was not nothing. She filed the information away, not knowing what to make of it. The Jennings family? She did not recognize the name, but clearly her brother did. And whatever connection existed between him and that name, it was enough to make him look as though he had seen a ghost.
"You do not think well of me still, I know," he continued, when she said nothing. "You will wonder how I can say that I do not trust my own judgement when I insisted that you end your connection to Lord Rutland. You are still angry with me, are you not? Even though you pretend otherwise."
Clara swallowed thickly. She had shed enough tears over that letter --- over the words David had made her write while he stood behind her chair like a sentinel. No explanation given, none permitted. Only the hollow assurance that it was "for the family" and the sight of her own hand shaking as she sealed Lord Rutland's happiness away.
