The resentment she carried had not faded, exactly, but it had shifted shape as she watched her brother alter these past months --- growing fearful where he had once been merely imperious, darting glances over his shoulder, starting at sounds. Whatever secret drove him to destroy her happiness was destroying him too. Clara was certain of that now, even if she could not yet see its outline.
But Clara was not so easily silenced as her brother believed. In the quiet of her room each evening, she had begun to write --- not the polite letters expected of a lady, but a private journal hidden beneath her mattress. In it, she recorded everything: the questions Tyrone refused to answer, the inconsistencies in his explanations, the strange way he flinched at certain names. She did not know what she was looking for, but she sensed there wasa pattern to her brother's behavior, a secret he was desperately protecting. And she had resolved, in the privacy of those pages, that she would discover it.
It was a small rebellion, writing her thoughts where he could not see them or silence them. But it was hers.
A sudden thought struck her --- could this have something to do with Thomas? Their younger brother had been sent away to Devon on business months ago, and his letters home had become increasingly infrequent. Mother had remarked upon it with worry just last week. Clara had not connected the two things before, but now, watching the way David's jaw remained tight, his eyes still darting about the room, she wondered if there was more to Thomas's absence than mere estate business.
"I am sorry for all that you have endured because of my demands," he continued, when she did not answer. "I have seen the pain and the grief you have been forced to carry ever since your connection to Lord Rutland ended and I am sorry for that."
Clara glanced at him. "You will not say any more than that, will you?"
He shook his head no.
"Then let us end the discussion about Lord Rutland there," she said, her heart still burning within her chest. "If you wish to ask me about any other young ladies that you might be considering, then I would be more than willing to talk about them but I have no intention of discussing my previous considerations with you."
Her brother let out a long sigh and then nodded, turning his head away so he could look out over the crowd. "Very well. But we will not discuss young ladies. Instead, we will do our utmost to have your dance card filled, yes?" Glancing back at her, he offered her a small smile. "That way, you might find your thoughts pulled away from Lord Rutland with a good deal more haste."
"Or you could explain to me why it was I had to end my connection to him," Clara replied, her throat aching as unshed tears burned behind her eyes. "You will not explain and I have been left with so many unanswered questions, with so much brokenness, I ---"
"I understand that." Her brother sounded brusque now, wanting to end the topic of conversation. "I have said that I am sorry but I have also said that you cannot ask me anything more." Turning, he paused in their walk and looked straight into her eyes. "I say this to protect you, Clara."
Her eyebrows flew upwards. "You mean to say that Lord Rutland ---"
"No, not from him." He shook his head and sighed, a pained expression on his face. "Protect you from... from the consequences that could have followed. That is all."
This made very little sense to Clara and whilst she opened her mouth to ask for further explanations, her brother turned swiftly and, taking her arm, began to walk again, ending all thought of asking such a thing. Her shoulders dropped and she sighed, looking away from her brother and out across the crowd. When she had written to Lord Rutland, her brother had refused to permit her to read the letter --- or letters mayhap --- that he had sent back in response. Clara did not know why or what it was he feared would happen if she had done so, but all the same, there had been nothing but silence left for her. That had made her pain all the greater and despite even her mother begging Tyrone on her behalf, the Marquess had been unmoved. It was all so very secretive and, within that, so much confusion, Clara had become quite lost.
"One thing more, Clara." Turning, David fixed her with a piercing gaze and a chill ran over Clara's skin. "You will not speak to Lord Rutland this Season."
Her heart began to thunder.
"If he is here, that is," Lord Tyrone continued, his tone steady but his words devastating her. "You are not to speak with him, to be in company with him or to dance with him. Do I make myself clear?"
Clara shook her head. "No, you do not make yourself clear," she replied, her throat rasping. "You have demanded my obedience in so many things but have not explained to me why! Now you insist that I cannot even go near to him?"
"Yes, I insist." Leaning closer, his eyes still fixed to hers, he put one hand on her shoulder and lowered his voice. "If I see you doing such a thing, then I will take you from London and return you home with all swiftness. I will arrange your marriage, if I have to. For the moment, you are permitted to consider any gentlemen present here but if you go near to Lord Rutland, then I will take that privilege away from you."
"Good evening, Lord Tyrone!"
The warm exclamation from a gentleman that Clara did not know broke them apart. With hot tears in her eyes, Clara took a few moments to try and recover herself as her brother greeted the gentleman, her heart in agony as wave upon wave of confusion and anguish poured over her.
"A pleasure to see you again, indeed!" the gentleman exclaimed, then turned his gaze towards Clara who, managing to compose herself, lifted her head. "I was hoping that you might introduce me to this beautiful creature on your arm, whoever she might be!"
The compliment was appreciated but Clara felt nothing within herself upon hearing it. There was no joy here, no happiness or contentment. It was all fine and well for her brother to state that she could consider whichever gentleman she pleased but if her heart still belonged solely to Lord Rutland, then what good was it?
"I would be very glad to!" With a lightness in his tone that Clara despised given the way he had just spoken to her, Lord Tyrone bowed, then gestured to Clara. "This is my sister, Lady Clara. Clara, this is my good friend, the Earl of Atherstone."
Clara, having no other choice but to behave well, dropped into a curtsy. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Atherstone."
"The pleasure is mine, I can assure you!" The gentleman grinned at her, a twinkle in his blue eyes that made Clara's cheeks flush swiftly but with a sense of discomfiture. She did not much like the look in Lord Atherstone's eye and even if he was being a little flirtatious, Clara was not particularly appreciative of it. "I do hope you are to dance, yes?"
Clara took the dance card from her wrist and handed it to him. "I am, yes. I thank you."
"And the waltz?" Lord Atherstone looked hopefully at Clara's brother rather than her. "She has permission, yes?"
"Yes, yes." Lord Tyrone waved a hand. "This is her second Season, my friend and there is only one thing in mind this year!"
Clara wanted to close her eyes and sink into the floor as memories assailed her --- memories that she sent away by sheer force of will. By declaring that this was her second Season in such a way, her brother had made it more than a little apparent that she wanted to --- or had to --- marry. They had not yet discussed as to whether or not she herself would have any say in which gentlemen would be permitted to court her but Clara had to pray that it would be so. She did not want her brother to decide for her.
