“Are you meeting with Mr. Brightly here?” she asked.
“Yes, at two. Will you join us?”
She sighed. “Oh dear. I’m to meet with my seamstress at the same time.”
“You’re buying new gowns?” he asked, almost hopeful. She did look lovely in everything she wore, but he longed to see her in any color but white. It felt so bland to him, so bereft of the personality he was beginning to see more and more.
She pursed her lips briefly, clearly troubled, though he wasn’t certain why. “One new gown and a fresh lining on a favorite coat.”
“What color will the gown be?” he asked, trying not to appear too interested.
She took a sip of tea and watched him over the rim. “White, of course.”
He frowned. “Have you ever considered buying a fabric of another color?”
There was a flash of a moment where he thought he saw longing in her eyes. The desire for more than she so often pushed away out of some strange attachment to the idea of doing what was “right”. Then it was gone.
“A lady should wear white,” she said softly. “And not put too much stock in the cut or color of her gown. The lady should be elegant, not the clothing.”
He wrinkled his brow. “You recite that like it comes from a book.”
She shifted a little. “And what if it does?”
He raised his hands at the defensiveness of her tone. “I only made the observation.”
She rose from the table and so he did the same out of the politenessthat she so treasured. “You needn’t worry yourself about such frivolous things as my gowns, my lord. You surely have more pressing matters to occupy your time.”
“I like considering your gowns.” He stepped toward her and took her hand. “I like the idea of you having something pretty that you enjoy.”
Her lips pursed and she gently tugged her hand free. “A lady ought not trouble her mind with such things.”
He sighed. Once again, there was the wall. Insurmountable at present. Perhaps forever. Why did that make his chest ache?
“Well, I ought to take care of a few things before I make my way to my appointment,” she said. “Oh, and my parents will be joining us for supper.”
He barely managed not to pull a face. “Very good. Then I suppose I won’t see you until then?”
She nodded. “Good day, Roderick.”
She moved as if to walk past him, but he caught her arm gently and pulled her back. She stared up into his eyes, the flutter of her swallow the only indication that he moved her. But he saw it. He chased it.
“I’d like a farewell kiss,” he said softly.
She made a little sound in her throat, lifting her lips toward him as he lowered his own to meet her. The kiss was gentle at first, but in a moment the heat began to take over. To his joy, she allowed it, opening to him, gripping at his jacket with her fists. But before he could sweep her away, she gasped and stepped back. Her pupils were dilated with desire, her hands trembled a little at her sides as she fisted them there.
“I—” she murmured, and then she bent her head. “Good day.”
With that she slipped from the room, leaving him to watch after her and wish, from someplace he didn’t fully understand, that he could bring her back to him. Keep her with him. Protect her from the monsters that had caused her to build those walls.
Even though that wasn’t his place. He had declared from thebeginning that it couldn’t be, and she seemed to agree. So that was that.
Miss Swanlea was well known as one of the best seamstresses in all of London. Not only did she have access to the most beautiful and fine fabrics, but she could make a gown that perfectly fit the body of any client. Normally, Clarissa was thrilled to be with the lady, to explore her textiles and discuss what simple cuts of a gown would best display both modesty and timeless style.
But today she was distracted. She kept losing track of the conversation while the seamstress measured her. And worse, now that she was in the showroom to choose the fabrics for her purchases, her eyes kept moving away from the white silks and linens toward the stacks of rainbow colors on other tables spread across Miss Swanlea’s small showroom.
“Lady Kirkwood?”
Clarissa blinked. That was her title. She started and looked at the seamstress. “Oh, my apologies,” she said. “I seem to be woolgathering. It’s so impolite.”
