Was she being too bold? Reckless? She had not really minded living with them before, but now every assumption regarding her expected behavior had become an irritation. While Papa was alive, he served as a shield. If Grandmamma started a campaign to find her a husband, and none of the men appealed to her, he would let his mother know that he did not care if she married, ever. That would end it, at least for a while.
In so many ways he did battle for her, on matters big and small. How she missed him now. The grief was no longer new, but the ache still turned raw when she thought about him, especially when she felt alone like this. She wished she could go to him and have him soothe her unhappiness. He would probably suggest they ride out, to the park or beyond, and leave her grandmother’s overwhelming interference far behind.
People would question why she wanted to leave? She found that hard to believe. Everyone knew her grandmother. Everyone had seen the force of her will and the ways society allowed her free rein rather than risk being the object of her social machinations. A bulwark, Stratton had called her. That word hardly sufficed. Few men could stand up to the dowager’s power. Almost no women dared try.
Would she use that influence against her own granddaughter now? Clara worried she would.
“Are you sleeping?” Emilia’s quiet voice came from the doorway.
Clara sat up. “No. I am just contemplating my future.”
Emilia came and sat on the bed. “I understand why you want to do this. I would go with you if I could. I do not hate Grandmamma, or even dislike her, but she can be like the most strict governess ever imagined, and one never outgrows her the way one does a real governess. Perhaps that is why girls marry. To get away from their mothers and grandmothers.”
“Don’t you dare marry for that reason. Promise me. Take the time to choose carefully, even if it means suffering her meddling.”
“She frightens me sometimes. I am not as strong as you are.”
“She frightened me too, when I was your age. A lot. She still does sometimes. I am not as brave as I appear, Emilia. With time, however, I learned not to bow so quickly, that is all.”
Emilia traced the pattern on the coverlet beneath them. “Two days, you said. I suppose you will not be coming with me to the dressmaker on Friday now.”
Clara slid her arm around Emilia’s shoulders. “Of course I will be with you. We will have a grand time. And I reminded Grandmamma about your attending some small parties yesterday, and she was agreeable, so I think you will not miss out on everything.”
Emilia’s expression lightened. “How good of you to do so before you made that announcement at dinner today.”
“It is called strategy, Emilia. I like to think I have a knack for it.”
“She may change her mind now, though.”
“I do not think so. You see, if you attend those parties, she will have to as well. I believe she is itching to do so.”
Emilia rested her head on Clara’s shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t need a grand ball every night, but a few small parties would be nice.”
Clara was sure her grandmother would be glad to chaperone Emilia to a party or two. If she remained out of society for a whole year, society might forget her power, after all.
* * *
Adam handed his card to the servant at the house on Park Lane. Without a pause the man turned and led the way into the soaring expanses of the mansion built by the last Duke of Brentworth.
The current one greeted him when he entered the library. As big as a ballroom, the chamber rose over thirty feet to accommodate a gallery level that wrapped around the sides. Fruitwood bookcases covered every wall, filled with volumes collected over the centuries.
“You look quite small in here,” Adam said. “I suppose that means any man would.”
Brentworth stretched out his legs, finding some comfort for his height in the upholstered chair where he lounged. “It begs for another twenty bodies, doesn’t it? Perhaps I will start a lending library so it fills up.”
“It will be the best one in London, if you do. There is talk of starting a university here in town. You can offer free use to the students too.”
“A splendid idea. I will consider it. Now perhaps you will tell me what brings you here. I am glad for the company, but I suspect there is a reason for it.”
Adam had debated how to raise the reason. He had considered for days whether to even broach the subject with Brentworth. Their conversation in the tavern had decided the matter for him, but that did not make it any easier.
“I am sorry I was not here when you inherited,” he said. Langford had received his inheritance first of the three of them. Then Adam. Brentworth was last, a mere two years ago. “Your father was ill for a long time, I know.”
“You heard much while in France. Yes, it was a long time. A difficult time. He spent most of it here.” He waved his hand, gesturing to the magnificent library. “Reading. Receiving callers. He and I had many long talks, so some good memories came out of it. And he passed peacefully. Compared to you, I was blessed, I suppose.”
Adam had no idea if that was true. He had witnessed no long decline. Nor had there been long talks. Had there been, he wondered what might have been said. Confessions? Regrets? Final lessons on responsibility? A good deal of his anger after his father’s death had been with his father himself. To end things abruptly before it was time had struck him as very selfish.
“Did he say anything about my father?” There was no good way to ask, so he just set it out there.
