“He cannot invite her directly since she is not out, but he has included her in my invitation. If I tell her, she will insist on going, so I will have to as well.”
“Your grandmother could chaperone if he invited your whole family.”
“I will find out if Brentworth invited my entire family. Nothing I have heard about the man suggested he would voluntarily suffer Grandmamma’s presumptions, but he may have invited her all the same.”
“If not, you must do the duty, for your sister’s sake.”
“If I must force myself, I suppose I can manage it.”
Althea laughed and gave her a kiss good-bye. Clara read the invitation again and wondered if Madame Tissot would have one of her new dresses finished in time.
Chapter Eleven
Adam was delayed from attending Brentworth’s garden party by the arrival of a letter in the afternoon post. Upon seeing the handwriting, he sent his valet away while he read it.
His mother’s hand showed as steady as ever, but her words proved less comforting.
My dear son,
Your last letter troubled me. Your questions indicate that you are persisting in your intention to learn about your father’s death. I had thought, incorrectly it appears, that your years here had dulled your anger. I had also thought that upon returning to England you would conclude it best to allow his spirit to rest in peace.
I was unaware of the rumors of which you have now informed me, that he gave aid to Napoleon’s last army. Certainly no one whispered them to me. Nor did he confide in me, but he would have never wanted me to share the extreme distress such rumors would bring him. Although you have now given me the likely reason for the death he chose, I find that it only fills me with disquiet and regret, so I am not thanking you.
As to your query about what kind of support he might be thought to have given France, if not money, I have no answer. That you ask implies that you believe he may indeed have done this, and that pains me deeply. I trust you know in your heart that he was not that kind of man. Nor, other than me, did he have any special sympathies for my people, so he had no reason to betray his home.
As for the Earl of Marwood, that sorry war had been waged for years before I married. Such men normally draw their sabers over honor, a woman, or land. I never attempted to learn what initially caused it. It was so far in the past that it had nothing to do with me, and learning that history would not end the acrimony.
Spring has come to Paris, and as always it alternates between glorious mornings and afternoon rain. I hope to see you soon. When England starts to bore you, as soon it must, I look forward to your visit or, hopefully, your renewed residence here. I have ensured that your own house is kept in good repair, and I always tell certain inquisitive ladies that you will be back soon.
He had assumed he could learn something from her. He would have never written to her about any of these questions otherwise. Instead he had distressed her to no good purpose.
Her gentle scolds were nothing new. Her desire that he leave the past alone was not either. For five years she had convinced him that the prudent path was the forward one. Whenever he would grow restless about his unfulfilled duty to his father’s name, a visit to her would soothe the turmoil trying to take hold of him again.
You should marry. Give the title an heir and give me grandchildren, and find happiness. He always thought she knew more than she said and kept it from him lest it only feed the dark turbulence that might one day get him killed. Now, when he had at least half the truth in his hands, she insisted she knew nothing at all.
He submitted to his valet’s final ministrations in a dull mood and dallied with other mail before setting off on his horse for Brentworth’s house.
Perhaps it was the sun that improved his spirits, or the gaiety of the small crowd milling about the large garden. Certainly the sight of Lady Clara did not hurt. She sat with her sister and Langford’s brother Harry on a bench in the center of the formal plantings nearest the house. Her sister wore the white muslin that they had ordered at the dressmaker’s that day. Since most of the girls also wore white, only the simplicity of the garment marked her as different.
Lady Clara also wore a dress commissioned that day. Although decorated by simple embroidery so subdued as to be almost invisible, its color made all the difference. In the clear light of day, that hydrangea hue appeared more vibrant than it had in the shop.
He walked to them. She had said not to call. She had not said not to speak to her. Not that he would have obeyed such a command anyway.
Harry noticed him first and hailed him with a happy greeting. Harry looked much like his older brother, only still rangy in the way of young men about twenty years in age. He also wore spectacles, the result of too much reading by candlelight over the years. Adam assumed that long after he and Langford were forgotten, some esoteric history tome written by Harry would live on in the libraries of the world.
“It is a fine day, is it not, Stratton?” Harry appeared drunk with delight. Since Lady Emilia did not look bored, things must be going well between them.
“Yes, very fine.”
“Most fine,” Lady Emilia said with a big smile.
“Indeed it is fine,” Lady Clara said without even a small one.
He availed himself of an open spot on the bench next to Lady Clara. She inched her rump closer to her sister and farther from him.
“You ladies are more beautiful than the blooms,” Adam said. “That color is very becoming, Lady Clara.”
“I thought it would do, under the circumstances.”
