“My afternoon was notnearlyas enjoyable asyours,I think.” Emilia shot a meaningful look across the carriage cabin.
It was Clara’s turn to flush. She swallowed the long lecture she had intended to give her sister.
Chapter Twelve
Clara and Althea stood side by side in Clara’s library on Friday morning. On a long table, fresh copies of their journal waited in stacks. The printer would mail the ones to subscribers, but these had to be delivered to book shops, and the women who did that, friends of Mrs. Clark, would arrive at noon.
Clara admired the thick booklets. The ones being mailed had no covers, but these sported ones of heavy blue stock with a nicely engraved title. They would look beautiful in the shops.
Althea called out a number, and Clara took that number of copies and moved them to the end of the table. Althea followed and placed a paper with a shop’s name on that group.
So far, half of the journals had been assigned to their shops.
The chore had taken longer than expected because Clara had been describing the garden party. Not the part about being kissed again, of course.
“Then Lady Hollsworth said, as clearly as you hear me now,Let your grandmother answer his questions about those jewels.I asked her what she meant, but by then Stratton was upon us, so she never answered.”
“How intriguing. It is a wonder you did not tell the duke to go away so you could receive your response.”
“I try not to be rude, Althea.”
Althea checked her paper. “Ackermann’s. Fifteen.”
Clara counted out fifteen copies and moved them to the other end of the table. “Have you learned anything of interest?”
“I keep hearing the same things. Talk of those duels. Concern he will challenge people here. There is an assumption among some people that he will have to, in order to cleanse the family name of whatever besmirched it. Some of the older women believe honor means he cannot allow things to stand as they have been.”
“Times have changed. Families no longer wear the sins of their ancestors like marks on their foreheads. To suggest as much is very old-fashioned.”
“It is not a typical sin, however, is it? The rumors had to do with treason.”
“There was no public accusation, Althea. No trial.”
“Do not become vexed withme. I am merely saying—”
“I know what you are saying. Nor am I vexed with you. I am annoyed by all of these vague whispers from people who do not seem to know anything for certain.”
“Someone knows more. However, the story is over, so whoever it is will not now raise the question again. Especially with the duke back in England.”
Yes, someone knew. Probably several someones. Like Hollsworth.
Had her father known too?
Jocelyn entered the library with the morning mail. Clara paused counting books while she flipped through the few letters. One made her freeze. She tore it open and read it.
“Oh, no. Of all the days to choose—” She looked frantically at the table, laden with copies of the journal.
“What is it?” Althea asked.
Clara waved the letter. “My grandmother has something important to tell me and intends to come here right after noon, before she makes her calls.”
“Here? Oh, dear. The women—”
“Will be arriving just when she does. Entering, and carrying out stacks of these journals.” She strode to the library door and called for Jocelyn. “Can you finish this on your own, Althea? I will make every effort to return before noon, but I must go to my brother’s house before my grandmother leaves to come to mine.”
Jocelyn arrived and Clara sent her for her pelisse and bonnet. She looked down on her dress. It was part of the wardrobe left here after last summer, and not black or even subdued blue or purple. Upon waking from discomforting sensual dreams, she had impulsively put on a red dress.
No one would see her except family. The family in question would not approve, however.
