Dorian tensed, briefly cursing his strong-willed sibling. The trait would serve her well as a wife—woe be to her unfortunate future husband—but now it served only to grate upon his nerves. She knew precisely what he wanted to discuss, and she was trying to make him do it in front of Amelia.
“I will step out,” Amelia suddenly offered, seeming to recognize the tension in Dorian’s body.
“No, you may stay!” Clara said, trying to convince her.
“It is alright. I will see you at luncheon.” Amelia smiled at Clara and carried her little book away with her. Faye rushed to come between Amelia and Dorian, hesitating slightly before following her mistress from the room. The door closed behind them.
Clara refused to look at him.
Silently, Dorian strode across the room and looked out the window, her expansive, wild views similar to those from his chambers. “Are you going to stay silent?”
Several heartbeats passed before Clara said, “If you are going to treat me as if I am a child, then perhaps I shall behave as one.”
Dorian turned on her. “And last night’s behavior does not signify?”
Clara glared at him and set aside the plate from which she’d been eating more shortbread. She sat up and placed her feet on the ground as if needing the stability for her next statement. “You must tell her the truth, Dorian. Tell her before one of you kills the other.”
“You are being dramatic. Besides, this is none of your concern, Clara,” he growled, trying to keep his temper in check. He reminded himself that he’d come here to make amends, not further inflame the argument.
“It is, though,” she said, adamant and serious. He met her earnest gaze. “I love you. I lovebothof you. I know how each of you was so hurt after what happened, but I was hurt, too. I was just a girl, torn between a brother whom she loved and a woman she’d come to see as a sister.” Dorian was stunned silent by the sudden maturity of her tone. “It was all a misunderstanding,” she added gently. “Do you not think things would be better if you only told Amelia how you did not—”
“It is in the past, Clara,” he cut her off.
“But don’t you see? It is not,” she said passionately. “If the last few days have shown me anything, it is that the past is alive and well. And it has been left to fester. Do not allow it to overshadow what I know remains between you two.”
Dorian stared at her serious face, her pleading eyes. “When did you grow up?” he asked fondly, making her face split into an unwilling smile.
“That tends to happen. But don’t change the subject. Why won’t you tell her what happened?”
Dorian sighed heavily, weighing his next words. He supposed if Clara had matured so much, then he should speak to her as such. “Amelia never asked after my side of the incident, did you know that? She assumed the worst, and she believed the word of gossipers who made the situation out to be much more than it was.” He paused. “I’ll not forfeit the truth when she has always believed my side to be so unimportant.”
The sympathy in Clara’s eyes made him turn back to the window. He wasn’t used to being the recipient of such a look from her.
There was a rustle of skirts as Clara rose and came to his side, slipping her arm through his and resting her head on his upper arm.
“Oh, Dori…you’re so insufferably stubborn.” He scoffed in reply. “But, if you do not wish for me to bring up the truth, thenI will not. I may not agree with it, but I suppose I must respect your wishes.”
He reached up and patted her hand. “Thank you.” He paused. “I should not have spoken to you like I did last night; for that, I am sorry.”
She chuckled lightly. “You can make it up to me with a shopping excursion when we return to London.”
Chapter Six
Unfortunately, that morning’sbreak in the weather did not last. Cold rain fell once more in thick sheets, obscuring the distance and making anyone considering an excursion think twice.
Amelia had hoped that they might enjoy a stroll through the grounds, where she could show Clara some of the interesting fortifications that had once been in place. In addition to the prior day’s storms, however, the newest downpour meant the earth was saturated and likely would not dry for some time.
Instead, Clara and Amelia settled for an indoor picnic of sorts. Clara and the kitchen staff coordinated the packing of a basket with foods fit for such a meal. Small sandwiches, spreads, hearty sausages and cheeses, and, of course, plenty more fresh shortbread. Cook made it known that he would have much rather curated a more suitable teatime spread, but Clara and Amelia were insistent that whatever was on hand would be perfect.
“You shall turn into shortbread if you devour much more of it,” Amelia had joked to Clara.
“I could live with that. At least I would be delicious!” Both women had laughed heartily at that.
With the assistance of several footmen, the parlor furniture was moved to the perimeter of the room, and woven blankets were spread out in the middle of the floor. The fire was stoked to ward off the chill, and the drapes were thrown open to admitas much natural light as the grey day allowed. It was hastily organized, but the makeshift nature of the indoor picnic still seemed exciting and magical to Archie.
When he arrived from the nursery, his eyes lit up at what they’d accomplished. Having grown quite fond of one another over the last few days, Archie and Clara immediately dove into an animated discussion over which treat they wished to sample first. Amelia was so amused by the exchange that she did not hear Kempton enter the room, not sensing his presence until she felt the heat of his body close behind her, and felt the deep rumble of his voice against her back.
“They seem to have bonded quite well.”
