If there was one thing, however, that Hestia had learnt from Rook and his lady loves, it was not to beg. It only seemed to bring about more disgust, and a woman had her pride.
“I shall bid you good night then, my lord.” Hestia had been proud of her steady voice but cursed her hand that shook as she opened the door and gently closed it behind her.
Half-way down the hallway, she’d heard a loud oath and the smash of china, but she had ignored it. Dry-eyed she had readied for bed; she’d felt… numb. All feeling and emotion had been ripped out of her at Nathan’s words.
She had thought their love, their marriage…a fairy tale: she had been right, because none of it had been real.
ΦΦΦ
Rook escorted Clara from her chair, as she readied to leave the gentlemen to their port. He was feeling slightly… irritated. Clara had been unfailingly polite to him tonight, but she had also ignored him at times and insisted on calling him ‘my lord’.
He wanted to return to the easy familiarity of the chess game, but for some reason she held back. He briefly wondered if she had known, or seen him, with his masquerade woman, but it was unlikely – Clara would have been safely tucked up in bed at that hour.
Admittedly, he had never actually had to work for a woman before. Oh, he had chased with words of flattery and pursued with a light caress, but the outcome had always been moot. Both parties knew that. But Clara? The more he came to know her, the more he wanted her as a wife, but now, he just wasn’t sure she wanted him.
Perhaps, it was all a game to her? To make him pant after her like a puppy. He rubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t made for wooing; he’d rather throw her over his shoulder and make for Gretna Green, preferably via a bed chamber.
Clara tried to keep her writing legible. It was charades tonight, and although she enjoyed the game, she usually asked her aunt, or Ralph, to write them out for her. Ralph was still with the gentlemen, and her aunt was busy chatting with Lady Minkworth, although, she had no idea what they would have in common. She frowned, as ‘y’ decided to look like a ‘g’, and hoped no-one would pick her rhyme.
Tonight, Rook had been attentive. She’d been seated next to him and an old marquess, and Rook had flirted lightly with her throughout dinner. They did have a lot in common. He had a remarkable knowledge of Greek history and literature, and his parliamentary work had interested her greatly. They also had picked the truth from the fiction in the Dizzy the pig story. However, Clara could not easily forget that only last night, he had been entranced by an unknown lady. Only last night, he had kissed a woman with desperation and passion – as though she was the only one for him. Oh, she knew men saw marriage and desire in different terms – but she could not, and would not do the same. So, she had kept that in mind, every time his hand brushed hers…every time his eyes met her own and glinted hotly.
The gentlemen entered the drawing room, and both Jack and Rook sat next to her. Apparently, they had written their charades earlier that day. Lady Minkworth ‘decided’ that she would read the first one, and drew out a note from a large, red velvet bag that the hostess was holding – another Hestia innovation.
“Oh, this is Hestia’s. How lucky,” Lady Minkworth pronounced loudly, “our gracious hostess.” Clara watched Hestia smile, except it wasn’t a smile at all – more of a self-satisfied but sad grimace.
Lady Minkworth cleared her throat and read out:
“My first, it doth burn me,
My second, it doth beat me,
My whole, I shall be lost,
If ever it should leave me.”
A babble of guesses was made and rejected, and various people started to write down pertinent points to ponder on. “Is that aimed at Nathan? He looks sick as a horse. Did Hestia rig that?” she overheard Jack whisper into his friend’s ear.
All three of them turned to Nathan, who did indeed look stewed to the gills. He was cradling an extremely stiff whisky, and Clara could see blood seeping through the bandage on his hand – she would try and talk to Hestia later. She looked like she needed a friend.
More words were humorously bandied around – fire, hot, wife, horse – until Nathan blurted out, “Candlestick!”
“Lud, at last,” tutted Lady Minkworth. “Well done, my dear,” she said turning to Hestia, “it looks like your husband knows you too well.”
Hestia’s face could have frozen water, but Lady Minkworth was oblivious to the tension between man and wife.
The game continued, and Clara was thoroughly enjoying herself, both Jack and Rook were good company and despite her best intentions, she felt her iciness towards Rook slightly thaw.
Lady Pinesdown picked a note out of the bag. Clara’s heart sank, as she saw the woman’s eyes narrow on her.No. No. No.Clara pleaded with God– not her reading it. You cannot do that to me. I’m good, I’m kind to Lady Minkworth, and I love cats with three legs…
“I have Clara’s charade here,” she announced in a breathy voice.
Maybe, she would have to look into an Eastern religion, thought Clara. She’d once read a translated book of her uncle’s about one and found it fascinating. She then gave God a silent apology, just in case he made the situation worse…
“I cannot seem to read the writing though. It’s rather scrawled. Help me, Rook?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.
God obviously didn’t like her apology, and Clara realised she was unconsciously scowling at Jack, who looked… fascinated by the whole situation.
“I’m sure, Selina, that you exaggerate.” Rook gave her a warning glance and took the card. He was silent for a while, and Clara felt her face flush.
