Clara looked at her shoes. Something in her expression shifted.
“What is it?”
“It was my idea.” She kept her eyes down. “Arabella enjoyed drawing very much, and I had wanted her to draw me standing on the cliffs of Dover. I thought it would be most romantic and dramatic.” She glanced up briefly. “I asked her not to tell you because I was embarrassed. I would have been considerably more embarrassed had I known at the time that you were already acquainted with my questionable poetry, for my plan was to have her draw the portrait and then write a poem on the back.”
“Well,” he said, “it is just as well she did not tell me because I would certainly have teased you about it. Without mercy and without fail.”
“You see? Even back then, I knew you.” They looked at one another, and he found it quite impossible to look away.
“Yes,” he said, after a moment. “I suppose you did know me then. You certainly know me now.”
“Do I?” she replied. “Sometimes you are quite the enigma. But I think that is how you like it. How you like to present yourself.”
“I suppose it is. Although not many people see through it. You are one of the few.”
“I am glad,” she said. “I am glad to have seen behind the mask and found who you really are.”
He crossed his legs and considered for a moment whether to ask the next question then decided there was no particular harm in it. “And pray, who am I?”
“You are quite remarkable, truly. You came to my aid, to your cousin’s aid, without a second thought. You arranged the marriage, managed the vicar.” He raised a hand.
“Now, now. It is not a falsification. He simply has a very poor hand.”
“Of course,” she said with a perfectly straight face. “Very poor handwriting, most untimely for ordinary circumstances and most fortunate for ours.” She folded her hands in her lap. “In any case, you arranged all of it. You are compassionate and kind. They say you can charm anybody into doing anything.”
He let out a genuine laugh at that. “I wish it were so. There are a great many bills I would like to see passed in the House of Lords, and I cannot find sufficient support for a single one of them, no matter how assiduously I try to charm my fellow peers. Theyappear entirely immune. Perhaps if it were a House of Ladies rather than a House of Lords, I might fare considerably better.”
“Well,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up, “you ought to charm their wives then, ought you not? Though I suppose you should have attended to that rather more diligently before you were married. It would be seen as quite improper to attempt it now.”
CHAPTER 22
They arrived in Dover at nightfall. The inn was small and looked far more rickety than Clara had expected. It was not exactly in a respectable part of town either, made plain by the women of ill repute who wandered the streets with no shame whatsoever.
They decided to have Nell and the children remain in the carriage, guarded by the two coachmen, rather than bring the children into this establishment.
As they approached the Fox and Hare, Marianne hurried forward. “I do beg your pardon. I ought to have told you more about the nature of this place.”
“I reckon you ought,” Julian replied. “Is it quite safe to stay here?”
“Oh yes,” Marianne said. “I will speak to Frederick, the innkeeper. He will make sure we have the best rooms, and they all have two locks on the doors.”
Clara blinked. She was not entirely sure that the fact the chambers required two locks made her feel any better.
But it was too late now. They followed Marianne inside, and she was instantly greeted by a number of the staff. People carrying trays stopped to welcome her and the woman beamed. This had been her world, Clara realized. She had left here for London because she had been forced to, and now, Clara stopped and turned to Julian.
“What if the father of her child is still here? Have we put her in danger by bringing her back?”
Julian paused. “Do not fret. I shall manage him, should he appear.”
“She would not have refused. We are her employers. We promised to secure her future. She is hardly in a position to say no to us.”
They looked at one another, and she saw that he felt as guilty as she did.
They did not have a chance to say more, however, because Marianne had already crossed to the bar and approached theman standing behind it. He was a short, stout fellow with gray-ginger hair and a ginger beard to match.
“Frederick,” she said, “pray, could you give us the blue and purple rooms?”
He blinked. “Marianne? Is that you?” He beamed and hurried around the bar then swept her up in a great bear hug and spun her around. Clara took a step back to avoid being struck by Marianne’s legs and walked straight into Julian, who placed both hands on her arms to steady her. The feeling was instantaneous. Warm and sure. She turned back, and he smiled at her in a manner that was almost shy.
