As the carriage drew up, she sat for a moment before allowing the footman to hand her out. She took a breath and climbed the front steps.Richmond opened the door and greeted her as he always did, and she stepped inside.
She went directly to the nursery where Marianne sat on the floor with Molly and David around her, the three of them engaged in what appeared to be a game involving a great deal of rolling and laughter. Clara stayed longer than she needed to. She knew she was putting off the inevitable.
The inevitable being Julian.
She had uncovered something today, and she had to tell him. Just days ago, she would have gone to him at once, eager and animated, glad for any reason to seek him out. Today she sat on the nursery floor and watched David attempt to pull Molly’s ribbon loose and could not make herself move.
By the time she finally gathered the courage to go downstairs, the sun had already set and the first stars had begun to appear in the darkening sky.
CHAPTER 27
Julian pushed a line of three peas across his plate until they collided with a mountain of mashed potatoes. Then he smashed them down, mixing them with the potato and letting the gravy soak the lot. He piled his creation on top of a piece of mutton which he then put into his mouth. There should have been an explosion of flavor. There was not. It tasted empty. Like nothing at all.
He leaned back.
Across the table sat the empty chair where Clara ought to be. She was home; he knew that. He had been told she returned several hours ago. He had even briefly heard her voice as she sang a lullaby to David, walking up and down the stairs while the baby fussed. He had thought about joining her, helping her. He had not.
There was something between them now. A barrier. One he had built. He had only to remember the way she had sounded before she left that morning to know whose work it was.
Her footsteps drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked back. She was still in the same gown she had worn out. She had made a habit these past few days of changing before dinner. He had noticed it, and if he was honest with himself, he had appreciated it because part of him knew she did it for him, the same way he always made certain his hair was brushed and his coat presentable when he knew she was nearby.
“Julian,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes as she moved to her chair. He was halfway up, poised awkwardly between sitting and standing, one hand braced on the back of his chair as he attempted to rise and pull hers out for her.
She was already seated. She spread her napkin across her lap and indicated to the footman.
“Just the vegetables and the potatoes, thank you.”
Once the plate sat before her she picked up her fork and began to eat.
Julian sat back down, having achieved nothing by his half-standing but a faintly ridiculous interval.
“I trust your day was tolerable,” he said.
“I would not call it tolerable,” she said, “but I would call it productive.” She swallowed a forkful of mashed potato and then touched the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I spoke toMarjorie. It appears the gentleman Arabella went off with is not Italian at all. And Bash is not his name or not his real one.”
He looked up. “Oh?”
“Bastien, she believes. And she thinks he is French—or at least of French family. She could not tell me much else. She does not know his surname or anything further. But we are another step closer.”
“So the man is a tall, charming ginger haired man named Bastien, who goes by Bash. French in origine but from Italy. And with a large enough fortune to have servants.”
“Servants whose loyalty he does not have because otherwise Giacomo Vitello would not have helped Arabella escape. He may even be a frightful employer, given Giacomo chose to come to England with Arabella rather than stay. Useful information from Marjorie; that is certain.”
“Indeed. How did you come by it?”
She gave a small shrug and did not look up from her plate. “I spoke to her. That is generally the most effective way to extract information.”
“Of course,” he said. “You are quite right. I am glad you were so successful. Do you suppose the two of us ought to speak to her again together? I wonder if her husband might know…”
She raised her head, her eyes settling on his face directly for the first time since she sat down.
“Why do you imagine me incapable of extracting everything there is to find? Must you go after me and check? Can you never just take the word of a woman? You did the same in Dover.”
“And in Dover, you thought it useful,” he said, both hands raised. “That is not what I meant. I meant only that there may be more to discover and that her husband…”
“I do not think there is more to be had there. I do beg your pardon if my efforts fell short.”
“They did not fall short.” He set down his fork. “Your efforts have been considerable, and they are appreciated. We have a name now that we did not have this morning. That is worth a very great deal.”
