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The next morning found Alex surrounded by ladies. Never in his life had he been the object of so much attention. He supposed he had Clara to thank for it.

Clara. His friend.

The thought would take some getting used to. Unbidden and unwanted, he had an image of Clara in his arms, her smile sweet, her body warm, her eyes filled with an intoxicating glow. Witchcraft surely, for there was no other explanation for the way he’d behaved. So utterly out of character. Not just the impropriety of it all, but the way he’d talked to her, as though they’d known one another for a lifetime and not mere hours.

Ludicrous.

And yet, he could not bring himself to regret it.

He found himself watching her now, properly dressed and in the stark daylight of the drawing room, looking for a clue as to what he was supposed to say.

Lady Amelia sat opposite him with a pretty smile on her face. The girl seemed young to him—so young, and so very cheerful. Clara had been right—she was excellent practice.

“Your travels went well then?” he asked finally.

The young girl with her curly brown hair beamed at him as though this were the height of fine wit. “Yes, very well, thank you.”

Fascinating. The girl managed to say this without a hint of exasperation. Almost as though he hadn’t asked some form of the same question no less than three times now. Her cousin sat beside her with a similarly kind look in her eyes. Her companion seemed a bit older, more mature, and had hair so fair it looked white in the morning sun.

They were kindness and patience personified, and by the gentle, tender way they were looking at him now he had to wonder what exactly Clara, his sister, and his great aunt had told them before he’d arrived.

They’d warned these fine ladies, no doubt, that his social skills left something to be desired.

He found he could not quite care at the moment. He was too busy trying not to stare at Clara. Every time he glanced in her direction, she was giving him an encouraging look. The proud governess with her pupil.

He took a sip of the tea his sister handed him. If only his thoughts of her were those of a grateful student. He’d finally gone to bed last night as the sun was rising, and his dreams were filled with visions of a lovely brunette, backlit by a fire, her eyes aglow with a world of emotions hidden in their depths.

She has as little chance of being your bride as I do.

Had she any idea of the sadness he’d seen there when she’d spoken? Surely not over the fact that she would not marry him, but it was a sadness nonetheless, and he found himself wondering over her circumstances.

Worrying, actually.

As though his own family was not enough of a concern, he now found himself compelled to care for his great aunt’s companion. And yet, his inability to cease thinking about her and this strange compulsion to watch her, to be near her, to bring about that smile that warmed him to his core…that had nothing to do with obligation or duty.

“Isn’t that right, Alex?” His sister’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he found himself once again the center of attention.

“Uh…That is…” What on earth had she been talking about?

Clara came to his rescue, prompting him with arched brows and an eager smile. “You were just saying last night how you would love to visit Italy, were you not?”

He looked at Clara. Had he said that? Her wink was so quick he nearly missed it himself. “Er, that’s right,” he said.

All of the ladies gathered around him smiled. He took a sip of tea. Was he really so pathetic that they all had to smile at him like that? Think, he ordered his brain. What would Frederick have had to say about Italy? “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

Everyone murmured their agreements, with Lady Amelia’s cousin Miss Grayson adding, “In the south, surely. They must be having better weather than we are.”

It was a simple thing. Silly, really. But the fact that he had contributed to the conversation without utterly making a fool of himself seemed like a large feat indeed. It wasn’t until their visitors had left and Alex was alone with his family that he had the chance to ask Clara, “Why were we discussing Italy?”

She was sitting beside him on the settee as Tess played the pianoforte, with Aunt Gertie hovering behind her to watch. His sister had always been fond of music, and their great aunt had indulged her talents. She’d been the first to teach her to play, although countless music tutors had come and gone in the years since Aunt Gertie had given Tess her first lesson.

Clara’s eyes were wide as she stared at him, and he had a feeling perhaps he ought to have known the answer to his own question.

“Were you not listening to the conversation at all?” she asked.

“Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck and gave her a little wince that inexplicably made her laugh.