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Tess straightened his lapel. “Frederick would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”
He sniffed. He wasn’t nearly so certain. Ever since he’d become the new Earl of Charmian, he’d been plagued by doubts. Was he doing anything the way Frederick would have wanted? Was he paying enough attention to their tenants? Would his awkward, anti-social ways ruin his sister’s chances of a good match?
“I want to make you proud too, you know,” he said quietly.
Her eyes shot up to his and they were soft with affection. “Oh Alex, you already have.” Her arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. “You always do.”
4
He wished he wasn’t quite so aware of Clara beside him.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” she said, her voice low and her smile beguiling as she looked up at him.
Was he? He didn’t know. He’d managed to ask all the right questions when introduced to the guests of honor, the Earl of Davenport and his wife. Their hosts, the Huntingtons, had been easy enough to navigate. They were notoriously gregarious, and all he had to do was stand there and listen as they regaled him with story after story.
Supper itself had been a dull affair, but he had again been surrounded by talkative companions, so his job had been merely to listen and nod.
“Listening has proven to be an exceptional skill,” he said to Clara.
She chuckled softly and he felt it in his chest. He’d been hoping to make her laugh, and he’d not been disappointed. He’d become something of a connoisseur when it came to her laughter. This one was a rare variety indeed, and something to be cherished. There was an intimacy about it that came with their growing friendship.
They had private jokes.
He felt his own lips twitching up at the corners as she murmured, “Imagine that.”
“You look beautiful tonight.”
She looked up in surprise before dropping her gaze, that pretty pink blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. This had been becoming a bad habit of late. Not only was Clara easy to talk to, she was also…impossible not to talk to. Words had a way of slipping out when she was around.
The truth, always, and nothing less than what was in his heart of hearts.
But that didn’t make it appropriate. He cursed himself now as he sought a topic that would put them back on easy footing. He was saved instead by Davenport and his wife, Anne, who started up a lively conversation with Clara.
He found himself facing the man who’d once been called the Devil of Davenport with no clue what to say. What sort of questions did one ask a former devil?
For his part, the devil in question seemed in no hurry to make small talk. For a long while they merely regarded one another in silence.
“Do you know,” Davenport finally said. “I’ve long admired a man who did not rush to fill the room with hot air.”
A huff of laughter was shocked out of Alex at the roundabout compliment, and he caught the other man’s answering smirk.
“I was sorry to hear about your brother,” Davenport continued in a low, gravelly voice.
Alex tipped his head in acknowledgement. Despite Clara’s assistance, he still wasn’t quite certain how to respond to mentions of his brother’s passing. His father’s death had been different entirely—everyone had known his end was near. It was sad, of course, but not tragic.
Frederick’s death was a tragedy. And he, the new Earl, was a constant reminder of that.
Davenport’s gaze seemed to catch on his lapel. Alex looked down to see what had caught his attention.
The pin.
He looked up and saw that the earl was eyeing him oddly. “Was that your brother’s?”
“Yes,” he said. “Do you recognize it?”
The other man’s eyes flashed with humor. “I do.”
