Page 33

Her stomach tightened. She did not like the memories that were accompanying this conversation, but the doors had been opened, and her frustration increased.

“Because if a relationship is built solely upon physical attraction, what occurs when that attraction fades?” she questioned. “What happens when bodies and features inevitably change with age? A man must know a woman deeply, must proclaim his love for her as an individual with beautiful qualities and behavior and actions, before he could ever expect her to agree to a proposal. And certainly before he thinks he is deserving of affection from her. Otherwise, a relationship could not ever—will not ever—last.”

She finished, not realizing until then how her breathing had quickened with her racing heart and churning stomach. She’d allowed too much of herself to have come through.

She cleared her throat and looked away again. “But I suppose such a thing does not matter to you, as you do not wish for a relationship to last anyway.”

Mr. Cole watched her, his smile gone and brow furrowed. “You speak from experience.”

It was not a question. He’d seen through her clipped tone and discovered something else about her that she’d wished to remain hidden.

“Mr. Cole!” Miss Bowles’s voice became more impatient, but it was as if Mr. Cole did not hear.

He’d grown suddenly quiet, no emotion on his features but focused eyes. “When?”

As if Clara wished to go into any detail about Percival Agar, her brother’s friend, coming dangerously close to having his way with her.

“Mr. Cole, we are in desperate need,” Miss Bowles cried out again.

But she was too focused on the décor to realize he was speaking with Clara.

“You have been summoned, sir,” Clara said.

But he shook his head. “I shall remain here until you tell me. Do not think that I won’t.”

Something in his tone and his stalwart gaze told her he was serious. But that was not enough to push her to speak. What was enough was the near-desperation in his tone to hear her words.

“What happened?” he asked again.

The air around them changed, becoming stifled, anxious. “Nothing, really. Last summer, a man wished to marry me without even knowing me, and when I refused him, he pressed his lips upon mine before I was able to break free from his grasp.”

It had truly been the worst kiss of her life. Wet. Hard. Grating. She’d slapped him soundly across the cheek, and he’d appeared so stunned, so offended, he’d not bothered to speak with her again.

Of course Algernon was furious. That’s when he’d sold Father’s books.

“Mr. Cole!”

Mr. Cole blinked, scowling up at Miss Bowles before turning back to Clara with a frown. “I...I do not know what to say.”

“You need not say anything, Mr. Cole.”

And yet he remained. His eyes searched hers, then they dropped, no longer meeting her gaze as if he was too uncomfortable to do so. “I’m sorry for what you experienced, Clara. And for what my actions must have brought back. You may rest assured, they shan’t occur again.”

With a short bow, he left her side, then finally made his way to Miss Bowles.

Clara watched him unabashedly, wondering what was moving through his mind as he essentially fled from her sight. She knew part of it must have been guilt, comparing himself to Mr. Agar and his actions toward Clara.

She’d done the same herself and had come to the conclusion that while Mr. Agar’s actions had been despicable, Mr. Cole had not once made her feel disgusted. In truth, Mr. Cole had treated her with far more respect. He may have suggested affection between them, but not once had he forced her to comply.

That alone—and the fact that he now appeared quite guilt-ridden over his actions, made her wonder if perhaps he truly was a better man than she’d assumed. After all, a sure sign of goodness was a penitent person.

But then, she wasn’t daft enough to believe the man could really change. Especially not for her.

Thirteen

Cleaning out the large hearth in the drawing room was more enjoyable than Clara had expected, but only because she and Harriet were able to do so together. They should’ve finished hours ago, but with Lady Dalmeer within the drawing room—having assigned the location to herself for decorating—no cleaning of any sort could occur until after she had finished.

Clara and Harriet had gone straight to work and were now discussing Christmas and what was expected of them, laughing together about her ladyship’s behavior that afternoon.