Page 5

That knowledge—the mere hope of obtaining a better life—was what pushed Clara to finally leave Cliveley Park and Algernon behind.

Before leaving, however, Clara had procured a directory from the post office of solicitors in Bath and London and had been narrowing down her list one-by-one. She’d left direction for any return letters to be sent to the post in Applebury—which was a solid fifty miles from Cliveley, and one of the reasons she needed to remain near the market town to find work.

Thus far, she’d received nothing but two responses that were no help, but she wouldn’t give up.

She slipped the parchment securely back into the portmanteau. She would write two more tonight when the other maids fell asleep, then perhaps she’d be able to slip away for a moment or two to send them. She’d keep the final paper for Mother, though with no return instructions. She wouldn’t risk Algernon learning of her actions or where she was.

She had enough to worry about in keeping her work at Bellthorne Hall. If she simply behaved, worked her hardest, and remained beneath the notice of the house party guests, she would be more than fine.

She was sure of it.

Three

Oliver Cole ran his fingers through his hair for the third time since sitting down at The Red Hound with his glass of brandy. This time, he paused so his arm remained crooked at the side of him, then he looked back at the woman still watching him.

As expected, her lips parted, and a look of longing crossed her feminine features as her eyes traced the outline of his arm. She was rather pretty and seemed reserved, in that she continually pulled her eyes away from his.

That meant she would be perfect for his next conquest.

This motion of his—running his hand through his hair and angling his arm—always produced the desired effect. Women fell for it every time, and this woman was no different. Shame she was seated beside a stern-looking man whom Oliver could only assume was her father.

Would they be attending the house party? He’d have to keep his eye out for them. Or more specifically, he’d have to watch for a moment where the young woman was alone.

Not that he would take advantage of her. He wasn’t a cad who enjoyed forced merriment. He simply wished to get to know her. Perhaps see if she was up for a little harmless fun. Those were the best sorts of women to sidle up to—the ones who did not seek attachment, but also did not seek too much fun. Fun that might result in little Oliver Coles running around London.

That would decidedly ruin his reputation, and that would not do. Especially with his own fun swiftly coming to an end.

A sniff from his friend seated across from him pulled him from his encroaching thoughts, and Oliver examined George Newton, whose eyes were bloodshot and the end of his nose a crimson red.

“Come along, George,” Oliver tutted. “It is not so very bad.”

“I loved her, Oliver. Severely.”

Oliver winced. George had known Miss Goller for a mere fortnight before asking for her hand in marriage. Of course he was brusquely rejected and subsequently brushed aside like a sprig of parsley on a Christmas goose.

He’d warned George it might happen after so short a courtship, but infatuation had a mind of its own.

“I know you loved her,” Oliver said, swallowing his own belief that a man and a woman could not fall for each other so swiftly. “But there are plenty of other women to be had.”

George swirled the untouched brandy round in his glass. “Easy for you to say. Women fall at your feet as if you are some type of god.”

“They’d do the same for you if you put in any effort, George.”

George scowled up at him, but Oliver welcomed it. His friend had done nothing but cry and whimper for the last month. Seeing another emotion was refreshing.

He’d known George for the last few years and had done his best to help his friend break out of his reluctant shell, but there was only so much he could do. He’d come to Yorkshire two days before the house party and persuaded George to do the same. He’d hoped the different scenery would distract him from imagining Miss Goller falling for other men—which she was currently in the process of doing—but even that hadn’t worked.

“I’m sorry, George, but it is true,” Oliver continued. “The reason Miss Goller even noticed you was because you dared ask her to dance. It was the first woman you have spoken to since I met you.”

“You know they make me anxious.”

“And they shall continue to do so until you have more practice.”

Oliver glanced around the inn, catching the eye of Hannah Radcliffe, the innkeeper’s daughter. She swept the same spot of the wooden flooring over and over again as she stared at Oliver.

He motioned toward her, causing George to follow his gaze. “Why do you not remove the pressure and pursue someone with whom you know you will not wed? She seems quite interested in just that.”

“She’s looking at you, Oliver,” George said scathingly.