Page 50

She shook her head. There was no denying that was Mr. Cole. And there was no denying what he was doing with Hannah.

How had she misread him so terribly? He’d said he was finished kissing women, finished putting them in compromising situations. Had she really made such a fool of herself to believe he’d actually changed?

Obviously she had. The image flashed in her mind over and over again as her legs propelled her forward, entering her inside the post-office and toward the small counter.

“Can I help you, miss?” asked the postmaster with a look of concern.

Clara stared up at him. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. “Yes,” she croaked out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes. I need to send these letters please and would like to know if any letter has been left for Miss Hunt?”

He accepted the three letters from her first, Clara paying with numb fingers before he disappeared into a small back room.

She remained in front of the counter, blinking hard to rid herself of the image of Mr. Cole and Hannah, reminding herself where she was—and why she was there.

The postmaster was, at this moment, finding the letters that would surely tell her exactly who Father’s solicitor had been. Then she could leave behind Bellthorne, Applebury, and Mr. Cole altogether.

She would be far better off without all three of them. Her future would be far better off.

Because Mr. Cole was nothing.

She pasted a smile on her lips as the postmaster returned with two letters. Her heart leapt, and she swiftly paid to receive them, thanked the man, then left the small structure behind.

Once outside, she stared down at the letters, forcing herself to focus on them as she shook off the residual shock of finding Mr. Cole in the arms of another.

Because he truly was nothing.

Opening the first letter, she swiftly read through the words, her limbs cold but her hope warm.

Dear Miss Hunt,

Thank you for your letter. I understand your plight, but I am sorry to inform you that I have not heard of a Mr. Michael Hatfield, so I cannot help you. I shall do my best to listen for further information on the matter, however, and I promise to send a letter to inform you if I hear a word from anyone else I have asked.

Thank you,

Mr. Main

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat, hastily tearing the seal and reading the second letter even faster, only to discover the same disappointing news. Tears stung her eyes.

There was still hope. There were still plenty of solicitors to reach out to. And plenty of time...

But then, she did not have plenty of time. She only had a week and a half left at Bellthorne, and that was only if Mrs. Wintle didn’t grow tired of her.

What was she supposed to do after the house party finished? Continue leaping from house to house, praying to find something stable despite her own instability as a maid?

Perhaps Mrs. Wintle might see value in her. Perhaps⁠—

“Clara?”

At the sound of Mr. Cole’s voice behind her, Clara stopped her footing at once.

The man should never have dared come upon her at such a time—especially after what he’d just done.

For the letters no longer mattered, and all that did was giving Mr. Cole another sound tongue-lashing.

For he certainly deserved it.

Twenty

Oliver was surprised to see tears in Clara’s eyes as she turned around to face him—tears and a hardness within them he hadn’t seen since their first day at the river.