CHAPTER 14

Have hope.

Have faith.

Clara shook her head slightly. She slid off the seat and let the curtain fall back into place. The room was warm and quiet. She felt lonely.

“PERCH,” the Duke of Fleet said, taking the pristine, pressed newspaper from the tray his butler offered, “would you be aware of those shops that sells Christmas gifts for infants?”

Perch’s eyebrows shot up into his hair.” Gifts for infants, your grace?”

Fleet gave him a hard stare. “Nothing wrong with your hearing this morning is there, Perch?”

“No, your grace.”

“Do you know the answer to the question?”

“No, your grace.”

“But you could find out.”

“Of course, your grace.” Perch bowed. “Would you wish me to purchase something appropriate, your grace?”

“No,” Fleet said absentmindedly, scanning the headlines, “I will do the purchasing myself. I merely need direction.”

“Of course, your grace,” Perch said, “I shall see to it at once.”

Fleet nodded, tucked the paper under his arm and headed toward the library. He wondered what Miss Clara Davencourt was doing this morning. He would not call in Collett Square to find out. After the fiasco of the previous night it was best to leave matters to cool. Looking back, in the frozen light of day, he wondered what on earth had possessed him. Before he had gone to the ball he had made a perfectly reasonable resolution to avoid Clara’s company, which he had broken as soon as he had seen her. It was incomprehensible. He must have been drunk. He must have been bewitched. He must have been both bewitched and drunk at the same time, it must not happen again.

Even so, he knew that his behavior had been shabby. He should send her some flowers to apologize. Except that she would probably cut off the tops and return the stems to him. He smiled a little at the thought.

Two portraits flanked the entrance to the library. They were of the previous Duke of Fleet and his Duchess. Sebastian rarely noticed them, for they were as much part of the fixtures and fittings of the house as a chair or a lamp. Now, however, he stopped and regarded the painted faces. His father looked noble, wrapped in scarlet and ermine and adorned with the ducal strawberry leaves. His mother had a gentler face beneath her coronet. Wise and kind, she had put the warmth into his childhood.

The huge ruby betrothal ring of the Fleets gleamed on her fingers, alongside the simple wedding band. They were both in the vaults of his bank and there they would stay; it felt symbolic, somehow.

His mother had never really recovered from the loss of her youngest, Oliver. It was all wrong to bury one’s child. Whenever he thought of the burden he had laid on his parents, he felt the same crushing cold. If he had saved Oliver it might all have been different, but he had failed.

He hurried into the library and sat down beside the fire. Perhaps it was time to rearrange the portraits in the house. A couple of landscapes might look attractive in the hall. At least there were no pictures of Oliver to haunt his waking nightmares.

“There was a tap at the library door. Perch entered.

“Hamley’s Emporium is the best shop to purchase children’s gifts, your grace,” he said.

“Hamley’s,” Fleet said. “Excellent. I shall go there at once.”

He felt a profound relief to be occupied.

IT WAS LATE when the knock came at the door of the house in Collett Square. Clara had been reading alone in the library in the big armchair in front of the fire. Martin and Juliana were attending a dinner party and Mrs. Boyce had gone to bed. Clara had fully intended to follow, but had become caught up in Miss Austen’s sense and sensibility and stayed before the dying fire as the clock ticked past midnight.

She heard the knock and looked up, surprised anyone would possibly be calling at this time of night she heard Segsbury’s footfall across the floor, followed by the creak of the hinges and a low-voiced exchange.

“I regret, your grace, that there must have been some mistake, Mr. Davencourt and Lady Juliana are not at home...”

Your grace?

Clara sat bolt upright, her book sliding off her lap with a thud. Could this be Sebastian Fleet come to call at this hour? Impossible, unless he had arranged to take a glass of brandy with Martin and discuss the latest legislation going through the House of Parliament...

“It is no matter, Segsbury. My mistake, I believe.” Fleet sounded distinctly ill at ease now. “If you would be so good as to give this to Mr. Davencourt. It is a Christmas gift for the twins.”

There was a rustling sound. Clara’s curiosity gave her the excuse she needed. She opened the library door and went out into the hall.

“Miss...” Segsbury was as taken aback as a butler of his experience could be. “I apologize. I thought that you had retired.”

“It is no matter, Segsbury,” Clara said, with a smile. “Good evening, your grace.”

“Miss Davencourt.” Fleet sketched a bow. He did not smile at her. In the barley lit hall Clara could not read his expression, although she fancied his mouth was set in grim lines.

Her heart was tripping with quick, light beats. She had wanted to see Fleet again despite everything. She had been compelled in some way to force this meeting when she could have stayed quietly in the library and allowed him to go on his way. Now she wished she had not given in to that impulse. This hard-faced stranger was not the man she had wanted to see. Already he had distanced himself from her. Already the events of the previous night seemed like a fevered dream.

“If you will excuse me,” Fleet said, “I was merely delivering this parcel.” He gestured to the package now in Segsbury’s hand. “It is a Christmas gift for your young nephew and niece. I hope I have chosen appropriately. It is a little difficult when one is not accustomed to shopping for children.”

Clara felt a jolt of surprise. “You chose it yourself?”

A rueful grin touched Fleet’s mouth. “I did.”

“And you delivered it yourself, too. How singular!”

She saw his smile deepen and felt a jolt of pleasure inside. “Perhaps you could put the parcel somewhere safe, Segsbury,” she said, “while I show the Duke of Fleet out.”

Segsbury gave her a hard stare. He had been butler to Lady Juliana before her marriage and so was no stranger to unconventionality, but he had a very definite way of showing his disapproval of such inappropriate behavior. He looked at Clara for a long moment and she looked back steadily, then he bowed slightly.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***