CHAPTER 17

She was so thankful not to have to explain herself to her brother that she almost burst into tears.

“Oh, Ju!” She hurled herself into Juliana’s arms and clung tight, careless of what her sister-in-law would think. And after a moment Juliana hugged her back fiercely, with no words until Clara had slackened her grip a little.

“I am sorry, Ju.”

“Do not be.” Juliana caught her hand and pulled her down to sit beside her on the sofa. “What happened, Clara?”

“He is to go away,” Clara said, in a rush. “We think it is the only way.”

“Yes,” Juliana said quietly, “I think that may be true.”

They sat for a moment in silence. “Perhaps you could go away for a little, too,” Juliana said thoughtfully. “When your sister Kitty and Edward return to Yorkshire after Christmas.”

“Yes,” Clara said rapidly. “A change of scene. Perhaps that might serve.”

“Clara—" There was anxiety in Juliana’s voice now. “Forgive me, but did you... I mean, surely you did not...”

At another time, Clara might have laughed at her notoriously outspoken sister-in-law being so timid at confronting her. She shook her head. “We did not.” She knitted her fingers together. “I would have given myself gladly to Sebastian tonight,” she said, “but he was not so careless as I.”

“Thank God,” Juliana said, and there was a wealth of relief in her voice.

“I suppose so.” Clara stood up. Her heart felt as bleak as winter. “I must go to bed. I am so tired. Thank you, Juliana.”

Juliana’s expression was sad. “If you wish to talk to me tomorrow, Clara, you will, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Clara managed a smile. “I love having you for a big sister, Juliana.”

Juliana’s answering smile was vivid and bright. “Thank you, Clara. I will see you in the morning.”

As she went slowly up the stairs, Clara worried she would not be able to sleep, but when she finally came to lie down she was so exhausted that she remembered nothing from the moment her head touched the pillow.

There were no stars that night.

SEB FLEET RAN DOWN the steps leading from his lawyer’s offices and out into cold street, pulling on his gloves as he did so. Today was a perfect, clear frosty winter’s day with the air as sharp as a knife. It was the ideal day on which to leave London, the ideal way to remember the city, dressed in bridal white, its dirtiness hidden at least for a little beneath a blanket of snow.

It was two weeks since he had announced he was leaving England for an extended period of travel abroad. He had had no notion of the complexity of arrangements that would follow. Perch was attending to all the travel preparations, but Sebastian needed to settle his business affairs, from the authorizations needed to keep his estates running efficiently to a meeting with his anxious cousin and heir, who wished to know what would happen in the event of his untimely death abroad. It had reassured Seb to see Anthony, even if his cousin’s thoughts were taking a morbid turn. It was good to know that with his passing, the Fleet succession would still be in safe hands. For half of Seb wished passionately for precisely that untimely death to which Anthony had alluded.

He felt trapped, and he hoped that different climes and fresh scenes might help him regain his perspective. All he had been able to think about in the fourteen days following his last meeting with Clara Davencourt was the sheer torment of wanting one thing and yet feeling incapable of gaining it. It was not so simple or so selfish as wanting Clara physically and being denied. He needed Clara in some deep sense that frightened him to analyze, and to tear himself away from her was to wrench out part of his soul. Yet to have her love and her trust felt such a huge burden and one of which he was not worthy. He would let her down; he would desert her. He could never meet her expectations or be what she deserved. The responsibility was too great and the image of Oliver was before him always. He had let Oliver die. He had let his parents down and caused them such a grief that could never be assuaged and he would never, ever, do that to another person again.

Sebastian had been walking with no fixed intention, so deep in thought was he. Now he found he had come out into the street by one of the pleasure gardens, the peerless pool. In summer it was the haunt of bathers who came to swim in the fresh spring waters. Now, the frozen lake was full of skaters. They circled beneath the high blue sky and their excited cries mingled with the cutting sound of skates on ice. The frozen branches of the lime and cherry trees seemed to catch the sound and send it’s echoes tinkling back.

Sebastian paused. It was a pretty scene and in the center of it skated a girl in crimson. He recognized Clara at once. She was surrounded by her family and friends. These were the very people with whom he would once have felt so comfortable. He found himself automatically moving to the marble steps that led down to the pool, then stopped. He had barely seen or spoken to Clara in the past fortnight, and to force himself on her party now felt awkward and wrong. Besides, now he looked more closely he saw that Lords Tarver and Elton were both in attendance, like twin ugly sisters waiting for Cinderella to choose between them. It made Sebastian feel ridiculously angry. Yet he knew that Clara might well be married by the time he returned from the continent and that he should feel relieved at the prospect. It was unfortunate that he was not even noble enough to risk everything for her—the thought petrified him—and yet he did not wish her to find her happiness with anyone else. The tug of it was like an agonizing see-saw inside him.

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