Authors: Charlotte Russell
There might not be much gossip, of course. Claire had no guarantee John would seek to court her after he learned of the change, and there would be little fuel for the fire if he did not. After his rebuff of her kiss, she wasn’t going to pin her heart on a marriage proposal. Taking this step, freeing herself from Stephen, left her far enough out on a limb. Any further wishful thinking might just crack the branch and land her hard on her bottom.
She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she sidestepped her workbasket. The sunny warmth of the last few days had succumbed to monotonous grey clouds accompanied by a chilly wind.
“I don’t think this is going to be as horrible as we think,” Emily said into the silence.
“You are far too optimistic, my dear,” Allerton countered. “A trait in you I love, but I have to think Kensworth is in for a rough time.”
“I agree,” said Claire. “I’m the one crying off, but everyone will blame him. They will think he has done something wrong simply because he’s new to the peerage and Society. My relation to Allerton will spare me, but Stephen has no such connections.” Guilt surged within her once again. She must convince the
ton
she was at fault if anyone was to take blame.
Allerton’s mother laid a hand on her shoulder, and Claire barely resisted the urge to throw herself upon that lady and sob her heart out. “Do not fret, my child. The Reyburns have survived worse.” The woman threw her son a speaking look. “Besides, we are already ahead of the game, as Kensworth agreed to come here today and seems to harbor you no ill will.”
“He understands. He’s not upset or angry or…” Claire broke off before saying
jealous
. He might be that, but at the moment he had not shown it.
What cause was there, really? Only time would tell if the magical bond which had once existed between John and her could be restored.
A knock on the door garnered everyone’s attention. A footman swept in, announcing, “Lord Kensworth and…er, Lord John.”
The two men strode into the room. Claire’s skin prickled with dread. She had not seen John since the bittersweet morning they spent together, and she had no idea what was going through his head.
The gentlemen sketched bows, the differences between them quite striking as they stood side by side—John tall, dark and lean, Stephen blond and broad. Both were handsome, but only the sight of John made her heart pound. That was why she’d been forced to give Stephen up.
Claire waited for someone to speak. It should be Allerton; he was the head of the family. And yet, this entanglement was her doing.
She stepped forward. “Thank you for coming, Stephen.”
John, his brow furrowed above his spectacles, looked perplexed. “What’s going on? I just returned home and met Kensworth in the hall. He insisted I accompany him here. You all look as if you’ve come from a funeral procession.”
“Hmm. Yes, it’s probably for the best that you are here,” Allerton mused as he rocked up on his toes. “You’ve undoubtedly played a part in this.”
Claire shot her brother-in-law a panicked glare. Not only was such a comment unfeeling toward Stephen, but this was not the way she wanted John to find out. He’d hardly been home at all since he got back from Hertfordshire. He’d not been at dinner or breakfast; he couldn’t know what had transpired between her and the viscount.
John looked even more confused, which Claire found charming because he was usually so aware of what was going on.
“I don’t think blame need be assigned,” Stephen said. “What is meant to be was meant to be.”
Claire’s heart pinched. So pragmatic.
“May I ask for what I am to blame?” John looked around, his gaze lingering overlong on Claire.
She’d not spoken thus far, and she wasn’t about to start now. Of course, she should be the one to tell him, but she would rather have told him in private where his reaction wouldn’t be so…public. Allerton and Emily seemed to have faded to the back of the room, and Clair’s muscles tensed painfully.
Please let the dowager speak up. She’s always so compassionate, so calm, so motherly
.
“Claire and I have decided to end our engagement,” Stephen finally said in a rush.
Claire waited for John’s reaction. And waited. John’s eyes seemed unusually large behind his spectacles. A smile would be nice to see. Just a small one. Actually, any reaction would be good. She might strangle him if he pulled into his shell like a turtle and showed no emotion whatever. Of course, it wasn’t as if she needed to marry anyway. She knew she would always be welcome to stay with Allerton and Emily.
John turned to Stephen, his hands linked behind his back. “I am sorry to hear of your decision.”
He was looking at Stephen, not her. His words were polite and ever so correct. There was no faulting his manners—
She didn’t give a fig about manners at the moment. She wanted to see a sign, an expression, some sort of action on John’s part to indicate he cared at all about this revelation. But, nothing. No one had moved since the gentlemen entered the room, so Claire took it upon herself to break up the frozen tableau. She retreated to the far side of the too small chamber and rearranged the perfectly arranged flowers.
Thus occupied, she finally broke her silence. She wanted it understood that her loyalty remained unchanged. “Stephen and I intend to maintain a strong bond of friendship. We are gathered here to devise a plan to protect his reputation.”
As Claire continued mauling the lilies in an effort to avoid looking at John, she heard Emily’s skirts swish. “Allerton thinks the scandal could be substantial,” came the remark.
At Allerton’s nod, Stephen sank into a wing chair and crossed his Hessians at the ankle. “I, however, am confident of weathering any reproach.”
Claire wanted to strangle him. Society could not be so easily charmed.
“Of course the family will support the both of you,” Allerton asserted. “If you remain friends and comport yourselves appropriately”—here he directed a pointed stare at John—“then I imagine the
ton
will move on to the next
on-dit
with all due speed.”
Unable to restrain herself any longer, Claire looked at John, who’d been silent for some minutes now. He was still standing, his gaze unfocused as if his mind was occupied elsewhere.
At his brother’s rebuke, which was evident to one and all, he focused on Claire. She worked at keeping her expression neutral. She’d never received the reaction, any kind of reaction, she had wished for. Blast the man and his reticence.
He looked at the ladies and said, with all the emotion of a tree trunk, “I will do anything I can to cushion the blow to our family and to our friend.” He nodded at Stephen. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend.”
He bowed toward Claire. Before he turned, she thought she saw a glint of…something in his sapphire eyes.
Did his lips curve upward the slightest bit?
She was undoubtedly mistaken.
Most likely wrong.
Her imagination
was
entirely too unruly.
Her stomach fluttered nonetheless as the door closed after him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Kangleys’ ball was the last place Claire wanted to be that night. Oh to be snuggled up in her bed, a fire blazing, warm and reading a book. Even a depressingly unrealistic happily-ever-after like
Pride and Prejudice
would be a pleasant alternative to the affected friendliness of the crowd she was about to join. However, here she stood, ready to battle the gossipmongers in defense of Stephen.
Dressed in her finest gown, a deep emerald silk overlaid with silver netting, she waited at the top of the Kangleys’ elegant staircase with Allerton, her sister, and the dowager. She’d not seen John since their awkward morning meeting, and indeed she counted herself fortunate that no one in the family had mentioned his name. Not even Emily. Claire wouldn’t have been surprised if her sister had offered to drive her and John to Gretna Green herself, but she’d been grateful Emily kept her thoughts to herself. For now. No one in this family ever kept silent for long.
Except John. And she could only hope he would occupy himself with spying all night long as she needed to concentrate on preserving Stephen’s good name.
The dowager duchess squeezed Claire’s arm and Claire braved a smile as they descended the stairs into the glittering, happy crowd. Soon now, Emily would whisper the devastating news into a well-chosen ear and rumors of Claire and Stephen’s break would travel around the room faster than the name of a fashionable modiste.
The family moved as one, like a gaggle of geese, off to one side of the ballroom.
“We are all agreed that Claire should not be left alone tonight,” Emily said, glancing around the circle for signs of confirmation from everyone.
“Certainly,” Allerton agreed. “A member of the family will always be by her side.”
Feeling a trifle suffocated Claire said, “Please do not worry overmuch about me. This is my choice, and I will live with whatever opprobrium these people heap on me. I only want to make certain Kensworth faces no censure, and I ask for your assistance in that endeavor most of all.”
“We can achieve acceptance for you and Kensworth,” Emily vowed. “I have not spent the past five years socializing with the
ton
without gaining some influence, and tonight I plan to use every ounce I have earned.” She looked to Claire and lifted her sandy eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
Claire nodded. “We should begin before Stephen arrives.”
The dowager duchess tilted her silver-coifed head. “Excellent notion. Your friendly greeting of him will count for much.”
Emily linked her arm through Allerton’s. “We’re off then.”
The duke winked affectionately at Claire; then he and her sister turned away. That left the dowager staring at Claire as if waiting expectantly for her to need comforting.
She was grateful for her family’s love, but they were making her nervous. If the dowager duchess didn’t still have hold of her arm, Claire would be wringing her hands. The diversion of a dance would be nice. But which available gentleman might be open to a broad hint for—
“Good evening, Mother, Lady Claire.”
John stood beside the dowager, his blue eyes fixated on Claire. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.
My, but he looked wonderful. His black evening kit fit his lean build perfectly, and Claire couldn’t help but notice how well his silver-embroidered waistcoat matched her gown. They would make a fine pair on the dance floor. Except that she was supposed to be concentrating on Kensworth and herself and guarding their respective reputations.
An unholy gleam lit John’s gaze. “I may be risking life and limb to ask this again, but would you care to dance, my lady?”
“Son, I hardly think…,” the dowager began.
John ignored her, his attention on Claire unwavering.
It was just a dance. One dance would prove nothing about either her honor or Stephen’s. So, why shouldn’t she? She wanted a distraction.
She wanted to dance with John.
“I would love to,” she replied.
His answering smile glimmered brighter than the room’s hundreds of candles, sending a warm frisson through her belly.
But,
Do be careful with your wayward imagination, Claire. It is just a dance
.
Knowing he had been caught off guard once already, Claire slid close. “John,” she whispered, “Emily is spilling the news of my broken engagement as we speak.”
He tilted his head toward her. “Is Kensworth here?”
“Not yet. When he does arrive, we are going to make a point of showing our continued friendship.”
John nodded, and then they were on the dance floor, joining the line of a country dance.
As they faced each other and began twirling and spinning around, he smiled at her again. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Claire tried to take the compliment with the regal dignity her sister would have displayed, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgment, but soon she found herself grinning like a fool. He had asked her to dance as soon as he arrived! Surely that must be a sign of his intentions.
They promenaded, skipped and whirled across the oak floor. John’s gaze, shining as brilliantly as any sapphire, focused on her and her alone. For once Claire freed herself to bask in his attention, even allowing herself to enjoy the tingle that raced up her arm every time he took her hand. The absence of guilt was its own aphrodisiac, and she started at the mental acknowledgment that she would gladly follow him to any darkened corner to engage in one of those passionate kisses they shared.
Instead, as the dance ended, he offered to fetch her a refreshment. Claire accepted, flushing at her wayward thoughts. She was not succeeding in keeping her emotions tempered, and perhaps that would do more harm than good.
A few people eyed her critically as she waited for him to return, but no one slighted her.
He handed her a glass of champagne, and she followed him to a quieter corner of the room.
“Did you know there is to be a special performance of
Macbeth
next week at Covent Garden?” he asked out of the blue.
“No, I didn’t.
Macbeth
is one of my favorites.” How she would love to see it with John. “I suppose it’s to be on the anniversary of Shakespeare’s death?”
He nodded, but his clenched jaw and thinned lips didn’t exactly declare excitement about the event. She’d thought he liked Shakespeare as much as she did.
He tipped his head down and caught her gaze. “If circumstances were different, I would have gladly escorted you. But as it stands”—he paused and a small sigh escaped—“I must concentrate on other matters.”
His mission.
Claire searched his face, this time noting the strain pulling at the corners of his eyes. Things must not be going well.
“Are you no closer to…?” She didn’t even know what to ask. All she knew was that a peer—she still would not believe it was Kensworth—was planning something dreadful.
John shook his head and stepped even further from the crowd. When Claire followed, he raked his hand through his hair and spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I cannot discover what Stretton was doing in Wanstead. I know he met briefly with Lord Romford, but was he plotting against the government or simply doing something private that he doesn’t want anyone to know about?”