to the party approached their seats in leisure as if they were in their own homes. When they reached their places, Hugh finally let go of Clara and she took her place beside Lady Tillman, conscious of every move Hugh made when he sat down on her right. With Lord Worth on Lady Tillman’s other side and dominating her attention with conversation, Clara realised she would either have to slurp her soup in silence or find a way to speak with Hugh. She didn’t wish to converse with him at all, but to be alone and think about what had just happened. He hadn’t behaved at all as she’d expected and she’d been foolish enough to allow a touch of kindness to make her almost slip and reveal to him something of the lonely woman beneath the confident Marchioness. He didn’t deserve to see that woman or to know the details of her heart, both good and bad. He deserved nothing but her disdain, but it was difficult to find the resolve to deride him so severely again.
Unable to decide what to do, she did nothing except remain silent and listen to the conversations around her while she ate. Hugh was in no hurry to break the stalemate either. Where he’d been quite free with his words in the library and then again on the stairs, he’d gone mute now, focusing on his plate as if it was the most important thing in the room. He didn’t even make an effort to speak to Lady Pariston who sat on his other side. The manners her mother had instilled in her urged Clara to at least mention the weather, but she couldn’t bring herself to do even that. She didn’t want to appear like an overeager debutante and force him into a conversation he clearly didn’t want. Instead, she continued to eat her soup, thankful that with the balls and other events, there wouldn’t be too many similar dinners to endure this week.
Clara swirled her soup with her spoon, leaving a quickly disappearing trail in the thick, pale green surface, the tension between them ruining the taste of her food. This was not at all how she’d imagined this week unfolding and she wondered, if she chose to go with Anne and Adam to London, if that experience would be any better. There had been moments of delight during her first Season in London, but they’d quickly faded while she’d stood against the wall at dances or watched her mother send yet another young man with a pile of debts in search of a rich wife packing. Returning to London as the wife of a peer in the House of Lords had been so much better. She’d been proud of Alfred’s accomplishments and had done her best to help him by hosting dinners for his political friends and attending balls. She hadn’t returned to town since his death, not wanting to face all its pitfalls alone. She would have to face it if she wanted to find a new life, for the society of the country was very limited if Hugh’s presence was any indication. Lady Tillman must be hard up for guests to have invited him.
She glanced past Hugh to thin Lady Pariston with her lace shawl and tweedy-coloured dress, the weight of the large diamond necklace she wore making her hunched posture more pronounced. While Clara used to enjoy sitting with Lady Pariston by the fire in the evenings and listening to her tales of Stonedown Manner in the old days, she wondered if becoming a similar little old lady was to be her fate. She was a dowager, too, and glancing around the table, it was clear there would be no Alfred to rescue her this time from an ignoble future. It made her lose her appetite.
Then she caught Hugh’s gaze and her heart made a little flutter. No, he wouldn’t rescue her either, unless he deemed her purse large enough to make her more attractive. It would be up to her to find some other way of moving on long after this party concluded, but, touching her gloved hand to where the imprint of Hugh’s heaviness still lingered, it was difficult not to remember a previous Christmas that had been full of potential, until it hadn’t been.
* * *
Hugh set down his soup spoon and sat back against the chair, allowing the footman to take away the half-eaten dish and replace it with the next course. Beside him, Clara began to eat her fish, her gloved hand moving the silver fork elegantly back and forth from the plate to her full red lips. Every now and then she’d lean forward in her seat, lengthening the line of her back, her pert chin pressed out a touch above the long line of her neck to where it curved down to her supple chest. The whiteness of her skin was a stark contrast to the deep green of her gown. The colour matched the richness of the emeralds in her necklace and the jewels sparkled with each of her movements. The cut of her bodice, although modest, still revealed a touch of the soft creaminess of her chest. She was finely attired even if it whispered of mourning, but the heavier material flattered her more than the wispy gowns of the women who’d come up from London for the house party. The gown added grace to her once-awkward movements and told him that she had grown a great deal since the last time he’d seen her.
She set down her fork and frowned a touch when she could not catch all the words of Lord Worth’s conversation with Lady Missington from across the table. That Clara longed to be sitting next to him and taking in every story about the last session of Parliament instead of beside Hugh was clear. If it were in his power to release her to do so, he would, but they sat where precedence dictated and they were beholden to it, and to each other to make conversation, except they had yet to make any.
Hugh poked at his fish and the white sauce covering it. He’d spoken to Clara twice today. The first time, she’d sneered at him and his reputation and accused him of being in search of money, leaving him in no doubt about her opinion of him. The next time, with her standing beside him, her hair swept off her neck and done in ringlets at the back of her head that shivered with each of her delicate movements, she’d lost her sneer and the veil of courage she’d worn when she’d descended the stairs to reveal the grieving woman beneath. Without thinking, he’d laid his hand on hers, recognising her hurt and longing to crush it like a walnut shell. She didn’t deserve to suffer, but to enjoy her youth and the merry season. He’d succeeded for a quick moment in easing a pain he knew all too well, but his comfort hadn’t lasted. Nor had it been enough to change her mind about him, even a little. She remained determined to think the worst of him and make him endure her silence because of it.
He cast Clara another sideways glance and she paused in her eating, conscious of his scrutiny and quickly meeting his curious gaze before she returned to her fish. He let her go, but not without a great deal of guilt. He’d ruined her Christmas once before by being too open and easy with her when he should have been more guarded and reserved, reminding him of how much she’d changed since they’d last sat at this table together. Back then, she’d been further down the line of precedence and across from him, hindering any chance he might have had to speak with her despite their eagerness to converse. They’d spoken instead through longing glances, smiles and coquettish looks tossed across the table, not careful or caring if anyone else saw them, and it had increased her embarrassment in the end.
People would whisper again, but this time it would be about the stony silence between them, the one that had already garnered a number of small frowns from Lady Exton from where she sat next to her husband. Once in a while she would comment to Adam who would glance up at Clara and Hugh. He didn’t silently urge Hugh to speak to his sister, but simply offered a few words to his wife before returning to his meal. Hugh set down his fork and picked up the punch he’d requested from the footman. The sweetness nearly made him gag. His failed courtship of Clara had almost cost him his friendship with Adam, he didn’t wish to risk it again by mistaking the brief moment at the bottom of the stairs for something more than a genuine thank you for his having been kind. This silence was intolerable, but he would endure it to keep the peace between himself and Adam and to spare Clara from any derision that his previous lack of discretion had caused her. He had no one but himself to blame for her poor opinion of him and again he cursed his actions of the last three years.
Hugh took in the other guests who were too engaged in discussion with those around them to notice him, but he caught a few curious looks thrown in his direction now and then. It was clear in the way that many regarded him with sidelong glances that they’d heard the stories about him and continued to wonder if they were true. He would show them they weren’t through his actions and defy all their low expectations, even Clara’s. He was here to begin the slow process of undoing his mistakes in London after Hermione’s death, to rebuild the good name he’d once prided himself on holding, the one he’d carelessly tossed
