examine the shots, change the score on the marker or watch the game, each of them carrying glasses of brandy and sipping them between bits of conversation and breaks in the play. A gaggle of children ran through the room, swarming around the table before running out the opposite door, their noisy chatter barely breaking the conversation of the lords who were willing to tolerate their antics in this season of forgiveness. Hugh hoped everyone was willing to forgive more adult mishaps, especially his.
‘Delamare, good to see you.’ Adam clapped him on the back, then moved to hand him a glass of brandy from a nearby footman’s tray before remembering and setting it back on the salver for someone else to enjoy. ‘Sorry, I forgot you’d given it up.’
‘There are times when I think that might have been a mistake.’ He glanced at the brandy, tempted to throw back a good portion of it and savour the burning in his throat. It was a pain he deserved, but he wasn’t a man to go back on his promises, at least not any more.
Adam tilted his head to one side in scrutiny. ‘I assume you’ve seen Clara, then?’
‘I have. She wasn’t pleased to see me.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ He didn’t look at Hugh, but swirled his brandy in his snifter before taking a generous drink. ‘She didn’t know you would be here.’
‘You didn’t tell her?’ He wanted to take the snifter and break it over his friend’s head. ‘The entire reason I wrote to you was so you could warn her in the hopes it might ease any tension between us.’ The tension that had dominated every word that had passed between them in the library.
‘If I’d told her you’d be here, she wouldn’t have come. You know how it is, no one likes to be reminded of past mistakes and such.’
No, they didn’t. Not Hugh, not Clara, no one.
‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter now,’ Adam continued. ‘You’re both here and now you’ve got your awkward first meeting out of the way, I’m sure the two of you will get on splendidly.’
‘I wish I shared your optimism.’
‘Well, the season of miracles and all that.’ He rapped Hugh on the arm and took up his cue stick and bent over the table to take his shot, the conversation about Clara and Hugh being here together over. Hugh allowed it to drop. Adam was one of the few friends from his past who saw the better in Hugh even when he couldn’t see it in himself. Hugh owed it to him to be respectful, especially of Clara. Adam, having inherited young, knew well the responsibilities of a titled man, but for all of his patience and understanding of Hugh’s mistakes, and the family duty that had forced him to marry another, Adam would draw the line at intentional injury to those he loved.
‘Marvellous shot, Exton,’ Lord Tillman muttered through his bushy moustache, one hand on his round belly, the other clutching his brandy. He was tall with spindly legs and long thin arms, his full head of hair a striking contrast to his less-than-robust form. An earl from a long line, he didn’t lord his title over anyone, taking it all in stride. He and his wife were two of the most congenial hosts that Hugh had ever known and the most forgiving. Neither of them had baulked at inviting him after he’d placed a gentle request with Lady Tillman when they’d met at the theatre at the end of last Season. He was thankful for their support and this chance to take his first steps towards redeeming himself with good society. If Clara’s reaction to him was any gauge, he had a great deal of work to do.
Hugh tried not to sigh in weariness while he watched the game. He intended to some day hold a house party like this at Everburgh, but with no Lady Delamare to help him welcome his guests and no children to run with the guests’ children, he would have to live once again off someone else’s generosity. It was yet another dream that was on the verge of never coming true, especially if the court ruled against him in the last case concerning Everburgh.
He glanced at the brandy, wanting to knock the drinks to the floor, but he maintained his self-control. He’d done all that duty had required of him when he’d become the Fifth Marquess, paying off the last of the debts with Hermione’s money, using Lord Matthew’s connections to woo influential lords and hire expensive barristers to settle remaining court cases in his favour or on better terms, but still it hadn’t been enough. The estate was in danger once again from a Scottish lord who claimed that Hugh’s grandfather had signed over Everburgh to him in exchange for a life annuity and the payment of some debts. The Scotsman had a few letters indicating some sort of deal between him and Hugh’s grandfather, and receipts of payment to his grandfather, but he had yet to produce the signed contract. If he did produce it, it would become a matter for a judge to decide. If the court ruled against Hugh, then everything that Hugh, his parents and Hermione had done to save the estate would mean nothing.
Hugh stood up straight and greeted Sir Nathaniel with a hearty welcome, determined to remain polite and solicitous. He would face this unexpected challenge with the fortitude his parents had always shown during their trials, the one he’d demonstrated, too, until Hermione’s death had sent him into a dark spiral, but those days were over. He’d made a number of mistakes since Hermione’s death, but they and the damage they’d done would soon be behind him. He would enjoy the respect and esteem of these men again, and, if given the opportunity, Clara’s, as well. He was the Marquess of Delamare and he would bring dignity to the title and himself once again.
‘My dear, are you sure that’s the dress you wish to wear tonight?’ Anne asked, entering Clara’s room to collect her for dinner. In a short while, everyone would line up according to precedence on the main staircase before going into the dining room. Clara prayed someone had arrived to outrank her, a dowager duchess or a dowager marchioness with an older title than hers who would bump her back a place or two in the line away from Hugh. As much as part of her wanted to be at the head of the line where everyone might see her, she didn’t wish to be there beside Hugh.
Given that this wasn’t likely to happen, she’d dressed as she would for any other dinner at Lord and Lady Tillman’s, careful to pay no special heed to her attire. She didn’t wish Hugh to think she’d changed her manner of dress simply because they happened to be beneath the same roof. If Anne’s half-frown were any indication, Clara had succeeded a little too well in her desire to under-dress. ‘What’s wrong with my dress?’
‘Nothing, except it’s a tad dark.’
‘It’s winter.’ Clara opened her arms and looked down at the black velvet dress devoid of any decoration, trying to sound sensible and failing.
‘But the season is so cheerful and you don’t want to come across as dour. Perhaps your green dress would be better. You want people to speak with you, not offer consolations.’
Clara dropped her arms in defeat, her desire to be seen as a refined and chic lady fading in the face of her current wardrobe. This dress might be fine and of excellent material but it bore the hallmarks of her grief, as did most of the dresses she’d brought with her. The bright gowns she’d worn before Alfred’s death were still packed away in trunks at Winsome Manor. She wished she hadn’t left them behind.
‘You’re right. I appear as if I’m going to a memorial, not preparing for a festive week. I’ll wear the green dress.’ She waved for Mary to undo the buttons on the back so Clara could change. ‘I don’t want to scare whomever I’m paired with for the week’s events or give them the impression that they’ll be stuck with a stick in the mud.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Anne laid a finger on
