‘I had to come in by the back door because she had neither butler nor footmen to answer the front.’
‘Clearly, I have rectified my lack of staff,’ said Lady Harriet, ‘since Stobbins let you in and announced you. Oh,’ she said, clasping her hands together in agitation. ‘What kind of hostess am I? Please, Miss... I forget your name, but it is Clare something, isn’t it?’
‘Cottam,’ supplied Lord Rawcliffe.
‘Please, won’t you sit down? You must be exhausted if you’ve travelled up to town today.’
‘And it was such a long way,’ said Lord Rawcliffe sarcastically.
‘I am sure it felt like it, if she was shut up in a coach with you the entire time,’ shot back Lady Harriet.
‘Fortunately,’ said Lord Rawcliffe, turning to subject her to one of his lazy-lidded, stomach-melting smiles, ‘Clare is not you. Clare and I have known each other practically all our lives, you see. And we...understand each other.’
He took her hand. Kissed it.
And her heart soared.
Because he’d declared he preferred her to another woman. True, he’d only implied he thought she was more capable that Lady Harriet and that he was glad she’d been the one in the coach with him, but for the first time, he’d made it sound as though she wasn’t a total disaster.
And he wasn’t laughing at her. Or mocking her. Or provoking her into an argument.
Suddenly she had to sit down. Because her knees were buckling. Oh, dear, whatever was she going to do? She was used to sparring with him. But if he started paying her compliments and kissing her whenever he felt like it, however was she going to resist him?
Because she had to.
Or he would, one day, casually break her heart without even noticing.
‘Well, this is all very romantic, I’m sure,’ said Lady Harriet tartly, eyeing the way Clare had just practically swooned on to the nearest chair just because Lord Rawcliffe had kissed her hand. ‘But I need to tell you what happened to Archie. Because I cannot believe even you could indulge in some sort of elopement, or abduction, or whatever this is—’ she waved her hand indiscriminately between them both ‘—if you knew.’
‘Knew what?’ Lord Rawcliffe dropped her hand and turned his head to fix Lady Harriet with one of his chillier looks. ‘What has happened to Archie?’
‘He...oh, dear, there is no easy way to break it to you. I’m so sorry, Zeus,’ she said, going over to him and laying one hand on his arm. ‘He’s...he’s dead.’
Zeus? Why was she addressing him by that name? Last time she’d thought it was some fashionable sort of oath she’d uttered.
He flinched and drew back a step, effectively shaking Lady Harriet’s hand from his arm.
‘Dead?’ He was looking at Lady Harriet as though she’d been personally responsible for it. If he’d looked at her that way, Clare thought she would be begging his forgiveness, even if she was completely innocent. Of anything.
‘How? When?’
‘He...he drowned.’
Lord Rawcliffe went white.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Lady Harriet clasped her hands together at her waist. ‘It was only a day or so after you went to—’ she darted a glance in Clare’s direction ‘—to Thetford Forest.’
‘He’s been dead all this time.’ Lord Rawcliffe stood as though rooted to the spot. ‘While I have been pursuing a woman who doesn’t exist...’ His hand curled into a fist.
‘We tried to reach you, but nobody could find you...’
He flinched. ‘The one time I abandon my responsibilities and travel incognito, everything goes to hell in a handcart.’
Clare had never seen him look so utterly devastated. Her heart went out to him.
‘I’m sure there was nothing you could have done,’ Clare began.
His head whipped in her direction, his pain so intense she could almost feel it like a physical blow.
‘That is your considered opinion,’ he snarled, ‘is it?’
‘Well,’ she said, determined not to quail just because he was lashing out at her. It was what people did when they were grieving. She’d had enough experience visiting the recently bereaved to know that it was best to just absorb their hurt, rather than react as though they were angry with her, personally. ‘There was certainly nothing you could have done to prevent Father dying. When it is time for someone to...to go...’
‘Archie was not an old man. He was young. And talented, dammit. He had a brilliant future ahead of him. And I should not have let him out of my sight. He wasn’t equipped to deal with the likes of—’ He broke off, his jaw working.
‘Death always comes as a shock, no matter what age the person was. And those left behind often feel guilty, but...’
‘But nothing! I am guilty. I might as well have—’ He stopped short again, this time with a shudder of what looked like self-loathing.
Lady Harriet stepped forward. ‘Jack and Atlas reacted in pretty much the same way when they heard, Zeus. They both feel responsible, too. But, the thing is, none of us could have foreseen—’ She was the one to stop mid-sentence this time, with the addition of a guilty glance in Clare’s direction that made her feel as though she was the one who ought to go to the kitchen and give them the privacy to speak to each other freely.
‘Would you like me to leave you alone? I can see you are both terribly upset and—’
‘No!’ Lord Rawcliffe seized her hand as she made for the door. ‘No. It is...’ He looked down at her hand with a touch of bewilderment. Then he let it go. As he did so, she could see him pulling himself together. ‘I am the one who should go,’ he said in a voice that was far more like the Lord Rawcliffe she knew. Cool. Slightly disdainful.
‘Do you happen to know,’ he said, turning to Lady Harriet, ‘where I might find Ulysses and Atlas?’
The transformation was astonishing. He sounded as though he was merely asking the time of day. If she hadn’t seen how upset he really was, she would never have guessed it from his demeanour now.
Lady Harriet glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘Probably at Jack’s town house. Atlas has moved in there with him for now.’
He gave one brief nod. ‘More discreet. Using the excuse that he is acting as groomsman?’
Clare was becoming increasingly bewildered by the rapid-fire questions and answers, but decided that to interrupt and demand an explanation, when both of them were so upset, would be highly insensitive.
‘Yes,’ said Lady Harriet.
