She might have been able to, long ago—young Clara, who had been so full of hope and life and passion. But she was no longer capable of opening herself up to something that would make her vulnerable.
As if to give lie to that, her heart lurched as Quincy approached. She ruthlessly ignored it, smiling widely instead. They had parts to perform.
“Phoebe,” he said, though his eyes didn’t leave Clara, “would you mind terribly if I escort my fiancée to her room?”
Giggling, Phoebe kissed both their cheeks. “Oh, this is just wonderful,” she said before joining Peter and Lenora.
Clara, placing her hand on Quincy’s arm and following behind the rest of the party, slid him a sidelong glance. “You’re very good at this,” she murmured. Too good, perhaps. If she wasn’t careful, he would have even her convinced.
He grinned down at her. “Who would have thought? I knew I had a multitude of talents, but I never guessed thatfaux-fiancéwould be one of them.”
Despite herself, she laughed. But her humor was short-lived, the strain of the day quickly overshadowing it. She remained quiet as they made their way upstairs and to her bedroom door—with Peter keeping careful watch, of course—every bit of her remaining strength centered on keeping up the act.Just a few seconds more.Finally, bidding them good night, she closed the door and was alone.
And almost immediately realized that this solitary quiet was the very last thing she needed. With nothing to distract her she began to replay the whole disaster of a day in her head. Andwhat ifs began to take shape in her mind. What if she had refused to stay for Quincy’s meeting with his mother? What if she had kept her mouth shut when the duchess had pushed Lady Mary on her son? What if…?
Well, then, she thought, heading determinedly out the door and hurrying through the house on silent feet, she’d be damned if she was going to sit around and fall prey to her thoughts. In short order she reached the ground floor, found the door that led to the back gardens, and let herself out into the cool night.
The London air was sour with refuse and coal, and so different from the fresh ocean breezes she was used to back on the Isle. But she welcomed it all the same. For there beneath the faint stink was what she needed: the rich earth, the vibrant plant life, the heady perfume of flowers. They were scents that had been there for her through every happiness and heartache, through every joy and tragedy. They reminded her of her mother surrounded by roses, of the soaring glass walls of a greenhouse, of being surrounded by vibrant life even as she mourned a life gone.
The moon was out, bathing the garden in a silvery light, and she used it to find her way to the small fountain at its center. This place had been a refuge during her first tumultuous weeks in London. And though she had been too busy to make use of it these past days, it welcomed her back just the same, the soft sigh of rustling leaves and the faint splash of water like old friends.
She sank down on the stone bench with a sigh and rubbed at the ache that had taken root in the base of her skull. This false engagement was merely playacting, something she was quite used to. And wouldn’t the reward be worth it? Once the ruse was complete and her “engagement” at an end, she would be free to stay with her family for the rest of her life.
Which was what she wanted. Truly.
And if she could not find joy in it just now, it would come soon enough. She was sure of it.
“Clara.”
Her skin pimpled at the familiar deep baritone. She looked up to see Quincy smiling down at her.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked as she pulled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders, trying and failing to ignore just how alive her body suddenly felt.
“I saw you from my window and was concerned. May I?” He motioned to the empty seat beside her. Face heating, she nodded.
“I assure you,” she said as he sat, “I’m absolutely fine. There was no need for you to come all the way out here.”
“My dear Clara,” he drawled, raising an inky brow, “I have sailed the width of the Atlantic numerous times. I assureyou, taking a short walk in a garden is hardly my idea of lengthy travel.”
“Nevertheless, it was unnecessary. I only needed some fresh air”—she smiled wryly and waved one hand to the night sky—“such as it is. The evening was not easy. But it’s over now, and it will only get better from here. If we can keep Aunt Olivia from posting the banns and procuring a special license, that is.”
He didn’t acknowledge her pathetic attempt at humor, his dark eyes instead boring into hers with a disturbing understanding. “I never thanked you for what you did for me,” he murmured.
She flapped her hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. We’re both benefiting from this.”
“Perhaps for now. But what of after? The scandal—”
She gave a small, strained laugh. “What scandal? I’m a nobody.”
“You are not a nobody.”
The fierce certainty in his voice startled her, but more so for the warmth that bloomed in her chest. It was almost as if he cared for her as more than Peter’s cousin. She swallowed hard. A dangerous thought indeed.
She laughed lightly, needing to bring normalcy back to the situation. “Ah, yes, there is me being a duke’s daughter.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her breath stalled. There was something infinitely tender in his eyes. For a single, shining moment she could almost believe this engagement was real.