Then she blinked and his expression shifted to the easy friendliness she was used to. “Do you think Lady Tesh will be able to keep from shouting it to the rooftops until we’re on Synne?”
It took Clara’s brain a second to latch onto the question. She had made the request in a moment of desperation, at Aunt Olivia’s suggestion that the engagement ball be a combined affair. Though they needed this to appear, for all intents and purposes, an engagement in truth, Clara refused to take a moment of attention from her sister.
That, and she knew that if it were made public she would have a harder time convincing herself it wasn’t real.
Aunt Olivia had not been happy at the delay, nor that she was thwarted in her wish for a double wedding, a glorious coup to end all coups in the history of the London season.
It had taken the combined efforts of Quincy, Clara, Peter, and Lenora to make Aunt Olivia see reason. Or, if not to actually agree with them, to at least decamp, though with a decided lack of grace.
“I’m certain she’ll heed our wishes,” she said now, though with much more conviction than she felt. Aunt Olivia was never one to let others dictate her actions. Not for the first time Clara sent up a prayer of thanks that Peter and Lenora were in on their deception. She would not be able to rein in the viscountess alone.
“You’re an optimist, I see,” he teased.
It should have been a comment easily laughed off. But just then, with this debacle of an engagement hanging over her head, the very last thing she would consider herself was an optimist. “Hardly that,” she mumbled.
Curiosity flared in his eyes. Realizing that she had let too much of herself show and needing a change in subject, she blurted, “But I worry about you.”
He let loose a surprised laugh. “Me?”
She nodded, worrying at her lip with her teeth as she studied him. “You’ve mentioned vaguely that the dukedom needs saving. If it’s truly as dire as that, perhaps marriage for money would be the best thing.”
He cocked one black eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I cave into my mother’s demands?”
She shrugged. “Mayhap?” When he continued to look at her slack-jawed, she hurried to explain. “As duke you’re responsible for a great many families. Marrying Lady Mary might be the only option open to you in such a short time.” She ignored the bad taste that left in her mouth.
“It’s not unheard of,” she continued. “Men in your position marry for money all the time.”
“Not I.”
There was such conviction in his voice she couldn’t help but ask, “Do you believe in marrying only for love then?” An idea that should not interest her as much as it did.
His lips twisted. “I’ve never really given it much thought. Peter and Lenora perhaps might sway me in this, I suppose, being so in love themselves.” His voice was quiet and intimate in the night air. “But at this point in my life I’m nowhere near ready. I’ve no wish to saddle myself with a wife, or to saddle that wife with a husband who has no intention of acting like an adult for the foreseeable future.” He gave a soft chuckle, then sobered, eyeing her with a strange, tense curiosity. “And you? Do you believe in marrying for love?”
How she didn’t outright flinch from the pain that soft question gave her she would never know. “That’s something I gave up long ago.”
The bright curiosity in his eyes made her realize that, once again, she had said far too much. Clearing her throat, she pasted a bright smile on her face. “If you won’t marry to save the dukedom, I assume you have other options?”
His slight pause told her he was fully aware that she was attempting to distract him. She waited with bated breath for him to press her.
Thankfully, he let it pass. “Not as yet,” he admitted. “My brothers were uncommonly thorough with their destruction, I’m afraid. But I’m hopeful something will turn up.”
“And if it does not?”
He smiled faintly. “I’m not without funds myself. I’ll just have to use the money I’ve brought back with me from Boston. No rich wife required.”
Though he did his best to keep his expression easy, the undercurrent of pain in his voice told a different story. “And you shall have to give up your travels,” she said slowly, understanding dawning. “Your travels are very important to you. Why?”
He looked away, letting his long fingers trail over the glossy leaf of a nearby bush. “As horrible as my mother is, my father was the opposite. We were incredibly close and shared a dream of seeing the world and all its wonders. We pored over maps and globes and books, planning the trips we would take when I got older.” The air of gentle reminiscence faded from his voice, replaced by a muted kind of grief. “But he died when I was a boy. And then I ran away.”
“Why?”
He cast her a wry glance. “I think you can guess after today. My mother was determined to ship me off to the navy. I, however, had other ideas.”
“And so you wound up on that ship with Peter, headed for America.”
“Yes. And though I still wound up on a ship, it was at least on my own terms.”
She shook her head in wonder. “You’re very brave.”