I miss you.Lady Tesh misses you terribly; we’re not amusing enough for her, it seems. And so you have earned your forgiveness already.
Until later,
Clara
My heart’s desire (goodness, I should hire myself out for these things),
If you think to guilt me into revealing details of the property you are quite deluded; guilt washes off my back like the proverbial water off a duck. Ask Peter if you don’t believe me; goodness knows I let him take the blame for many a boyhood prank, and with absolute glee. You must wait along with everyone else.
With luck I won’t be long in London.I cannot wait to see you.I was of the opinion that Dane House was a monstrous place but did not fully realize it until you left. The remaining staff, I fear, grow tired of my constant need to drag them into conversation. I’ve even taken to talking to the statuary. And so I give you fair warning that your ears will all suffer once I reach Danesford and can talk to my heart’s content.
Faithfully Yrs (goodness, even my closing is a thing of beauty),
Quincy
“Oh, isn’t this lovely?” Phoebe lifted a hair comb from the interior of the delicate wood inlay box before her. “This color will complement the peach in my wedding gown beautifully.”
Clara lowered Quincy’s latest letter, received just that morning—and already dog-eared—and focused on her sister. It had been a week since they’d left London for Synne. A week filled to the brim with travel and wedding preparations.
A week since Clara had seen Quincy.
In an instant she was awash in memory: his strong arms about her, his mouth hot and open over hers, the sweet taste of champagne on his tongue, his hardness pressing into her belly…
She blinked. Such flashes had not abated over the past sennight. Though she was getting more adept at pushing them aside—at least during her waking hours.
This time apart was what had been needed, she told herself stoutly. Their physical distance from one another, alongside the playful banter of their letters, had surely succeeded in putting their indiscretion in the gardens behind them. She had every hope that, when they met again, they might do so with no more emotion than two good friends. After all, it had been just a kiss. A heated, passionate, all-consuming kiss…She cleared her throat, using the letter as a makeshift fan on her suddenly overheated face. It had been just a kiss all the same. A momentary lapse that would not be repeated.
“I remember Mother wearing this piece,” she said, running her fingers over the carved coral cabochons set in delicate gold. “Father gave it to her their very first Christmas. She used to bring it out every Christmas Eve to wear to church.”
Phoebe gave a sigh. “I wish I’d known her.”
The small hitch in her voice tugged at Clara’s heart. Though Clara had done her best to fill the void the loss of their mother had left, she had never been able to patch it completely.
Not that Phoebe was one to complain. Still, during moments like these that emptiness was brought into harsh focus.
Clara placed an arm about her sister’s shoulders. “She would have been very proud of you.”
Phoebe’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Do you think so?”
“I know so,” Clara replied firmly. “And I think you’re quite right on this hair comb. It will go beautifully with your gown.” She lowered the lid on their mother’s box.
“Which do you think you’ll wear for your wedding?”
Clara’s breath hitched in her chest. “Oh, I hardly know,” she said brightly. “Quincy and I won’t marry for some time. He has so much to settle with the dukedom.” She paused, tension threading through her though she tried to keep her tone flippant. “As a matter of fact, I thought I might join you after your wedding trip. You’ll be in a new place, surrounded by strangers. It might prove helpful to have an ally against Lord and Lady Crabtree.”
Phoebe laughed. “Oh, I’m not worried a bit about them. Besides, you’ll be preparing for your own life. You won’t have time for such things.”
“But mayhap—”
“Clara,” Phoebe cut in softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm, “I know you still worry about me. But I’m looking forward to the challenge of it, truly. And I could not be happier that you’ll be able to finally focus on yourself. Now then,” she continued, the subject obviously at an end, “I insist you pick a piece. I’ll be with Oswin at Hedley by the time you begin planning and will miss much of it.”
Stifling a sigh, Clara smiled as if she could think of nothing she would like more and reopened the box.
Thus far every one of her attempts to discover where she might be needed after Phoebe’s wedding had been firmly rebuffed. And no wonder, seeing as everyone believed she would be happily married soon. Though her fake engagement was proving to be a stumbling block in this particular venture, she could only be happy it had proven successful in other matters, namely in keeping Aunt Olivia content enough to leave her be…for the most part. She would take her great-aunt’s grumbling about double weddings over men being thrown at her head any day.
She moved aside a brooch and froze. Nestled in the velvet interior was a ring painfully beloved to her. The turquoise forget-me-not was as vibrant as ever, the small diamond at its center sparkling brilliantly, the two gold hands lovingly holding the gem flower rubbed to a sheen for all her mother had worn the piece. Until the swelling in her hands from her last illness had forced her to remove it forever.
She had slipped it on Clara’s finger once, her eyes shining bright with happiness. “I wore this the night of my come out, the night your father fell in love with me,” she’d said with a soft smile. “My dream, my darling Clara, is for you to wear this to your own debut, and to find a love as wonderful as the one I’ve been blessed to share with your father.”