Since then he had been all that was proper, of course—at least as proper as a besotted fiancé was supposed to act. Just as he’d promised, he had not kissed her again; nor had he so much as touched her in a scandalous manner.
That didn’t seem to matter. After the intimacy of their time in the greenhouse, blurring the line between friendship and something more, each day Clara found herself more in danger of falling completely and irrevocably in love with him.
Which made her need to find a new and useful place in her family more important than ever. Up until now her attempts had been blocked from every direction—really no surprise, as everyone believed she would soon be happily married. More troubling, however, had been the lack of drive in her. The prospect of living out her days in such a way didn’t hold the same draw it had when she’d first realized it needed to be done.
But ignoring it was not an option, so she turned to the viscountess. “Once Phoebe’s wedding is behind us, I’m afraid things will become quiet around here. I worry about you being alone at Seacliff. Would that someone could stay on with you.”
It was meant to plant a seed, making Aunt Olivia realize she would need a companion when all was said and done. Unfortunately, it backfired spectacularly.
“Oh, you’ve no need to worry about that,” the viscountess said. “I’ve a girl in mind to take on as a companion. As a matter of fact, it’s already been decided, and Miss Katrina Denby shall be here just after the new year.” She speared Clara with a stern look. “But if you don’t pin down when your own wedding will be, you’ll be able to meet her yourself. Goodness, child, but I cannot believe you’ve yet to set a date. Truly, you must be mad. Why, if it was me, I would be angling for a special license. One can’t feign an early delivery if the infant is born mere weeks after the wedding.”
“Aunt Olivia!”
The viscountess shrugged, sitting back with a knowing air. “There’s a reason my eldest was born in November, when I was married in May.”
Quincy chose that moment to return. Clara snatched her glass from him, draining the wine in a long swallow, praying the alcohol would dull her senses after that mortifying exchange.
He eyed her askance a moment before turning a melting grin on Aunt Olivia. “And what were my two favorite ladies talking of so intently while I was away?”
Aunt Olivia opened her mouth, no doubt to regale him with the exact truth of the matter. Desperate to stop her, Clara blurted, “I do hope Lord and Lady Crabtree arrive soon. I don’t think Phoebe can take the suspense much longer. She’s grown increasingly impatient waiting for Oswin’s arrival.”
Quincy gave her a sly look that said he knew she was lying and was only letting it pass due to his generosity. “It isn’t any wonder, I suppose,” he said. “Goodness knows the week I spent away from you had me going mad.” He took up her hand, bestowing a kiss on her knuckles.
There was simultaneously a dreamy sigh from Aunt Olivia and a low growl from Peter half the room away. Clara hardly heard either. Her entire attention was focused on the feel of Quincy’s lips on her skin. A flush of molten desire traveled from her fingers, up her arm, across her breasts, and down to the very depths of her belly. She squirmed in her seat, swallowing hard.
“But what of the meeting with your house agent?” Aunt Olivia asked, apparently done with romantic musings. “He sent you a note this afternoon requesting an audience, did he not?”
“He did, indeed,” Quincy replied, as ever unperturbed by her brusqueness. “It seems Mr. Dennison has a possible buyer for Swallowhill, a Lord Fletcher. I’m told he’s a longtime resident of the Isle and has been leasing a place in Knighthead Crescent. Perhaps you know him, Lady Tesh?”
“Lord Fletcher, yes,” Aunt Olivia murmured, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Jovial fellow. A bit soft about the middle, and balding. But then we can’t all be Adonises like you.”
Quincy grinned. “Why, Lady Tesh, you shall turn my head.”
“Scamp,” she scoffed. “Though you’re probably wanting to know if he’s solvent. Well, I can assure you, he’s got enough money to buy Swallowhill several times over. And he’s generous to a fault. You’ll get no argument from him on price, as long as it’s fair. He’s wanted to purchase a sizable property on the Isle for some time. If Dennison says he’s interested, then you’ve got this sale made.”
Lord Fletcher. Clara looked down to her empty glass. She’d crossed paths with him on several occasions. He was just as Aunt Olivia said, jovial and generous. A widower, his sons were all grown now, one daughter left at home to keep house for him. An ideal buyer.
Why, then, did it feel like a pebble had lodged in her throat?
“Clara, what do you think of Lord Fletcher purchasing the property?”
She started, smiling brightly to cover up her momentary melancholy, and answered with utter honesty, “I think Lord Fletcher is the perfect person to purchase Swallowhill.”
“If you’re certain. I know the house means much to you.”
There was a hint of worry in his eyes. She forced her smile even brighter. “Of course. It will be wonderful to see Swallowhill brought back to its former splendor.”
Margery approached then, blessedly preventing him from asking her anything more on the subject. “Clara, dear, we’ve all decided to visit the Elven Pools tomorrow. Oswin has never been to Synne, and Phoebe is excited to show him the sights. Do say you and Quincy will join us.”
“I’m so sorry, Margery dear, I still have ever so much to do for the wedding,” she said, genuinely disappointed. The pools were quite possibly her favorite place on the Isle, and she hadn’t been in years. But she had set out to make this wedding something special for Phoebe to look back on with joy, and she wasn’t about to fail now that it was a mere week away.
Aunt Olivia made a disgusted sound. “Quincy,” she said, her eyes fixed on Clara in an uncomfortably intense manner, “I do believe your intended has been working too hard these last weeks.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Quincy, please tell my aunt I cannot take the afternoon off.”
She expected him to comply. He’d been amazingly supportive over the past sennight. So it was that much more of a surprise when he said, “I think Lady Tesh is right.”
She gaped at him. “You must be joking.”