But despite knowing better, he found he couldn’t move his feet. He swallowed down the angry words that fought to break free, the bitterness of them leaving him sick to his stomach. “What are you doing here?” he asked instead, the words forced out through gritted teeth.
“Lady Crabtree and I have become quite close recently, as both our sons are to wed the daughters of the previous Duke of Dane. They’ve kindly invited me to attend their son’s wedding, to get to know my future daughter-in-law better.” Here she turned a syrupy sweet smile on Clara.
A violent protectiveness surged through Quincy, and he nearly stepped in front of Clara to hide her from the cunning in his mother’s eyes.
Instead he managed a smile that was so stiff and brittle he thought his lips would crack from it. “How serendipitous that you have become such good friends.”
Her eyes narrowed in recognition of the subtle jab, but her smile only widened, as if it pleased her to see him squirm. And no doubt it did. The woman always did enjoy the discomfort of others.
She turned to the room at large. “I do hope it’s not an imposition. My dear Lady Crabtree pressed me so, I could not possibly refuse. Especially as she has become so very dear to me.” Here she gave the woman in question a doting smile before turning an apologetic gaze to the rest of the inhabitants.
“Oh! Of course.” Lenora jumped up, hurrying to them. “It’s our pleasure to have you here at Danesford, Your Grace. Isn’t it, my dear?”
Peter glanced at Quincy, concern clouding the clear blue of his eyes, before he stepped up beside his wife. “Certainly. Welcome to Danesford.”
The palpable tension in the air eased as introductions were made. Phoebe, who had been watching the whole affair with wide eyes, jumped from her seat, hurrying to Oswin. They clasped hands, their eyes glowing, and quickly tucked themselves into a private corner. Once niceties were seen to, the small party broke up. Peter guided Lord Crabtree out, muttering something about guns, and Lenora quickly took Lady Crabtree and the duchess in hand, her bright voice regaling them on the details of their rooms as she led the way out into the hall.
Leaving Quincy and Clara quite alone. Well, as alone as two people could be with a pair of whispering lovebirds hidden away in a corner.
Still Quincy stood there, as if rooted to the spot. He’d hoped never to see his mother again. Yet here he was about to be stuck in the same house as her for the next week. Once again, he wondered what she hoped to accomplish by coming here. Dread settled heavy on him.
Suddenly a small hand tucked itself into his. “Quincy, are you well?”
Clara. He closed his eyes, dragging in a deep breath, letting her calmness wash over him. “No,” he answered with utter truthfulness, casting her a wry look. “But I think you’ve guessed that much.”
“Yes.” Her eyes were sober as she peered up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I should have expected this. She always was one to throw a stick in the wheels whenever things were going too smoothly.” He gave her a stern look. “But don’t think this gives you leave to get out of your agreement to join us all tomorrow.”
She frowned. “Surely plans have changed after this new development.”
“Surely not,” he declared officiously, even as the idea of leaving her alone in his mother’s vicinity left him physically ill. “I find I need the distraction of a good, fun outing now more than ever.”
She must have seen the desperation in his eyes, though he strove to hide it under his teasing. Concern shone tight on her face. But she was as adept as he at burying emotions, wasn’t she? “I suppose you do,” she murmured with a small smile. “Though I warn you, I don’t know the first thing about having fun.”
He grinned, relief flooding him at this bit of normalcy. “You may not know, my dear Clara,” he said. “But I do. And the next week I will dedicate myself to teaching you.”
Chapter 14
The mood of the household had definitely shifted since the duchess’s arrival the day before. Phoebe had remained blessedly oblivious, wrapped up as she was in Oswin. Clara could only be grateful for that.
But the rest of them were strung as tight as nocked bows.
Clara had not thought she could possibly relax during the outing to the Elven Pools. There was too much to do for the wedding, no matter how Margery claimed the contrary. That, and she still hadn’t found where she would belong when the commotion of the wedding was over; it seemed everyone was excited for her to go off on a life of her own, and her absence would not make a whit of difference in anyone’s life. A lowering thought indeed.
Yet the minute she’d stepped foot from the house she had felt a wonderful relief that she was leaving everything behind, no matter how briefly. Now, the delicious picnic lunch consumed, seated as she was on a blanket in the warm sunlight, the band that had constricted her chest since yesterday began to loosen. As the rest of the party, consisting of not only the younger people from Danesford but several of Phoebe’s closest friends as well, cavorted about the flat valley just beyond the pools, she raised her face to catch the warm sun and breathed in deeply. This trip, one based on pure pleasure, was something she had fought tooth and nail against. Now, though, she was grateful she had been coerced into joining. Not that she would ever let Quincy know that. She smiled to herself.
As if he had heard her thoughts—something that made her mildly panicked after the improper daydreams she’d had of him recently—Quincy spoke in her ear. “Happy you came?”
She cast him an arch look where he lounged beside her, trying and failing to rein in the shiver of desire that whispered over her nerves when her gaze met his heavy-lidded one. “You needn’t look so smug.”
The grin he sent her had butterflies taking flight in her stomach. “Come on then, admit it. I was right.”
“If you think to ever hear those words from me, you are delusional.”
He chuckled. “You can be stubborn when you’ve a mind to be.”
“As can you,” she quipped. “The only question is, who will win in the end?”