He quickly quieted the chorus of desperate questions. He could not bring himself to hope and then see it dashed to pieces again. So he kept his silence, giving her the space she seemed to need though it killed him.
He expected her to duck into any empty room to have this conversation over and done with. Instead she started up the stairs, making her way to the family quarters. Surely she wouldn’t take him to her room. But no, they passed her door and kept on. He cast her a confused frown but she was focused on her destination.
When she finally stopped and turned to face him, he could only stare blankly at the door before them. It was Lenora’s art studio. He had seen it upon arriving at Danesford, this place where Lenora created her magnificent paintings, whimsical watercolors that fairly breathed with a life of their own. Why Clara was bringing him here, however, was beyond him.
When he looked at her in question, she smiled. It was a small, sad thing that fairly broke his heart.
“You’re not the only one I’ve kept the truth from, Quincy,” she said, her voice quiet. “And I know now I can never be free until I lay out my past in front of everyone I love.”
Love.The word swirled in the air between them. Did she love him then? Before he could ask her, he heard the muted sound of low, tense conversation within the confines of the room. Clara threw the door wide, and he stood stunned in the entry as he took in the tableau before him.
Peter and Lenora were there, seated together on a low settee, as well as Lady Tesh with Freya curled in her lap. Margery stood by the window, her troubled face illuminated by the early-afternoon sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Phoebe sat near Oswin, their hands clasped tight. And one other was there, who he could not comprehend being present for several long, confused seconds.
He frowned. “Mother?”
Her lips twisted. “Reigate.”
Quincy cast a bewildered look to Clara, but she was already making her way across the room. Her back was a tense line beneath the delicate muslin of her gown, and she appeared as if she were ascending the gallows.
Feeling much the same, knowing that at the end of this he would either be raised to heaven or cast down to the pits of hell, Quincy set his jaw and followed her within, closing the door firmly behind him.
Chapter 21
Clara stopped when she reached the marble fireplace, closing her eyes for a moment and breathing deeply. She had been so sure of what had to be done when she’d left the duchess’s room earlier that morning. And since then she’d fed the fire burning inside her to see this over and done with. It had kept her going as she’d written out notes to everyone she needed present, as she searched for Quincy, as she’d stood waiting for him in the stable yard while all around her the grooms and stable hands went about their busy day. For no mere note would do for Quincy.
Now that the moment of reckoning was before her, however, she didn’t know how to begin.
Behind her she could hear faint shuffling, quiet whispers quickly hushed. They all knew something was wrong. She had seen it in their eyes when she’d entered the room with Quincy, a worried expectation.
All save for the duchess, who had sat apart from the others and considered her with narrowed eyes, suspicion clear on her cold face.
As if that woman heard Clara’s thoughts, she suddenly spoke.
“Goodness, Lady Clara, you keep us in such suspense,” she drawled. “I’m certain we would all like to leave this room this century. If you would be so kind as to tell us why you’ve dragged us in here when we should be with the rest of the guests belowstairs?”
Clara turned to face them as a low growl issued from Peter. “My cousin can take as long as she needs, Duchess,” he said with a dark glare.
“Well, she’s certainly doing that,” the woman muttered.
Another growl from Peter, this one contained as Lenora spoke into the tense atmosphere. “I’m sure Clara is merely searching for the right words. And my husband is quite correct,” she continued, her voice firm and brooking no argument, “Clara may take as long as she needs.” She turned to her and gave her an encouraging nod that didn’t hide the anxiety under the surface. “Whenever you’re ready, dearest.”
Clara took one final moment to drink in the faces of these people who loved her so well. The fear that had held her back for so many years rose up again, stronger than ever. She couldn’t do this. It was a mistake; she would not be able to survive this if they all turned from her.
Her anxious gaze found Quincy’s.
He sat poised at the edge of his chair, as if he feared what would be said and was ready to bolt from the room at the least provocation. Yet there was a steadiness to his gaze that grounded her. Just then he smiled. It was a small thing, barely even lifting the corners of his lips. But it gave her the encouragement she needed to do what had to be done. Didn’t he deserve the truth? Didn’t they all deserve the truth?
And, most important of all, didn’t she deserve to be true to herself?
“I’ve brought you all here,” she began, her voice a weak thing but quickly gaining strength, “because there is something I need to say to you, something that I’ve been keeping from you these fifteen years. The reason I’m telling you now,” she continued, “is because the duchess’s recent actions have made me realize that I will never be fully free until the truth is out. And I would rather reveal it to you myself than have someone else do so.”
Here she looked at the duchess full in the face. “I want to thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a grim smile, “for making me realize that truthfulness with those I love is paramount to my happiness.”
The woman merely stared back at her, the mutiny twisting her features not able to completely hide the undertone of fear there.
Dragging in a steadying breath, Clara turned to face her family. There would be no more cowering, no more hiding.
“When I was fifteen,” she began, “there was a young man visiting the Isle who courted me in secret. He claimed he loved me, vowed to marry me. He told me he merely had to wait another few months, until he reached his majority, and we would be wed posthaste.”