“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I had originally planned on making it my home. But after seeing the state of it, and the beautiful vistas, I’ve decided it makes more sense to raze the place to the ground. The Isle has become more popular over the past year, since the new Duke of Dane and his bride took up residence. No doubt it will only grow in popularity. I plan to capitalize on that.”
“Capitalize,” Quincy repeated blankly.
“Indeed. Though,” the man said, chuckling, “I shouldn’t be telling you my plans, as you’ll no doubt increase the price. But I’ve a cunning idea for a small holiday village. This location is ideal, close to the beach, and yet far enough away from the center of town to be quite cozy and private. And there’s enough room for me to build a new manor house for myself besides. One,” he said with a grin, “that won’t be in danger of falling down about my ears.”
Quincy gaped at him. “You want to destroy the house, the gardens? The greenhouse?”
“Certainly. It would cost nearly as much to renovate it all, and this way I’ll be set to make a tidy sum off it as well.”
“Indeed,” Quincy said, feeling nauseated. And not because of any fondness for the house. No, if it fell down in ruins this minute, he would not mind a bit. And he needed it sold, didn’t he?
His disquiet, however, had everything to do with Clara. He had seen how much this place meant to her, the sorrow in her eyes when she had seen the ruin it was in, the love for what it had given her during that dark time in her life. He imagined her as she was then, her spirit broken, healing both physically and mentally from that devastating trauma, finding the peace within that greenhouse when she’d needed it most. If it was torn down, she would be destroyed.
If he searched for another buyer willing to pay as generous a price as Fletcher was, it might take years to unload the place. And the dukedom did not have years left. It would drain his savings dry before he was able to secure another buyer, the tenants requiring immediate help. No, it was Fletcher or nothing. Breaking Clara’s heart or giving up his dreams.
As he took his leave, he searched his mind for a way, any way, to win in this scenario. But to his consternation, he couldn’t think of a damn thing.
***
Clara had briefly considered retiring to her room for the remainder of the day. She was exhausted, after all, after the strain of the afternoon’s revelations.
But she quickly discarded that idea. She was through with hiding away, through with shame and regret. The past was done; she would focus on the present and look toward the future. There was nothing she need worry about now that she knew she had her family’s unconditional support and love.
Except for Quincy.
Clara’s throat closed off as she thought of him. The young ladies surrounding her gave her curious looks. And no wonder, for hadn’t she been in the midst of recounting some ball she’d attended in London? At least, she thought she had been. She breathed deeply, corralling her dangerously veering thoughts, and tried to remember just where she had been in the conversation. But she knew almost immediately it would be a battle lost.
With a forced smile she rose. “I am so sorry, but I just recalled something I need to see to. If you’ll excuse me?”
The group smiled and nodded, but Clara was already hurrying across the crowded drawing room. The day had been filled with activities of every kind, from archery to croquet to footraces over the back lawn. Clara had kept herself at the busy center of it all, doing her best to lose herself in the festivities. Even so, she found herself looking for Quincy much more often than she liked.
She had expected him to react negatively to her past, of course. How could he not. She was that creature that all of society looked down on and shunned: a ruined woman. And worse, one who had born a child out of wedlock. At least he could now understand why she could not marry him.
But she had not expected him to run off without a word.
A sudden slender arm about her waist stopped her blind flight from the room. She turned to look at Phoebe, who smiled widely at her.
“Clara, dear, you look a bit tired. You should retire for the evening.”
Clara blinked. Her sister looked positively mischievous, her eyes sparkling and an excited blush staining her cheeks. “I was just going to the ladies’ retiring room,” she said. “No need for concern; I’ll be back in a thrice, as good as new.”
“But I insist,” Phoebe said, pushing Clara toward the door and out into the hall with surprising strength. “I’ll need you ever so much in the next few days, and if you exhaust yourself tonight and grow ill, I’ll be beside myself.”
“Truly, Phoebe,” Clara tried again, trying and failing to break her sister’s hold on her waist, “I don’t need to rest just yet. I’ll be fine for another couple of hours until the rest of the party is ready to retire for the night.” The last thing she wanted was to be alone. At least here, buried in the bustle of the evening, she could pretend all was well.
“Nonsense.” Phoebe pushed her down the hall to the foot of the stairs. “Now, off to bed with you!”
Clara gaped at her. “Phoebe, what is wrong with you?”
To her confusion, Phoebe grinned. “Nothing at all. Everything is absolutely beautiful.” With a little laugh, she hugged Clara. “You deserve every happiness in life, my dear sister,” she murmured in her ear. Then, bestowing a quick kiss on Clara’s cheek, she spun about and hurried back to the drawing room.
Overcome, Clara stared after her sister’s retreating form and had the strangest desire to cry; she didn’t know what had prompted those heartfelt words, but she felt them down to the depths of her soul.
But now that she was away from the commotion of the drawing room a sudden exhaustion came over her. Mayhap her sister was right, and a rest would be wise. It had been an uncommonly emotional, draining day. With a small sigh she started up the stairs. She did not expect sleep to come easily, however, no matter how tired she was. The moment she was alone and there was no longer any danger of prying eyes, she knew she would quickly find herself drowning under her thoughts of Quincy.
As she reached the privacy of the family quarters and the noise of the party faded behind her, she was proved right. Where had Quincy gone after her confession? One minute she had been enveloped in her family’s loving arms, and the next both Quincy and his mother were absent. The duchess had quickly departed Danesford, Peter being more than happy to see her gone from the house with all haste. But there was no sign of Quincy. Clara had not dared to ask, and not one of her family mentioned him. Though that had not stopped their concerned glances from finding her. So she had doubled her efforts to remain cheerful, though inside she grew increasingly despondent. She had known there would be a risk in revealing her past. Her family’s reaction had stunned her; she would always remain thankful for their unwavering love.
But that did not take away the sting of Quincy’s abandonment.