Knowing Aunt Sarah, she would not much care if her hair remained loose and flowing beautifully about her. If Clem’s parents did not give a fig about Society, Aunt Sarah gave even less of a fig. The families had been close when all of the cousins were younger, and Clem always admired Aunt Sarah’s free spirit.
Nowadays they were usually acquainted via the written word, given the duke’s mental decline and his dislike for travelling. Last time she had seen him, he’d been slightly forgetful. It seemed more recently he was entirely absentminded. His son took on most of the ducal duties, but the duke was content at least and not at risk of being shut away anywhere, thank goodness.
Preventing herself from looking at Roman out of the corner of her eye proved difficult as the aunts conversed about the journey from London to Bath. His muscular leg sat mere inches from hers. It would only take the slightest movement and their legs would be touching. She tensed as a shiver rushed through her.
“We stopped at the most divine inn,” Aunt Sarah said. “A little ugly on the outside but they served the best meat and potato pie I have ever tasted. I declare if I had the power, I would have hired the cook then and there.”
“Well, if you remarried, you would have a household of your own and you could make such decisions,” Mary replied.
“Aunt Sarah enjoys her freedom, do you not?” Clem eyed her aunt carefully and caught a wistful expression on her aunt’s face. “Far better to be alone and not dependent on a man, surely?”
She didn’t know why but Clem needed her aunt to say as much.
“Oh yes.” Aunt Sarah gave Clem a bright smile that did not reach her eyes. “I’m quite content for it to be just me and Simon.”
“Where is Simon?” Clem glanced about the living room for sight of the black and white cat that accompanied Aunt Sarah almost everywhere.
“I left him at the townhouse. He was a little tired from the journey and I did not wish to disturb Mary’s dogs. Simon has a vicious right paw when he’s grouchy.”
Clem struggled to imagine the cat standing up to Mary's hordes of dogs.
Mary leaned in. “And what of Mr. Wilde? Where did you leave him?”
Color tinged Aunt Sarah’s cheeks. “He is in London, of course, though why you should think his location has anything to do with me, I do not know.”
Mary tapped her nose with a finger. “I like to keep up with the gossip in London. I thought you two were getting rather close. He sounds wonderful indeed and what of those beautiful cats of his?”
A sigh escaped Aunt Sarah. “He does have some beautiful cats, but Simon took a, um, dislike to Mr. Wilde.”
Roman shifted in his seat. No doubt he considered all this female chatter pointless and wanted to get off to whatever it was lords did. From what she could tell from her father, it involved hours hidden away, though she often entered her father’s study to catch him guiltily stashing away a book on natural history or covering a sketch of a fossil with a letter.
Perhaps if she got annoyed at him enough, she wouldn’t think of that near kiss. She glanced his way and tried to picture him encouraging her drunken younger brother to strip naked and climb a statue.
Clem frowned. She couldn’t imagine him doing such a thing, even five years ago.
She shifted and failed to create any more space between them. He was still a judgmental, disapproving sort of a man. Surely that was enough to drive away any idea of kissing Lord Rochdale?
An image of his mouth upon hers flashed into her mind. She grimaced to herself. It seemed not.
∞∞∞
If Roman were not a gentleman, he’d have fled his aunt’s drawing room long ago. He had no patience for idle chatter but more than that, he was not certain how long he could remain seated next to Clementine. He pressed the soles of his feet hard into his boots to avoid the twitching need to leap up or feign a sneezing fit, despite the dogs zipping past the window every now and then as they followed the gardener. Anything to move away from her.
Anything to escape reality.
He’d wanted to kiss Lady Clementine Musgrave.
Still did, really. Clearly, he was as addle-brained as his father claimed for all those years. He’d always vaguely hoped that he had another sort of intelligence, one that meant it did not matter if letters crossed over and words muddled every time he looked at a book. It seemed not.
The need to move increased tenfold when the conversation turned to books. He must have done something gravely wrong and was being punished for his sins. It was the only reason he could fathom being trapped in this entirely too small parlor room next to a woman he did not even like yet wanted to kiss, discussing the thing he loathed most in the world.
“I just finished The Wanderer,” Clementine was explaining. “I would not tell Mrs. Burney it is not my favorite of hers though.”
Aunt Mary smiled at Roman. “What of you, Roman? Read anything new?”
He narrowed his gaze at his aunt. She was one of the few people who knew of his struggles with the written word and had supported him when his father would not, taking the time to read to him as a child. Truth be told, he owed his aunt. Which was why he forced a smile back.
“I’m too busy for reading these days, Aunt Mary. You know that.”