“I see. And your hand on his arm? Was that in response to his good humor?”
“Why, Justin! I do believe you are jealous.” Clare laughed.
“Why was your hand resting so long on his arm, Clare?” Justin demanded in a hard voice that Clare had never heard before.
“You are not teasing me, are you, Justin? You are quite serious,” she said, wonderingly.
“I assure you, I am.”
“I hardly remember why. I think it was that I accused him of glossing over the reality of a campaign, and for a moment or two, I could sense the pain beneath his laughter. And he is so young to be in the middle of a war. It was a natural gesture of sympathy, I assure you.” Clare could still not quite believe that her husband was upset.
Justin took a deep, ragged breath and then said, in his own familiar voice: “Forgive me, Clare. You are so warmhearted, of course you would be touched by his situation. Who would not be?”
“Justin, you could not really think that the lieutenant held any attraction for me?”
“Why not? He is young and handsome in that uniform.”
“He is a boy, Justin. And you are a man. The only man for me,” she added quietly. “The man I love with all my heart.”
“Forgive me, darling, for my moment of madness?” her husband said, putting his arm around her and pulling her to his side.
“There is nothing to forgive, Justin. I know you only said it because you love me,” she answered, all her tension drained away as she cuddled against him.
That night, her husband’s lovemaking was more gentle and at the same time, more passionate than ever, and Clare marveled that even after six weeks of marriage and a minor disagreement, their love, which had seemed perfect that first night, was only becoming stronger.
* * * *
Giles had known that Clare’s wedding would be torture, but he had hoped that if he could take the pain of seeing her as Rainsborough’s bride, then he would have faced the worst and could begin to recover. As he drove down to Whitton, however, seated next to Sabrina, he realized how often he had fantasized Clare beside him. How he had dreamed about this summer. She would have accepted his proposal and come down to Whitton for her first visit as his fiancée. They would have walked and fished and ridden and accepted the congratulations of their neighbors and friends. They would have ... Giles clenched his fists as he replayed the scene. They would have kissed again. He had gone so slowly with Clare, this Season, and then, suddenly, there was Rainsborough.
Giles spent much of the journey looking out the coach window, and Sabrina could get no more than one-word answers from him, no matter what topic she raised. She was very aware of his pain. All their lives they had shared a special wordless communication, sensing each other’s slightest change of mood. Had it been any other than Clare who had hurt him, Sabrina would have pushed and prodded Giles until she got him to open up to her. But this pain was so deep and so private, that she couldn’t speak, but just sat in silent agony herself, hoping that time, the great healer, would work its way with her brother.
The first weeks home were the worst of Giles’s life. He was up early in the morning, either riding or tramping the hills for hours. In the afternoon, he closeted himself in the library, losing himself in his study of Persian. He had become quite an Orientalist at Oxford, and had translated several poets. His reputation had followed him down from university, and the Home Office often called upon him for translation of various messages, official and otherwise. He thanked God for his interest now, for trying to find the right phrase in English to fully express a poet’s intention was the only thing that kept his mind off Clare.
After a while, however, he had been everywhere alone that he had visited in fantasy with Clare. Having faced down the worst, he realized he would survive her loss. Perhaps he would even come to think of her as she did him: an old and dear friend. Perhaps by the fall, he would be able to see her and simply enjoy her presence in his life. He hoped so.
Early one morning of his third week home, the groom brought both his gelding and Sabrina’s mare to the front of the house. When Giles looked at him inquiringly, the man said that Lady Sabrina had informed him last night that she had planned to ride with her brother.
“Well, if she does, she had better get herself down here, then,” said Giles as he heard his sister coming down the steps behind him. He sounded annoyed, but was secretly glad that she had taken the initiative to join him.
“I am right behind you, little brother.”
Giles turned and gave her the first real smile she had seen on his face in weeks.
“Good morning, Sabrina. I hope you are willing to forego breakfast, for I intend to be out for a few hours.”
“I had Cook pack us a picnic,” she answered, pointing to the saddlebags on her mare. I thought we could ride up to Camden Hill and breakfast there?”
“I would like that.”
The fields were shrouded in mist, and the two rode silently through the early morning fog. Their silence was a comfortable one, however, and Sabrina, who had been worried about breaking into Giles’s lonely routine, knew that she had been right to do so. When the sun finally started to burn the mist away, their horses perked up, and they had an exhilarating gallop before winding their way up to the top of the hill.
“I could never have lived in Kent,” said Sabrina, waving her hand at the scene below them. “It is too flat. Too much of a sameness.”
“I love our west country, too,” said Giles, really seeing his surroundings for the first time in days, other than just as a backdrop to a ruined dream. The hills and the hedges were a shifting canvas of greens as the clouds covered and uncovered the sun, and his heart lifted at the sight of it.
Sabrina pulled the saddlebags down and spread out the old cloth Cook had provided.
“Ham and cheese and fresh bread and apples, Giles.”
“I am ravenous.” And he was, to his surprise.
The apples were a bit mealy, for they were the last from the cellar, and as Sabrina bit into hers, she shrieked and sprayed apple all over her riding habit.
“Found a worm, have you, Brina?” teased Giles. “Well, save it for fishing.”
“It is not funny, Giles,” complained his sister in the same tone she had used as a child when he teased her. “I might have swallowed it.”
“Here, have some cider,” said her brother. “That will wash everything down. The worm might have had a twin for all we know,” he added, with a wicked grin.
Sabrina choked on the cider, and then, looking over at her brother, she had to laugh. “You are as awful to me as ever, Giles.”
Giles lay back and watched the clouds scudding over the sun.
“Do you remember the day Clare came to Whitton for the first time? We were lying right here on Camden Hill, wondering what she would be like.”
“I remember,” Sabrina said softly.
“I didn’t fall in love with her that summer. I think it was two years later. But I knew very early that it was Clare, Sabrina. I’ve loved her for a long time.”
Sabrina reached out and grasped her brother’s hand. “I have been worried about you, Giles.”
“Oh, I will be all right. I admit I have been in hell since the betrothal announcement, but I seem to be coming back. Although, I must agree with Virgil, that the road from Avernus is not easy.”
“I know all the right words to say, Giles, but I don’t think they would mean anything to you.”
“Like: ‘You will get over it. You will find someone else.’ Or ‘time heals all wounds?’ I’ve been saying them to myself. I just wish ...”
“What, Giles?”
“I just wish I liked Rainsborough better.”
“You could hardly expect to like your rival, Giles!”
“No, I don’t mean I need to become his friend. It is just that he seems ... I don’t know ... too charming ... too handsome.”
“He also seems to love Clare very much, Giles,” said Sabrina hesitan
tly. “She told me that for the first time in her life, she felt someone really needed her.”
“I need her, damn it,” said Giles bitterly, as he sat up and took a drink from the bottle of cider. “But she never knew that, did she? She thought I only loved her as a friend and was going to offer for her because it was the expected and comfortable thing to do. That is what hurts the most, Sabrina. That I have only myself to blame for all this.”
“You can’t blame yourself for Rainsborough’s existence, Giles. They fell in love. It happens all the time.”
“I know, I know.”
“At least you will speak of it now. I was worried about you, Giles.”
“You don’t need to. I will survive this. Coming home without her was very hard. But I am used to it now. By the time I see her in London this fall, I am sure I will be able to look at her as an old and dear friend. My love started as friendship, so I am trusting that it can be that again.”
“I am sure it can, Giles,” said his sister reassuringly. But she was not sure at all, and she knew that he wasn’t either.
Chapter Seven
September, 1816
“You look exquisite, my dear.”
“Thank you, Justin,” Clare smiled at her husband’s image in the pier glass.
“Here, let me fasten that for you. You can go, Martha.”
Clare shivered as his hands brushed her neck. The sapphire and diamond choker he had given her as his wedding gift fit snugly around her throat and matched the blue of her silk gown perfectly.
“What is exquisite is this necklace, Justin,” said Clare. “I am almost afraid to wear it.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” Justin leaned closer and kissed her right where her shoulder met her neck, and then turned her face to his for a long kiss.
“I suppose we have to go to the ball,” he groaned, pulling away at last.
Clare laughed. “Of course we do. It would look very odd, indeed, if we avoided Lady Bellingham.”
“Well, I warn you, Clare, I am going to be a very unfashionable husband and claim as many dances as I can. I hate sharing you with anyone.” He leaned down and kissed her again, and Clare gave herself over to the delight of being so cherished. Of course, by the time their kiss was over, her hair was no longer perfect, and Martha had to be summoned back. And, as had been their pattern this Little Season, they arrived late to the Bellingham ball.
“How many minutes tonight, Bertie?”
“Twenty-seven and a half. It looks like Crewe is closest again.”
“Lady Rainsborough looks delightfully flushed tonight, don’t you know,” said Crewe, pocketing his money.
“Damn. You would think that after a few months of marriage, they wouldn’t still be in one another’s pockets.”
“I know his sort,” said Marlow, looking over to where Justin was hovering over his wife as she greeted their host and hostess. “Won’t let her out of his sight. Wants her all to himself.”
“Even I admit it is quite romantic,” said Crewe with a mock sigh.
“I suppose you could call it that,” said Marlow, with a shuttered look. “My father was like that with my mother,” he added and left abruptly, leaving his companions nonplussed.
"Tomorrow, I am betting on a half hour.”
“Ah, but look at the way he is leading her out onto the floor, Crewe. Forty minutes, at least.”
* * * *
Clare loved dancing with her husband almost as much as making love with him. Although she was unaware of the more vulgar comments, she knew that people were amused at the Rainsboroughs’ devotion to one another. Let them laugh. She didn’t care, for she and Justin had something that most couples could only dream about.
She had seen the Whittons out of the corner of her eye when she and Justin had moved onto the dance floor. She and Sabrina had exchanged a few short notes during the summer, and she was looking forward to catching up on the local gossip. She had spent so much time at Whitton that it had almost become a second home, and she enjoyed hearing all the news, from the midwife’s latest delivery to the absentminded vicar’s newest gaffe. After her waltz with Justin and a cotillion with Sir Maximillian Ongar, she made her way over to where Sabrina was talking with a group of friends.
“Clare! You look positively blooming,” said Lucy Kirkman, sliding her eyes down to Clare’s waist.
Clare blushed. She was not increasing yet, but one of the embarrassing things about being an obviously besotted couple was that everyone, at one time or another, took the opportunity to subtly or not so subtly inspect her waistline.
She had learned to ignore them, and just said, “Thank you, Lucy.”
Sabrina rescued her by enveloping her in a warm hug. “You do look wonderful, Clare. As does Justin.”
“I would say that marriage agrees with both of you,” said a voice behind Clare. It was Giles, and Clare held her breath as she offered him her hand. He merely held it gently for a moment and smiled down at her affectionately. It was her old familiar friend Giles who stood there, as relaxed and comfortable as he had ever been. She let her breath out in a soft sigh. The Whittons had come up to town late, and this was their first sight of each other since the wedding breakfast. And thank God, it was as she had hoped: they were still friends.
“Do you have a dance free for me, Clare?”
“The next two are spoken for, Giles, but I do have the first waltz free.”
“Good. Then put me down for it. And Lucy, I believe this cotillion is ours?”
“Indeed it is, Giles,” replied Lucy, smiling like the cat who had gotten the cream as they moved off.
“I swear I have become reconciled to your marriage, Clare,” said Sabrina. “But I am not sure I will ever forgive you if I end up with Lucy Kirkman as a sister-in-law.”
Clare laughed with relief and amusement. She was grateful that both Sabrina and Giles seemed able to admit her back into their easy companionship.
Clare was with Justin when Giles came to claim his waltz.
“Good evening, Whitton,” her husband said politely, his eyebrows lifted inquiringly.
“I believe this is our waltz, Clare,” said Giles lightly. “I was lucky to get one,” he added, as he sensed rather than saw Rainsborough stiffen. “Your wife is one of the most sought after ladies at the ball.”
Rainsborough gave him a cold, fleeting smile, and Giles was sure he could feel the earl’s eyes boring into his back as they walked away. Earlier in the evening he had made up his mind to act the old friend as much as possible. Maybe if he acted long enough it would become true. God knows, it is not easy, he thought, as Clare placed her hand in his and he clasped her around the waist. All the perspective and peace he had gained over the summer disappeared as she looked up at him and smiled.
They danced well together; they always had. And after the first few minutes of tension, they both relaxed and began to give themselves over to the music and the movement. Giles was even able to get Clare laughing with the latest story about Reverend Brill.
“He didn’t really start to read the wedding service at a baptism!”
“He did. Only a few lines, but enough to frighten the godmother and godfather out of their wits.”
Since the godparents were the most dedicated bachelor and spinster in the village, Clare could only laugh.
“Come, let me return you to Justin.” Giles walked her back to where Rainsborough was standing. Standing out like a sore thumb, thought Giles, for he was right on the edge of the dance floor where they had left him.
“May I get you a glass of punch, Clare?” he asked after he handed her over to her husband.
“Thank you, Giles,” Clare replied with a smile. “I am thirsty.”
Giles bowed and as he moved away, Justin grabbed Clare’s arm.
“I think we will be going, my dear.”
Clare looked up at him in surprise. His face was set and hard, and his thumb and forefinger dug into her arm. “Going? Where, Justin? Giles is getting me some punch,�
� she added, completely puzzled by his reaction. A look of pain and surprise passed over her face as his grip got even tighter.
“Ah, yes, Giles. Your old friend Giles.”
Justin’s voice was so cutting that Clare felt he had flicked her with a whip.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Justin. Are you feeling ill?” she stammered. “Is that why you wish to go home?”
“The sight of you smiling up into his face does make me feel sick, my dear. And I do not intend to stand for any more of it.” Keeping his hold on her arm, her husband guided her across the room, nodding and smiling all the while, as though all were well. He made their apologies to their hostess, claiming that his wife was not feeling quite the thing.
Lady Bellingham smiled knowingly, and Clare was handed into their carriage before she realized what was happening. Justin, who had finally released her, sat across from her, his face an unreadable mask. She winced as she rubbed her upper arm. She would have bruises in the morning, she was sure. She was feeling quite disoriented.
Surely Justin, her loving, tender Justin, had not hurt her like that? It felt like an ugly, dark stranger was sitting opposite her. One who resembled her husband, but had somehow taken his place by some sort of wizardry. She was afraid to say anything, afraid to arouse his anger, and so she just sat silently, hoping that when they walked through their door, Justin would have been returned to her.
But when they reached St. James Street, instead of following her up the stairs as was his wont, Justin merely dismissed the footmen and asked their butler to bring him brandy in the library. Clare was left standing on the stairs, hoping for a glance from Justin, a kind word, anything to indicate that this was all a dreadful misunderstanding of some sort.
She dismissed Martha as soon as her abigail had undone the tapes of her gown. She didn’t want her to see the marks of Justin’s fingers on her arm. Her hands were shaking as she undid the clasp of the sapphire choker, and she looked down at it as it lay glittering on her dressing table. She had danced and laughed with a number of partners these past few nights. There had been no difference in her behavior with Giles, had there? Surely she had not given Justin any reason for distrusting her? Had she let Giles hold her too close? Had she looked up at him differently? She couldn’t help caring about him, for he was her oldest and dearest friend. What had she done to make Justin behave like this?
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