The rumors began the morning after Clara spoke about peace. They didn't arrive as accusations at first. Instead, they appeared in the way conversations stopped when she entered a room, in the way certain guests smiled too knowingly when Sebastian approached her, and in the sudden interest everyone seemed to take in the fact that Clara had spent most of the gathering avoiding obvious competition.
By luncheon, Lady Arabella had reduced the entire matter to one sentence: "Perhaps the quietest performance is still a performance."
She said it softly enough that no one could accuse her of cruelty, but loudly enough that Sebastian heard. He disliked the remark immediately. What disturbed him more was that part of him remembered it later.
Sebastian had spent most of his adult life surrounded by people who wanted something from him: some wanted money, some wanted influence, and some simply wanted to be able to say the Duke of Wycliffe knew their names. He had become good at recognizing ambition when it was obvious. Clara’s interest had never been obvious; that was what he had admired. Now, against his better judgment, he began wondering whether that had been deliberate, too. The idea irritated him, partly because he knew how unfair it was, and partly because he could not entirely make himself dismiss it.
Clara noticed the change before he admitted it to himself. He stopped seeking her out as often. At dinner, he allowed Lady Arabella to claim the seat beside him without objection. And when Clara made a dry remark from farther down the table, he smiled, but did not answer. By the second day, she realized something had shifted. She didn't ask why.
That silence made Sebastian feel worse.
The misunderstanding deepened when he passed the morning room and overheard Clara talking to her mother. He hadn't intended to eavesdrop.
Mrs. Whitmore was saying, "You may never get another chance like this."
Clara’s reply came after a pause: "Then maybe I don't want the chance."
"You're being foolish."
Sebastian stood outside the half-open door, hearing just enough to confirm the suspicions that had already started whispering to him: opportunity, his title, marriage, the gathering. He told himself he should walk in and ask what they meant. Instead, he left.
That evening, he barely spoke to Clara. She found him in the library, standing near the windows with a book he clearly hadn't been reading.
"Have I offended you?"
Sebastian looked up. "No."
"That answer would be more convincing if you had looked at me at dinner."
He set the book down. "I did look at you."
"Then maybe the problem is that you looked and decided not to speak." Clara’s tone stayed calm, but the distance in it unsettled him.
Sebastian hesitated before asking the question he knew he shouldn't phrase as an accusation. "Were you ever truly uninterested in being chosen?"
Clara became very still. "What?"
"You said you never expected me to choose you."
"That was true. But was it ever really the same as not wanting to be chosen?"
She stared at him for a moment, then gave a small, disbelieving laugh. "No."
Sebastian’s expression changed.
Clara continued before he could interpret the answer the wrong way: "No, I was not uninterested in you. I was interested in whether you might actually see past the noise. What exactly do you think I have done?"
Sebastian looked away. "I heard you speaking with your mother."
Understanding came quickly. "The opportunity."
"Yes."
Clara closed her eyes briefly. "When my mother said opportunity, she meant your title." Sebastian looked back at her. "She wants me to marry you because my father’s finances are worse than she has admitted. She believes becoming a duchess would solve half our problems."
The explanation should have relieved him; instead, shame arrived first.
Clara continued, "I told her I did not want that opportunity because I was beginning to care about you." Sebastian said nothing. "And the moment money became the reason I should stay, I wanted to leave."
He finally found his voice. "I did not know."
"No. You assumed."
"That was not fair."
"No." Her answer was not angry, which made it worse.
Sebastian stepped closer. "Clara, I have spent years being careful about people’s motives."
"I know."
"Then you understand why—"
"I know," she interrupted quietly. "I understand why you are cautious. I do not understand why caution gave you permission to decide what I meant without asking me."
He stopped.
Clara looked at him with disappointment rather than fury. "The first night, I asked whether you were tired because every other person at that table wanted something from you."
Sebastian remembered. "I know."
"I did not expect that one day you would decide I must want something, too."
There was nothing he could say to make the accusation untrue.
Clara took a breath. "I think I should go home."
Sebastian’s expression hardened with alarm. "Because of this?"
"Because I don't want to spend another week wondering whether every quiet moment between us will later be examined as evidence."
"You're making this final too quickly."
"Am I?"
He had no answer.
Clara left Wycliffe Hall the following morning. She thanked the servants who had been kind to her and left before most of the guests came down to breakfast.
Sebastian discovered she was gone when he returned to his room and found a folded note placed on the table. He opened it. There was only one sentence:
I hope you find someone beside whom you do not have to perform.
Sebastian read it once, then again. For days, he had allowed himself to believe Clara’s quietness might have been a strategy. Now he finally understood the truth: every woman at Wycliffe Hall had tried to convince him she could become the perfect duchess; Clara had been the only one who had offered him the chance to stop being a duke for a while, and he had rewarded her honesty by doubting it.
Sebastian did not go after Clara immediately. For several days, that restraint felt less like wisdom than punishment. He knew where she had gone, knew he could have a carriage ready within the hour, and knew that his title would open almost any door he chose to approach.
That was precisely why he waited.
For most of his life, Sebastian had been surrounded by people who adapted to his status. When he desired something, someone usually managed to put it within his grasp. The gathering at Wycliffe Hall was based on the assumption that several suitable women would be assembled for his inspection. He hadn't realized how much that mindset had influenced his thoughts: he had been busy choosing, rarely considering what it might feel like to be chosen in return.
The remaining gathering concluded two days later. His mother found him in the morning room after breakfast, holding a list of upcoming dinners and private outings arranged for the guests.
"You're canceling everything," Helena said.
"Yes."
"Arabella’s family will be offended."
"They'll manage."