“Lady Honoria.”
The older woman turned.
Her sharp gaze traveled over Clara's modest blue traveling gown, which Mrs. Hartley had persuaded her to change into before the drive.
“You are Miss Langley?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Good heavens.”
Clara waited.
Lady Honoria examined her from head to foot.
Then she said, “You are much prettier than I expected.”
Julian closed his eyes.
“Aunt.”
“What? It is a compliment.”
Clara smiled.
“Thank you, my lady. You are considerably more formidable than I expected.”
Lady Honoria blinked.
Then she gave a short laugh.
“Well. That is something.”
She turned toward Julian.
“Do not stand there dripping upon the marble. Miss Langley must be taken upstairs and allowed to rest. Mrs. Porter has been in a state of nervous collapse for the past four hours.”
Clara looked concerned.
“She worries excessively.”
“She informed me that you had borrowed a maid's clothing.”
“Only briefly.”
“And carried coal?”
“Yes.”
Lady Honoria stared at her.
Then looked at Julian.
“Did she actually carry coal?”
Julian's mouth twitched.
“Very competently.”
“Good heavens.”
Lady Honoria pressed a hand to her chest.
“I suppose we must be thankful she did not take it into her head to clean the chimneys.”
Clara lowered her eyes to conceal a smile.
“I considered it, my lady, but the opportunity did not arise.”
Lady Honoria looked at her for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
The sound echoed through the entrance hall.
“Julian,” she declared, “I believe you have been deceived.”
His smile disappeared.
The words had struck nearer the truth than his aunt could possibly know.
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I believe I have.”
Dinner that evening was not the disaster Julian had anticipated.
It was, in some respects, considerably worse.
Clara appeared wearing a gown of pale green silk with a square neckline and sleeves trimmed with fine lace. Her chestnut hair had been arranged in an elegant knot, with soft curls framing her temples.
Gone was the impertinent maid.
In her place stood a young lady whose beauty was all the more striking because she seemed entirely unaware of the effect she produced.
Julian had encountered celebrated beauties in London.
Some possessed perfect features. Others had extraordinary figures or the delicate manners fashionable society admired.
Clara had something more unsettling.
She looked as though she was thinking.
Constantly.
Her eyes moved across a room with quiet curiosity. Her expressions changed quickly, revealing amusement, skepticism, and feeling before the conventions of polite society could smooth them away.
Julian found himself watching her.
He disliked that he was doing so.
He disliked even more that she appeared perfectly capable of ignoring him.
At dinner, Lady Honoria spoke at length about the approaching county assembly, the condition of the roads, and the unfortunate marriage of a distant cousin to a gentleman who owned an alarming number of hunting dogs.
Clara listened politely.
Julian attempted to concentrate on his soup.
Eventually, Lady Honoria turned toward her guest.
“Miss Langley, I understand you have strong opinions regarding the management of a household.”
Clara set down her spoon.
“Only when I am asked to manage one.”
“Sir Edmund tells me you are unusually fond of accounts.”
“I find them useful.”
“Such matters are ordinarily left to gentlemen.”
“Certainly, my lady. But the numbers do not appear to know the difference.”
Julian nearly choked on his wine.
Lady Honoria stared.
Then said, “Well, that is very neatly put.”
Clara inclined her head.
The meal continued.
When the servants brought the second course, Julian noticed Bess Finch among them.
The young maid was carrying a dish of roasted vegetables.
She glanced at Clara.
Clara glanced back.