“I do not pretend that the arrangement was romantic. It was not. I believed you understood its nature.”
“I understood that it was practical.”
“And would you have accepted it?”
Clara looked toward the orange tree.
“Before the letters, perhaps.”
He waited.
“My parents married because their families approved,” she said. “They were not in love when they first met. But they became extraordinarily fond of one another.”
“Were they happy?”
“Very.”
She smiled faintly.
“My mother argued with my father about nearly everything. He called her his most determined opponent. Yet he never made a serious decision without asking what she thought.”
Julian listened.
“Once, when I was fourteen, I asked him whether he did not find her opinions exhausting.”
“What did he say?”
Clara's expression softened.
“He said, 'My dear girl, a quiet wife is not necessarily a happy wife. And I should rather spend my life being challenged by a woman I admire than praised by one I cannot respect.'”
Julian looked down.
There was a long silence.
Then he said, “Your father sounds wiser than mine.”
“He had his faults.”
“Did he?”
“He was terrible at remembering birthdays.”
Julian smiled.
“And he once attempted to repair a grandfather clock with a kitchen knife.”
“A dangerous man.”
“He destroyed the clock.”
They laughed softly.
The tension eased.
Julian looked at her.
“You must think very poorly of me.”
“I thought poorly of the man in the letters.”
“And now?”
Clara considered.
“Now I think you are a man who has been very lonely.”
The words struck unexpectedly.
Julian did not answer.
She continued gently.
“And perhaps a little too willing to believe that everyone who offers assistance deserves your trust.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“You see a great deal, Miss Langley.”
“Not always.”
She glanced away.
“I trusted Sir Edmund for most of my life.”
Julian moved closer.
The space between them narrowed.
For a moment, neither appeared to know what ought to be said.
He could see the fine strands of hair escaping her careful arrangement, the pale green of her eyes, and the small crease between her brows that appeared whenever she was struggling with a difficult thought.
Clara noticed that the scar at his temple was slightly more visible in the warm light.
She wondered how he had received it.
Then realized she was wondering about him with an intimacy that would have astonished her only yesterday.
Julian spoke quietly.
“Clara.”
Her heart gave an unexpected movement.
“Yes?”
“I should like us to begin again.”
She looked up.
“Begin what?”
“Our acquaintance.”
He offered his hand.
“Julian Vale. A gentleman of questionable manners, dubious judgment, and a distressing quantity of financial difficulties.”
Clara looked at his outstretched hand.
Then placed hers in it.
“Clara Langley. An impertinent woman of excessive curiosity, unfortunate independence, and a regrettable fondness for disguises.”
Julian smiled.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Langley.”
“And I you, Your Grace.”
He bent over her hand.
The kiss he placed upon her gloved knuckles was perfectly proper.
It should not have affected her.
Yet when he released her, Clara found herself distinctly reluctant to withdraw her hand.
Neither of them noticed the figure standing beyond the open conservatory door.
Sir Edmund Cross watched for several seconds.
Then quietly turned away.
His expression was no longer pleasant.
During the following week, the atmosphere at Alderwick House changed.
Julian began rising earlier.