“You are becoming extravagant.”
“I am attempting to make amends.”
“You have done so.”
He grew serious.
“Have I?”
Clara looked at him.
“Yes.”
The answer was simple.
But he understood its meaning.
For weeks, he had watched her weigh his actions, not merely his words.
Now he felt the quiet satisfaction of having earned something more valuable than gratitude.
Her trust.
Winter came early that year.
The trees around Alderwick House lost their leaves beneath November winds, and pale frost spread across the lawns before dawn.
Clara remained at the estate until the first week of December.
Her presence had become so familiar that the servants began regarding her as part of the household.
Mrs. Hartley consulted her regarding the school.
Mr. Pembroke brought her correspondence with the same gravity he reserved for Julian's.
Bess appeared at her door each morning with fresh tea and a new question from her lessons.
And Lady Honoria, who had initially feared the entire arrangement would end in disaster, began speaking of Clara with undisguised affection.
“She is precisely what this family requires,” she informed Julian one afternoon.
He looked up from his newspaper.
“Is she?”
“Do not pretend ignorance.”
“I am reading, Aunt.”
“You have been holding that newspaper upside down for the past five minutes.”
Julian lowered it.
Lady Honoria smiled.
“I thought so.”
He sighed.
“What do you wish me to say?”
“That you are in love with her.”
Julian looked toward the window.
Snow had begun falling beyond the terrace.
After a moment, he said, “I am.”
Lady Honoria's expression softened.
“Then tell her.”
He shook his head.
“I cannot.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I will not allow her to wonder whether I am asking for her fortune.”
His aunt became serious.
“Julian.”
“She came here expecting an arrangement. She discovered deceit, theft, and danger. I will not reward her courage by presenting her with another obligation.”
Lady Honoria studied him.
Then said quietly, “Your mother would have been proud of you.”
Julian looked up.
It was the first time his aunt had mentioned his mother in that manner for years.
“She was not always proud of me.”
“Your mother loved you very much.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Lady Honoria moved toward the fireplace.
“She spent much of her marriage being told that her opinions were inconvenient. Your father disliked contradiction.”
Julian's expression changed.
“He called her difficult.”
“Yes.”
“And sometimes unbearable.”
Lady Honoria nodded.
Julian looked down.
The word had returned to him with painful clarity.
Unbearable.
He had used it of Clara.
Just as his father had used it of his mother.
He remembered dinners during which the old duke mocked the duchess for correcting an account or questioning an investment.
He remembered his mother growing silent.
He remembered himself, a young man eager for paternal approval, laughing when he ought to have defended her.
The realization settled heavily upon him.
“I was becoming like him.”
Lady Honoria looked at her nephew.
“In some ways, perhaps.”
He closed his eyes.
She continued gently.
“But you have done something he seldom managed.”
“What?”